Any port in a storm

The irony of me running away from what I desired most as a child is not lost on me at this point.  My entire life until I was about 25 I so wanted – even needed to be surrounded by people.  I wanted to live a fast and bustling life where I was admired and respected; accomplished and confident.  I wanted to be respected and trusted.  A go to person when you were in trouble; a soft landing, a safe harbour.

So I groomed myself to be that person.  I watched, learned and listened to the best person I ever knew.  My beautiful, lovely Auntie Vi.  She was mountain strong, down comforter soft.  She stood in the ruins of a beautiful life with dignity, grace and an iron will.  She never pitied herself or her path, she was joyful and gracious when others were gifted with good fortune.  She gave generously of her time and talents to anyone who needed them.

For all that grace, for all that strength she was given the gift of more loss, more tragedy.  To the very end she was the best person I ever met.  She positively glowed.  After writing this I am not sure why I would choose her as a role model. Her life was hard and filled with so little joy, Yet the joyous moments gifted her, she clung to like a life raft and she could live in the simple joys for a lifetime – never envying the luck, fortune or joy granted others. She would rejoice with you and be overjoyed for your success.  She never questioned injustices heaped upon her, only accepted them.  She would stiffen her spine and carry one more burden, like a Paris runway model. 

From about 30 – 45 I had the life I strived for.  It was good – I was mostly happy.  I had a husband, a home, two children, and meaningful work. I had friends who were solid and a social life to be envied.  Starting at about 50 it all started to unravel. 

I lost my parents, I lost my siblings (through rejection not just death).  I lost my nieces and nephews.  I lost my connection to my cousins.  I was alone in my world struggling to create my own full circle with my husband and my children. My circle of friends shrank and all but disappeared as they became consumed with their own lives and their own problems.

My children grew into adults and they began to struggle in their own ways, and often in ways I could not fix. My husband grew distant and no longer seemed to want to be physical with me, not even enjoying the same space.  Work while seemingly meaningful was underpaid and definitely unrespected.  I continue to drift.  While some have chosen me as their safe space and soft landing I find I am even failing at that. 

I am lost in wanting to be alone. To find my centre and a rock on which I can anchor. For a long time in my life, until I got married, when times like this hit I would find the smallest darkest place I could find and just sit there until I fell asleep.  When I would emerge, rested and restored from the dark and quiet. Life would vibrate differently.  In a way that seemed more manageable, less overwhelming, and in a way I could face.

Once I was married it was impossible to deal in the same fashion.  It was perceived as weird and unhealthy.  I believed I replaced dark and quiet with respect, accomplished, and powerful.  I had, I made a name for myself in powerful circles. If you were my problem I had a way to fix you, break you or at the very least move you out of my way. 

Eventually that began to slip away.  Admittedly I let it go.  I did not realize then and I am only now beginning to see that if I want to be Viola strong I need to accept that I myself am enough.  I myself am my only safe space, my only rock on which I can anchor.  I may never again have the capacity to be someone’s soft landing or safe space.  At least until I myself can be anchored to my rock and it is stable and secure.