I have a pair of expensive sunglasses, a gift from my husband on one of those decade birthdays. I love them. They surround my eyes in such a way that I can drive the boat, water ski or SUP (standup paddleboard) and not have sunlight momentarily blind me by its brightness or reflection off the water. My eyes feel like I’ve stepped into a shady forest glade when I slip on those gorgeous frames. Since expensive sunglasses aren’t my usual fare, it doesn’t hurt my spirit either.
I’m not sure why my gymnastic mind took me from sunglasses to soul today, but it did. Recently I thought about the moments in my life when it was as if I had those dark shades on my soul. Despair peered out. I’m a sturdy person of mind, heart and will. I’ve had to be. But there have also been lightless days.
In those moments when despair had me a nanosecond away from defeat, I implored my heart to give my soul any measure of relief in the “is it worth it” category. How long could I survive sending my children off to their father, a man I knew would demean and attempt to diminish them? Who, knowing what my own father was capable of, willfully continued to put them in harm’s way with Dad? And Dad, enraged with me for daring to speak truth about his sexual abuse, would have no compunction about hurting my children to get at me. How could I remain thoughtful, strategic, and facile to circumstance as I, and my advocacy/legal team, carefully pulled disparate threads together to weave the fabric of safety from these men?
How could I handle my heart when I thought of my at risk children there, and me here? I managed me by thinking of ways to create happy moments for them. I tucked little notes in their luggage, sent postcards, and finished each phone call with “I love you,” and then “tap, tap, tap.” Three taps of a finger against the telephone receiver. I’d listen for their three taps back at me – our invisible thread connecting us until we talked again.
To this day, my most debilitating despair surrounds my actions regarding my children, as I sought first to protect them, then see to it that these little ones’ wounded spirits could heal, and ultimately launch them into successful adulthood. Because, you see, they didn’t ask for that journey. I put them on it. There were times I didn’t know if I had the strength to stay in the battle, because that’s what it was. A war for their safety. I wondered, God forgive me, if I should simply release us all from the rancorous, seemingly endless hostility and let their birth father and my parents win. All three of them were willing to shoot through my children to get to me. If I weren’t their target anymore, at least my kids would no longer live in a war zone. I wasn’t certain I had the courage necessary to continue. Or so the darkness of despair had told my struggling soul, and I would sob hopelessly until I couldn’t sob any longer.
I discovered something about the act of emptying me through tears. They cleansed uncertainty. Scrubbed away the grunge of skirmish, and since I can’t sleep with any kind of glasses on, I had to doff the sunglasses on my soul.
“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” – Mary Ann Radmacher
