This is my Grandpa. He died when I was 8 after a protracted battle with multiple myeloma. He used to give us horsey rides, even when the cancer had eroded all the padding between his vertebrae. I don’t think even now I can fully comprehend the magnitude of his sacrifice. And he never stopped smiling. Also, for the record I would still totally wear that outfit. And I think my little brother should also still have a bowl cut. Little kids make everything cute!
It was a rough weekend. Part of it is some normal-but-intense life stress going on. Part of it is me still being off my meds and while I keep thinking I can be “strong” and keep going without them, I’m beginning to realize that strength has very little to do with this and stupidity possibly a lot. But the worst part of all of this medication stuff is this: I can’t tell when I’m crazy. Those of you who have never been nuts probably don’t understand this but it’s really hard to see from the inside because, well, it all feels legit. You still feel your feelings, no matter where they come from. So tonight I did something that gives me some self insight when I seem to be lacking it – I read my journal. I keep an offline pen-and-paper journal (I have a thing for cute little notebooks!) but you might have also noticed a whole category of posts on here tagged as “personal essays” and these are mainly just journal entries that I post on here because, well, that’s what I do.
Anyhow, I came across this 2-year-old essay tonight and it was beautiful to be reminded of a wisdom I already have (and you have as well): the wisdom of others. Sometimes we do the carrying. And there is much pride in being strong for others. But sometimes we have to let ourselves be carried. And we should take no less pride in admitting our weakness than we do in sharing our strengths – because both come from the same place, two sides of the same coin. It isn’t, as the cliche goes, “make it or break it” but rather the things that break us are also the things that make us. If we let them.
So here’s to old wisdom, going Back To The Arms That Held Me.
Downy duck fluff burrowed into my neck, the soft sigh of newborn breath so slight that I keep one hand lightly on her back to assure it rises and falls in concordance with my own. My other arm cradles her tiny warm body in this bittersweet moment. She is not mine. A dear friend’s infant daughter, she will not remember me. But then do any of us remember the arms that first held us?
My mother carried me inside her. She was a teenage bride and then a teen mom before Teen Mom was ever considered a fashionable title. I never appreciated the magnitude of her sacrifice until my own first child registered a nine on my Richter scale. I remember, in the midst of the earthquake that was her birth, a newly trained nurse trying to insert an IV into my hand. Despite the fact I have veins to rival Madonna’s garden hoses, she kept missing until she and I were both crying. My mother, a veteran nurse, grabbed the needle out of her hand and gently inserted the IV. Wrapping her arms around me she blocked out the sobbing nurse, the doctor’s taut face, the machines, all the bloody trauma that accompanies the birth of a baby that will never cry. And when my daughter was finally born – still – she wrapped her arms around her too.
My father carried me outside. He carried me out of the hospital the day I was born – and accidentally rolled me down my mother’s legs while trying to hand me to her in the car, so the story he goes. (Can you imagine a time when mothers held their babies on their laps in cars? I also remember sleeping in the “far back” on long trips with my feet out our station wagon window. Nothing says memories like safety violations!) Twenty years later, he carried me back into the hospital when I was in the throes of hysterical pain. Through that seemingly endless trial of chronic pain, his arms held me, blessed me. And then with those same arms he gave me away.
My husband carried me over the threshold. At first it was a dirty, cracked threshold of a 500-square foot studio apartment whose only redeeming quality was the ability to vacuum the entire thing without ever having to unplug the vacuum. Later on he would wrap his arms under my pregnant belly to help carry me as I carried our babies. He even held me to his chest as I acted like a baby, sobbing on the floor because, oh I have failed. How? I am fat, I am ugly, I am stupid, I am mean, I am nothing good. Take that back, nobody talks that way about my wife. Even still, he insists on carrying me over each new threshold we have called our own.
Then there are the other arms that have carry me when I fall. My grammy whose rose-scented arms encircled me so tenderly in life that I feel them still, in a necessary moment, across the chasm of death. My grandfather who lifted me onto his back, even when it was so riddled with cancer that the pain had to have been excruciating; he never even winced. The friend who lifted me from the curb where the Very Bad Boyfriend had left me, held me while I threw up and carried me to my car. My brother who picked me up the first time I laid a motorcycle down while learning to ride it and then told me to try it again. The friend who padlocked our skirts together so that we’d never have to leave each other’s side. My sister who daily embraces me with her words rather than her arms because we’ve now lived apart longer than we ever lived together. Always the Father in Heaven who made me, who hasn’t forgotten me even when I’ve forgotten him, who held me when I read The Diary of Anne Frank and realized for the first time what atrocities we humans are capable of. And the many many anonymous arms that have lifted me along the way, the ones I don’t remember save for the echo of their touch that rests like a hand lightly on my back, making sure that my chest rises and falls in concordance with theirs.
These days, it is mostly my arms that do the holding – tears, slights, tantrums, embarrassments, ear infections and fevers, nightmares – but when the burden of being the comforter gets too heavy and my arms start to fall, I return to the arms that held me. When they talk about the circle of life I never knew the whole of it could be enclosed in an embrace.
Whose arms do you return to? Even if you don’t post it in the comments (although I’d love it if you do!), please take a moment and remember one really meaningful embrace in your life. Any of you journal keepers too? How has it helped you see yourself differently?
P.S. This is totally going to ruin the zen of what I hope is a beautiful essay but I found this pic when I googled “beautiful hug” and it is just too awesome not to share. You want this, admit it:
I JUST finished writing in my journal!
And, yes, I LOVE that photo!
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that there are arms waiting to hold me. That I’m not the only one giving out hugs.
Thanks for the beautiful reminder!
I love that you are a journal keeper!!
Such a beautiful post! Made me teary and relive some of my childhood- so thank you! You look so much like the jellybean in that pic!
Aw thank you Jess! Both for the compliment and for the Jelly Bean comparison! I really think she looks like my husband so it’s nice to know I’m in there somewhere too – esp since she got my neurotic personality, lol.
Wow, that was indeed beautiful.
So sorry you are struggling, it seems so unfair. And yeah, by now I do know life is not generally fair.
I only started keeping a journal about a year ago, and I don’t get much chance to revisit, and, well, its mostly sappy stream of consciousness pep talks too embarrassing to share. Nothing like your graceful and insightful essays. I mostly do it to help me sort through things, but i hadn’t really thought how valuable it could be in terms of perspective over the long haul.
Warm hugs… though I promise I won’t climb all over your face. 🙂
Now I want to read your “sappy stream of consciousness pep talks”! You know, for someone named Crabby you’re remarkably un-grouchy;)
I really commend you for trying to step off your meds. I think it’s very brave. Have you thought about using some herbal supplements to help balance things out a bit while you’re working off of them? I struggle with anxiety and depression from time to time and I take Gaba and L-Tyrosine which help balance hormones but a lot more naturally then normal antidepressants.
I have, yes – after my last post I ordered some l-tyrosine. I’ll let you know how it goes! I haven’t tried Gaba yet but thank you for the rec – I’ll add it to my list of stuff to check out! So glad it’s working so well for you:)
Hiiiiii! your blog is great, I’d love you to join my websites, and you put my link on your site, and so we benefit both.
I await your response to munekitacate@gmail.com
kisses!
Emilia
My whole family is a group of huggers. My parents have hugged me my whole life and I didn’t realize it wasn’t normal until I met my husbands family. Now they are huggers too! The most powerful hug I got was when my boyfriend was killed in a boating accident. My parents arms encircled me and my best friend didn’t leave my side for 3 days. She sat next to me while I didn’t eat, she slept by my bed, and when I cried her arms cradled me.
The second most powerful hug I got was when I watched Tristan + Isolde with my now husband. It was one of our first dates and I bawled because of the death. My hubby sat holding my hand and when he walked me to my door at the end of the night held me in his arms and said, “I love that you loved him. I just hope that someday you can love me half as much as you loved him”.
Aw, you’re like a hugging virus! But way more fun than your average virus;) And I love that sweet story of you and your husband – you both sound like wonderfully loving people and it made me smile:))
I am sorry you are struggling Charlotte but your willingness to share is helping others!!! I don’t journal but most of my older relatives are no longer alive.. only 1 aunt back east…..
I have trouble burdening others these days…. I don’t know who beyond my husband I would go to now… but he is stressed too so I tend to bottle up these days..
Thank you so much for this!
Thank you Jody! And while I don’t know your family & friends I’m guessing they do NOT feel “burdened” by you sharing your struggles, honey:)
I’m crying and that picture reminds me when my husband will tell me a funny story when I have a breakdown and I start laughing through the tears. Thank you for sharing (the story more than the pic, it’s a little scary)
Haha – you’re welcome for BOTH!;)
Things hadn’t been going well at both of my jobs this past month. The stress I’d been facing felt unbearable at times. And I have such trouble asking for help (don’t we all). At one point a couple of weeks ago, I broke down, once again. I cried like a child, like my heart was breaking. And the man held me so tightly, so tenderly, & I knew that he felt my pain as if it were his own. He let me wipe my snot on his sweatshirt. And when I backed up to get a breath, I realized that my nose was bleeding (darn dry weather!), & snot & blood were mixed together on the shoulder of his shirt. We couldn’t help but laugh. I pray that the arms that hold me will be with me for a very, very long time.
Oh I love this memory!!! I’m so glad that he was there to hold you and that you could let yourself be held:)
Charlotte, I just want to thank you for sharing this beautiful post. I was especially moved by the following section, “Sometimes we do the carrying. And there is much pride in being strong for others. But sometimes we have to let ourselves be carried. And we should take no less pride in admitting our weakness than we do in sharing our strengths – because both come from the same place, two sides of the same coin. It isn’t, as the cliche goes, “make it or break it” but rather the things that break us are also the things that make us. If we let them.” Would you mind if I shared it on my fb page with a link to your blog? I just think it’s something we all need to be reminded of every once in a while.
I am so sorry that you’re having a difficult time right now. I understand, and I will be thinking of you in the coming days and wishing you well. It’s so challenging when you know the direction you want to to in and yet can’t get quite turned around to head that way. Been there. Hopefully time will right things. And I’m so glad you have so many supportive people on your side. Makes all the difference.
I have been truly blessed to have my wonderful husband in my life for the last 33 years, and it is his arms I return to.
And finally, Charlotte, what the hell is that weird creature in the picture at the end of your post? Looks like a naked dragon baby. 🙂
Gaye
Oh Gaye, I’d be so honored! Thank you!!! And thank you for your sweet note as well – it means a lot to me. Lastly, I have NO CLUE what that animal is but heaven help me I want one now!
Wow Girl you never fail to amaze me-
Thanks for those precious memories. Every Easter I weep as it’s the anniversary of my earthly Daddy’s death when his hugs stopped. He didn’t get to walk me down the aisle, meet my hubby or his grandkids but he is still with me with the deep memories of his hugs many years ago. Mom has passed on as well and I miss that woman’s support…… Now I have a DH of 30 years and 3 incredible kids and we totally love moments together when greeting or parting or just seizing a moment for a “family hug” all gathered around to just show each other how much we love each other.
The med thing is a tough valley to go through and I will pray you pass quickly, Hang on to what you truly believe is best for your body and don’t waver when you think it would just be easier to take another med. Your body is craving the best you can do for it internally: by what you eat or put into it, physically: by your exercise, emotionally: your support and spiritually: your relationship with your Heavenly Father. Getting all in line is a challenge every day. I pray this Holy Week is one for you to gain a renewed spirit so you too may feel alive again on Easter morning. Keep posting it’s good for you and us!
I’m w/ Gaye…what is that creature?
Thank you Jane – everything about this comment made me smile. I appreciate the support, prayers and your kindness and for sharing the memory of your dad with me! And… I have NO CLUE what that critter is! But I kinda love it!
No one holds me like my husband…. His arms are a direct way to getting out of my head, into my heart and arriving home. I love this post and how it has allowed us to think about and be grateful for arms and hugs!
I am crying reading this post and the comments. Once again Charlotte you hit it on the nail.
I went through my whole life with no hugs really. My family is not tactile at all and I used to recoil at the thought of a hug.
And then I met my husband who helped me discover the healing power of touch.
I don’t have a creature like the one on the picture above, but I swear that my dog knows my emotions. And he always makes me feel better by coming to comfort me.
I tend to journal only when I’m going through serious life struggles. My most healing journal was the one I kept while emotionally recovering from my ((desperately unwanted)) abortion. I keep it stashed with all of my other books in plain view. It helped me through a very difficult time in my life. I have gone back to read it and I like keeping it nearby for reasons I can’t explain.