The Icky-Sticky Middle
Spoiler Alert – this blog will not have a happy ending and may not offer closure. It’s about the messy middle, the icky sticky goo between the what-was and what-may-be. It’s a perspective of being “face down in the arena” somewhere between the reckoning and the rumble, definitely not yet the revolution. *
We often hear stories of triumph and success. The hero’s journey. Learning and lessons from deep reflection and hindsight. They are inspiring, positive, sanitized, and comfortable. What we don’t hear often enough are the messy middles. The raw wounds before they have healed. Painful, uncomfortable (for the teller AND the listener), sometimes too vulnerable to even look at without covering over with a bandage. I am opening my wound in this forum to help normalize the very human and universal pain that comes with change and growth.
If you are familiar with Dr. Brené Brown’s Rising Strong Process, this flow will feel familiar. I’ve taken the liberty to use that construct (thank you!) to work the process while it is still very much in process. If you will allow me, I am going to share the wound before it has healed. I ask for your patience and grace for whatever I may get wrong here.
The Reckoning: Walking into Our Story
I spent much of last month at ‘home’ on the left coast. I cried as we landed. The brown mountains and smog at Ontario Airport that usually made me smile, saddened me and made me nostalgic. Despite my many trips back home, this was the first time I realized that I didn’t have my own home in Cali anymore. My parents, yes. Friends, yes. The sky, sunsets, mountains that always situated me, yes. A place that I still belonged, not really sure. I felt lost, homesick for a place, maybe a way of life, that no longer existed.
A part of me started wondering what if – what if I hadn’t moved? What if I hadn’t gotten divorced? What if I could still pretend to be ‘whole’, at least on the outside?
And then, I found myself on the receiving end of “miscommunications”. A loved one didn’t let me know they would be coming to town. Another was already in town and never told me. In both cases, I found out from a third party. Anger is an understatement. I was livid, blaming and shaming. I even rehearsed the stick-it-to-you conversations I would have.
Hurt that one could be so inconsiderate, that I could so easily be overlooked and taken for granted…or worse, not really wanted. Ah, the rejection demon. Then came the emotional stoicism. To make it okay, I tried to ignore it and push down the hurt. Instead of risking feeling disappointed, I was letting myself live disappointed.* It’s a lot easier to off-load feelings to avoid dealing, to avoid the pain. Problem is, the more we distance, the more we crave connection and belonging. Belonging, home, connection, a place to be really seen and known. That is what I am longing for.
I needed to figure out my truth and stand in it. Until then, I’d just keep sinking and spinning.
The SFD: “shitty first draft”
(a place to just get it all out. Usually a lot less sanitized than what I have written below)
Excuse my language, but I am dying in the f*&^& chrysalis. Yes, the very same magical threshold that I so wondrously described, the place of generative transformation and possibility. The very same threshold that literally dissolves, liquefies you down to your essence before – assuming all the right conditions are in place – a miraculous rebirth and transformation into a beautiful butterfly.
All the things I needed to DO are done. We have settled into a good house, in a good neighborhood, with nice people around. I’ve made some new friends. Kids are in school and have their activities, as settled as kids ever are. Completed life & leadership coaching training and (re-)launched my coaching and consulting practice. I’m even blessed to have great clients!
And, I am DOing the work. Therapy, coaching (yep, I put my money where my mouth is), meditation, yoga, you get the picture.
Still, I am hurting. I am stuck. I cry often (less than before, but I’m sure if tears were potable, they could help alleviate the drought out west). I question my purpose and feel adrift. I am not sure what to DO on the inside. And, BEing is not something I learned to do well in this go-get-em, busier-than-thou, capitalist culture.
Why does it have to be so hard? Hadn’t I done everything I was supposed to do? (victim mode)
Why don’t others get it and just be better? Why are they being so difficult? (villain mode)
I guess I’ll have to go it alone and fix it all myself. (hero mode)
The Rumble: Owning Our Story
I thought it was tough before (when the onus for change and all the hurt, pain, doubt, loneliness, regret leading up to it were suffocating me), and that it would be better by now. But now, I am realizing I belong neither in the before, nor yet the after. The in-between is grueling, really exhausting. Words like transformation make it seem magical, wondrous and fantastic (I’m guilty of this). But the reality is so much darker. It’s a mess. Chaos and confusion and doubt and striving and heartbreak. So much heartbreak.
To top it off, many of the stories I have been telling myself were confabulations (lies, honestly told*). Hurt and shame made me question (still do) my value and worthiness to be loved.
So, here I stand today. Rumbling with what more I need to learn about 1) the situation, 2) the other people in my stories, and, 3) myself (eek!).
Where do the truths reside and where do the stories jump back onto the drama train? What are the boundaries I need to put in place to keep me in integrity? What are the unmet expectations I am carrying that are leading to disappointment and resentment? How can I recognize that the heartbreak I feel is directly correlated with the intensity of my love? How can I acknowledge and accept the longing and loss (particularly of the ‘co-rememberer’ that I had built my life with and around) so that I may love again?
The Revolution: Writing a New Ending
Revolution might sound a little dramatic, but in this world, choosing authenticity and worthiness is an absolute act of resistance. Choosing to live and love with our whole hearts is an act of defiance. You’re going to confuse, piss off, and terrify lots of people – including yourself. One minute you’ll pray that the transformation stops, and the next minute you’ll pray that it never ends. You’ll also wonder how you can feel so brave and so afraid at the same time. At least that’s how I feel most of the time … brave, afraid, and very, very alive.
Rising strong is the final piece of this transformation.**
The plan is that the delta between my current story and the discovered truth will be the learning and wisdom that connects me to a wholehearted way of living. The rumble requires vulnerability (i.e., sharing this mess with you!) and personal accountability. I dive deeper into the muck so that I can let go of what’s not serving and healing me, so that I can forgive and put myself on joy’s path.
I’m a work in progress, that much I know. The icky sticky goo of transformation. That moment when you HAVE TO dissolve your very form and structure to allow yourself to be. BE and become in a whole new way.
I’m committed to the arena, so I will fall again. Face down, I see that we all long for a sense of belonging and home. A brave space to be truly vulnerable, to show up and be seen when we have no control over what happens next. I see you. And, when you are ready, I’ll be here to help you up, cuts, bruises and all. I don’t have band-aids or quick fixes, but I will hold you, listen, and walk the journey with you.
Call me. I’ve got you.
*This is a direct reference to Dr. Brené Brown’s Rising Strong Process as deeply and wonderfully laid out in her book, Rising Strong. If you want to be living wholeheartedly, and you haven’t yet read this, Please do. As soon as you can get the books in your hands. Today.
**The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown
