As my 30th birthday quickly approaches, I’ve been doing some self-inventory and making a bucket list. I’ve checked a couple things off already – like skydiving – but I’m sure I’ll be adding to it as well. Two of them I’m doing simultaneously: college and fitness.
I joined an eight week boot camp and let me tell you – it is quite similar to real boot camp. Pete had to stay home the day after my first class because I could not move. Embarrassing, yes, and funny.
And college – online, that is. You’ll notice that none of my blog posts are grammatically correct and I’d like to keep it that way. But now that I’ve officially finished my first college course, I can say that I can write the right way, too. I wrote five essays over the course of eleven weeks and Pete really, really wants me to post them. They are not gems by any means, but these are things that I’m fond of and am proud of.
Essay One: (I got a B+ on this one)
(No title)
My perspective of life has been significantly changed by pain. Before pain I was a blissfully selfish person. My list of priorities was simple: me. It was easy to memorize and easy to maintain. What could others do for me? “Use ‘em or lose ‘em” was a phrase I used on many occasions. True responsibility was passed on to the nearest person. I had a good excuse for not doing something that was not convenient for me.
Then pain came. Cruel and unseen, it would attack seemingly at random. Sadness enveloped me and a fear of something I could not identify filled me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. As my chest became tighter, my breathing became more difficult. Sweat ran down my back, my hands became clammy, my legs ached and my thoughts ran wild. I had no control and no knowledge of how to combat such a shrewd enemy.
My job was affected, my husband was affected, my day-to-day life was affected so I recognized that I was going downhill fast. In desperation, I confided in a good friend who I thought could help me. They were inspired to give me the name of a man who changed my life forever.
In just a few minutes of my first meeting with him, my enemy was given a name: anxiety. Pssscht! Anxiety was for a weak person and I wasn’t weak. Now that I knew it was only anxiety, I told myself that I could handle it. I tried imagining myself as a duck – cool and calm in all the places people could see, and I would deal with the rest myself. But it didn’t work. I would lash out or break down without even a real trigger. Realizing that I didn’t want to feel this amount of crazy for the rest of my life I came to the conclusion that I, not even I, couldn’t conquer this on my own.
I made another appointment and crawled back to his office. I admitted it out loud, I was weak. But instead of agreeing with me, he told me that it wasn’t weak to ask for help. In fact, it was the opposite of weak; it was brave. A weak person refuses to admit when he needs help, and ends up sinking because of his pride.
After a while, I gained the necessary tools to overcome the anxiety that held me bound. I started to see my entire world differently and all the people in it. It was as though I had developed a lens of compassion and I yearned to serve those who could use a helping hand. It wasn’t just about me anymore – it couldn’t be. It had almost become my mission to find people who had the same difficulties that I was facing. And after finding them, I often felt an overwhelming desire to help them in what little ways I could. Life was fuller, richer, when I tossed my selfish priority list and opened my eyes and ears to those around me.
Having mastered my anxiety, my husband and I decided it was time to grow our family. We were so swallowed up in getting a house full of gear for an eight pound baby that I didn’t leave room for preparing to deliver that eight pound baby.
We thought we were ready when the day came to meet our little bundle of joy. Then the pain hit. Child birth is pain. Back labor is real pain. I’d heard stories about how pain was involved in delivering a baby and people tried to help me set expectations. They gave me advice in numerous forms to deal with the pain. I took classes with other very pregnant women where we watched movies and learned things like how to breathe funny. All these people told me that I would be okay.
They lied! I was not okay. Breathing funny did not help. The movies I watched did not help. The books I had read did not help. Verbally abusing my unprepared husband did not help. After 4 hours, I threw aside all the garbage that was mucking up my mind and cried for drugs. And guess what? They helped! Oh, those blessed drugs. I love modern medicine.
In fact, love kicked into high gear after my cry for drugs. I loved my anesthesiologist. I loved my husband again. I loved the moment I was in with my beloved family by my side. And then my beautiful little boy made his appearance. Love was not a good enough word to describe the feeling I had toward him. I thankfully found out after their affects had worn off, it was not just the drugs talking. The instant that I held my baby, the pain I had endured through labor and delivery did not matter anymore. And as time went on, it was all but forgotten. That’s why we grew our family a second time and probably will again.
My doctor used to joke that if men had the capability of giving birth, families would only have two children. The couple would each take a turn and then never again. I would laugh and say, “Wow, I haven’t thought of that before! It’s probably true!” But after having two of my own, I have to disagree. I think if that were the case, families would be even bigger. Maybe still not a big as the Duggar family. . . but I digress.
Love. If there is ever a greater teacher than pain, it is love. Yes, pain broke me down but it always passed. What remained was love. Love saw me through and guided me to a happier way of living. After mastering my anxiety I felt a renewed and stronger love toward my fellow man. It dawned on me that people were here together to work together and I finally wanted to join in. I learned that being human was a lovely way to be. Yes, I must add my signature in support of the old adage, “love conquers all.” It has changed my perspective in many splendid ways. It has molded me into a better wife, mother, daughter, sibling, and individual.
If I hadn’t experienced real pain, then I don’t think even now I would be the kind of person to handle real life. I think that is true of just about everyone. That can be said of love as well. If it was not for the real love shown to me from a compassionate counselor, a supportive husband and a sympathetic family I would not have the capability of loving my children the way I do.
I have accepted that pain is inevitable and will find me throughout my life. But I also know that it does not last. I can face the pain in whatever shape it takes, be it mistakes, worries, challenges or any other form because I have faced it before. I have faced it and I have beaten it, with love.
If I can continue to hold on to the love I’ve been blessed with and learn from what pain can teach me then I just may have something to show the next generation. Perhaps they will be able to correct the missteps they are destined to take and find greater meaning through what I can give them: love.
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