Garbage Disposal

The other day I saw that my husband had dumped a barrel of trash into our backyard. "It was full of water," he said. 

"But now our yard is full of trash," I said. 

"I'll clean it up," he said and he did, but I was already gone. How could this be the man I married? I seethed. Until that night when he coaxed our PTSD rescue dog in from the back yard, wet and shivering, toweled her off, rubbed her belly and stroked her ears until she grunted her strange alien purr, nuzzling his face into her neck and I thought, thank God this is the man I married.  

Like my husband I am capable of dumping garbage all over my backyard and then heroically rescuing the most precious thing in it. Often, inside of my one marriage I feel like two distinct people. When I'm the one person I can't imagine the thoughts or emotions or reasons behind the other. Crying and disappointment and pain seems distant and imaginary as if I'm remembering a dream that couldn't possibly be real. The sun shines bright and I can't believe my luck. 

And then the other me comes out. The me that has been crushed and wronged, that is under water and can't see the surface, that feels misunderstood, discounted and full of rage. The me that wants to fight, lash out and leave.

I'm trying to nail down the switch  that flips me from the one into the other and then back again. I'm trying to discover how I can eclipse the side of myself that wants me miserable and dead with the side that laughs hard, forgives easily and sees the light.

Of one thing I am at least certain. No matter who I'm with, I am still these two halves divided by my childhood, my parents and  my core  addictions. And it is my job to make me whole, not anyone else's.  I have to square off against me and face myself. And this is the hardest job of all. 

This weekend after many beautiful days strung together like pearls on a necklace, I could feel a storm moving in. I meditated and journaled and went to a yoga class far above my pay grade. I sweated and sobbed and let me move through me. When I returned home the  driving rain had turned into a quiet drizzle. I prayed and asked for help and tried not to pick a fight just to let off steam.  I sat with myself  until I passed on through. I'm learning what to do with my garbage instead of spreading it all over the yard. 

Valley Haggard2 Comments