Over the last few months, I have felt a lot of anger. Towards the women who get pregnant with ease (those who can’t even take care of themselves, let alone a baby). Towards my doctors (who I felt strongly let me down). And towards my mother (who no one would ever argue, did let me down).
Anger directed on a thousand different courses for a thousand different reasons.
But, I have not allowed myself to rage against God. I have not given myself permission to be angry at Him, since that seemed to be a feeling that would be in direct violation of my belief that He always has a plan, and that sometimes His plan is actually better than mine.
Being angry at God, would have felt like saying I no longer believed that.
Instead, I have been avoiding.
I have been avoiding church.
I have been avoiding the bible.
And I have been avoiding God.
That avoidance hasn’t stemmed from anger though. Instead, it has stemmed from an inability to connect. To anyone. With anything.
The first few weeks after finding out my cycle had failed, I really struggled. But not in the way most people would have expected. I got up and went to work every day. I took on projects around the house. I spent time with friends. I rarely cried.
I propelled myself forward, hoping to avoid an inevitable crash.
In the interim though, I wasn’t feeling anything. It was almost as if I was living inside a plastic bubble. The conversations I was having, the things I was seeing, and the interactions that were taking place; they all felt muted. As though I was watching everything within my life occur from the outside.
I was on auto-pilot. Attempting merely to get through; by whatever means necessary.
My ability to truly commit myself to anything or anyone was damaged. I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything that was going on around me. I was simply numb.
As the numbness began to fade and the cloud cover I had been living under started to rise, I had to face the reality of the situation. And there were tears. Endless tears. Suddenly – everything hurt. In a pungent and visceral way that I can’t even adequately explain.
And that was where Dr. Headshrink stepped in. Helping me to connect again. To put the pieces back together. To find my way back... to me.
In all this rebuilding and learning to stand up on my own two feet again though, I still haven’t picked my bible back up.
I still haven’t gone to church.
And I still haven’t leaned fully on God.
I have prayed, but perhaps in a wholly superficial way. Reciting the same words over and over again night after night.
“Please, just get me through. Please, just get me through. Please, just get me through.”
The relationship has been altered though. A one way communication likely on both ends; where it feels as though I have tuned Him out. I have stopped listening. Stopped hearing. Stopped giving.
I have been avoiding.
In many ways, the interaction has been much the same in all of my relationships. I went through a phase there where I just couldn’t connect with anyone. Where I just couldn’t make myself feel anything.
The difference is that as I have let those other connections slowly back into my life (and I have allowed myself to slowly wade back into a world of hope and excitement for this future cycle); I have kept my relationship with God muted.
Like a bratty teenager who refuses to turn down the music when her parents are talking to her.
I have continued to tune God out.
And in many ways, I’m not sure how to break the silence.
It has been a struggle.
But tomorrow, I am going to start trying again.
I am going to force myself out of bed.
I am going to shower.
I am going to dress in my Sunday finest (or jeans and a t-shirt, because you know; my church is cool like that).
And I am going to attempt to reconnect.
Tomorrow I am returning to church.
After a hiatus that has now lasted 3 months. A disconnect that may not be so easy to repair.
But I’m going to try.
Because I feel Him calling me. Every day. Beckoning me to return. To forgive.
And to trust in His plan.
ADSPACE
