I went to Bible Study last night, my one night out per week, and proceeded to get all convicted. We were studying Ephesians, Chapter 4 which includes that all-so-important verse about not letting the sun go down on your anger. Ugh, right? Figures.

I got home and continued searching for an appropriate song to sing in church the first week of June. I continued to think and pray about everything that has been going on. Obviously, I do that a lot anyway, but was really praying for some kind of direction as opposed to just voicing my sadness. It’s funny how that works.

And then I remembered a book I bought the first summer after the Munchkin was born. I read about a chapter and a half, put it in the basket by my bed, and didn’t pick it up again until last night. I wiped four years of dust off the cover, found a comfortable spot in my bed and began reading.

And it’s time.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for “intense” healing at that point in my life. I had stopped drinking the Kool-Aid, of course. I knew that I was hurting. I knew that I needed healing. But I hadn’t even started to grasp the full reality of my pain. And that’s why I wasn’t ready. I just didn’t have an inkling of what I was missing in my daughter’s life. I didn’t have any idea how the boys’ births would change me as a mother and how they would change my grief each time. I didn’t know how having absolutely no control in a relationship would leave me feeling powerless and angry. And I didn’t know, just then, that you really have to hit low points before you absolutely have to force yourself to start clawing your way out.

These are the low points, no?

I remember buying the book and resonating with the title. The Heartache No One Sees. I was so new to all of this and I wasn’t yet sharing the news of my daughter with new friends. Her picture was not yet on our walls. I knew I was hurting but I was putting on a front for the rest of the world. And up until a few weeks ago, I found myself doing similar things. Putting up a front so the rest of the world didn’t know my hurt and pain. I did so to protect others. But mainly I did it to protect myself from my fears and my own sadness.

Well, let me tell you, that’s no way to heal. Trust me. Doesn’t work. Been there. Done it.

I’ve made it farther in the book this time than last time. I’m taking that as a sign that this is the right path for me to take right now. I’m going into this part of my journey fully aware of my hurt and pain. I’m not lying to myself (or to you, for example). Right now? This sucks. And I’m hurt. And I don’t want to hurt anymore. I’m not naive enough to think that reading this book will solve my problems. I’m also not naive enough to think that I will ever stop missing my daughter. But this is just another step I need to take right now.

I know not all of my readers are Christians. Sometimes I worry that sharing my faith and how it plays into my healing journey makes others uncomfortable. But that is never my intent. I’m being honest about my experience and what I need right now.

The pain that we experienced as children or in other relationships as we have grown casts long shadows over the present. It affects the choices we make and the way we respond to life, to God and to other.

Yeah. Got that. Trust me.

And now you know where I am this morning. Which is a vastly different place than even yesterday morning. I would have laughed you out of my house if you would have told me I would write this post this morning. Yet, here I am. Again, not happy. But working towards something.