Sweet Streams in a Valley

Is it appropriate to relate parts of this journey to a valley? Well, I suppose I get to decide. Please, let me explain.

The word valley is symbolic of two polar opposite ideas. One, it can be representative of fertility, life, abundance, new growth, etc. But two, having grown up in the church, valley has traditionally (in my life) been symbolic for a darker season that one must walk through.

My idea of valley is in a current state of evolution from the second idea into the first.

I am in a dark valley.

If you’re like me, you plan things out. Maybe you don’t always put physical things in place to carry out that plan, but you at least have an idea of “how” something is supposed to happen. I do that with almost everything, but I definitely did that with pregnancy, childbirth, and the first few months of my daughter’s life. I had already solidified my expectations well before Violet ever arrived. But, of course, most of those things never came to pass or looked very, very different from my plan.

I was supposed to have a rosey, uneventful pregnancy.

I was supposed to exercise regularly, eat healthy meals all the time, and take the requisite pictures as my bump grew.

I was supposed to have regular exams and to see clear 3D images of our baby.

I was supposed to have an unmedicated, natural, term birth.

I was supposed to bring home baby a few days after birth.

I was supposed to be able to hold my baby.

I was supposed to be able to breastfeed my baby.

I was supposed to be able to sleep while my baby sleeps.

My baby was supposed to be able to breathe.

My baby was supposed to be able to feed.

My baby was supposed to be able to hear my voice.

The list goes on.

I didn’t quickly learn to throw my expectations out the window, evolve, adapt, and go about my happy go lucky self. No. Instead, as my expectations were snatched from me, so went my feet right out from under me.

There was no choosing this. But this is where I find myself. On my bottom, in a valley and the sun is not here to light my way.

It all happened so fast.

I did not have a rosey, uneventful pregnancy.

I did not exercise regularly, eat healthy meals all the time, and take the requisite pictures as my bump grew.

I did not have regular exams or see clear 3D images of our baby.

I did not have an unmedicated, natural, term birth.

I did not bring home baby a few days after birth.

I did not hold my baby for a long time.

I do not breastfeed my baby.

I do not sleep while my baby sleeps.

My baby was unable to breathe.

My baby was unable to feed.

My baby is unable to hear my voice.

My baby has struggles.

My baby needed and will need more surgery.

I do not love Violet any less for these things, but I grieve what I thought motherhood would be like. Whether the notion of having expectations of motherhood is good, bad, or indifferent is irrelevant. I had expectations and this looks nothing like what I thought. And that begets grief. I repeat- this does not mean I love my child any less. It simply complicates the emotions.

I also grieve that Violet was dealt these cards in life. I grieve that she will have to navigate a different world amongst ours. I grieve that she will need more surgeries. I grieve that she will need chronic blood transfusions to stay alive.

I worry that I will fall short. I worry that I will not be able to communicate with her effectively. I worry that she will be in pain and not understand what is going on or why we have to go to the hospital so often. I worry that other kids will not accept her and her differences. I worry that she will feel less than. And then I grieve that these are even worries in the first place.

Worries and grief feel like dark valleys. They feel like dark emotions. Dark emotions are something I have been conditioned from a young age to run away from. There is so much unknown in the dark and like with any darkness, it is scary to not be able to see. What I can see, I can plan for (or at least I am under that illusion), so to not be able to see makes me feel out of control. If I can see in the dark, I can control how I feel and prepare for how to respond.

I can attribute (at least in part) this way of coping to a significant event in my life.

When I was a kid I was notably terrified of thunderstorms. My dad knew this well. After all, many nights during a storm I would rush into my parent’s bedroom, make a “pallet” on the floor, and sleep right next to their bed. One day, my dad decided to take me for a drive in the middle of the night, in the middle of an intense lightning storm. He tried explaining to me how amazing the weather was, how cool and exciting the lighting was. That night we even saw a bolt of lightning hit a transformer, exploding it into a cluster of sparks. Somehow in that scenario I learned to fear storms less if only I was able to see what was going on outside. It was OK that the lightning was doing its thing, as long as it wasn’t affecting me. And, if it came close to affecting me, because I could see the storm I felt that I could control the outcome for myself. I developed this false sense that I could predict what would happen in an otherwise unpredictable situation and therefore I could make decisions to keep myself safe.

This manifested throughout my adult years as well. I can specifically remember a time when I lived in Pennsylvania and there was a gnarly thunderstorm blowing through. Being from Florida, the storms in Pennsylvania didn’t really ever come close to the intensity, but this one was different. I was home alone and remember being so scared inside the house that I went out on the balcony and looked at the sky. I saw swirling, ominous clouds which terrified me further. I decided I did not want to stay in the house, so I got in my car and I drove (thinking back to that time when dad took me for a drive) to the most secure location I could think of. I drove to the parking garage at the mall where I worked. I found out later that night that a tornado had struck the area about 2-3 miles from my house which destroyed a number of homes. My method of handling situations like this was reinforced. If only I am able to see… I can find a way to be safe before the disaster unfolds. I can control the outcome.

This notion has somehow bled into my emotional life. If I can control the situation, I can control what emotions I feel. I can avoid destruction from emotional storms. Emotional storms for me are the dark, unpleasant emotions that arise from situations that I cannot control. When the uncontrollable happens in life, there is no going outside, no driving to the nearest parking garage for cover, no false illusion of safety that can be conjured or fabricated to insulate you from unpleasant emotions. I cannot see clearly. I cannot predict what emotions I will feel. In the middle of the emotional storm I feel so out of control and it is impossible to position myself to feel safe. I don’t like it. I want to make it stop. I want to avoid the emotional storms. If I can’t make myself feel safe in the middle of the emotional storm, well then, I suppose I must prevent the emotional storm in the first place. I must position myself and my life to avoid situations that will birth emotional storms.

Well, guess what self… it ain’t going to happen. Life is unpredictable and much of it you cannot control.

Here inlies another problem. I am so used to harboring the notion that I can control the uncontrollable things in my life that I start to blame myself for the uncontrollable. I wonder if it is a test that I need to pass and that if I do, I will stop being tested in these unpredictable and uncontrollable ways. If I could just grasp what the test is trying to teach me, then the test will be over. I beat myself up about the fact that I didn’t already know the answers to the test so that I could avoid the test altogether. I wonder how I could have acted differently to avoid the situation, the descending darkness.

I have to take a minute and introduce you to a book that puts words to this darkness in a way that I never understood until reading it. The book is called Learning to Walk in the Dark by NYT best selling author Barbara Brown Taylor. She explains:

When the dark night first falls, it is natural to spend some time wondering if it is a test or punishment for something you have done. This is often a sly way of staying in control of the situation, since the possibility that you have caused it comes with the hope that you can also put an end to it, either by passing the test or by enduring the punishment.

I had never looked at this feeling of being “tested” or “punished” as a way of grasping at control. And the reality is.. there is nothing, nothing I could have done to keep any of the hard parts of this season of life from happening. Nothing I could have done to make the universe deal a different hand to Violet. And so, here I am in an uncontrollable situation dealing with my unwanted, unpleasant dark emotions.

The situation is out of my control. It is out of my hands. All I can do is sit and learn. Learn about myself and the inner workings of my own heart. Learn about my relationship with my “dark” emotions and hopefully start to release what I cannot control. To realize that when I try to control the uncontrollable I miss out on small, beautiful moments in life, too. I want to learn to live in the moment regardless of the negativity and realize that darkness is the backdrop for some of the most intense transformations. Take a growing baby in the mother’s womb. Take a seed in the soil. Take the entirety of the universe. Darkness is transformative, but you have to stop trying to expel it by turning on all the lights. Just let it be. Feel. Cry. Surrender. Grow.

A stream still runs through a valley at night. It doesn’t stop because the sun ceases to shine and night falls. And by the way, you can’t make the sun come up any faster. You have to endure what you have to endure- the uncontrollable. And, like the darkness in a valley at night shares space with a life giving stream, you can find yourself shrouded in grief and worry about the unknown (darkness) while simultaneously experiencing the joys in life. I think the key is to stop trying to make darkness go away. Stop trying to control the uncontrollable.

It doesn’t make you ungrateful, regretful, or a negative person to acknowledge the “dark” (the uncontrollable, unwanted aspects) in the midst of the most profound times of your life. It makes you human.

I grieve my lost expectations, but I am learning to let go of the control that formed those expectations in the first place. I am learning to let go of my panic in the darkness and instead to sit, listen, and feel the sweet streams that still roam through the valley when night has fallen upon it.

Some call this looking for the silver lining. Whatever you want to call it, in looking for it, don’t run from the cloud.. or the dark.. or the uncomfortable. Don’t close your eyes and pretend that the cloud/dark/uncomfortable doesn’t exist. Don’t waste your time thinking you could have done anything to control it. As badly as you may not want the sun to set, it will set from time to time. You will find yourself in darkness and while you sit there in the uncomfortable unknown, listen for the sweet stream and know it is still working tirelessly under the cover of darkness to bring healing, growth, transformation, and relief. But you have to be still. You have to quiet your soul. You have to stop anxiously pacing and dwelling on how you can bring back the sun when this moment is meant to be experienced in darkness by the stream.

Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe. Acknowledge your grief and worry while resting by the sweet stream and the night will pass.

Namaste