I have used the analogy that life is like a roller coaster quite often, the parallels are obvious, you get some highs, you get some lows, you get thrown for a loop quite regularly, sometimes you are exhilarated, some times you want to throw up, sometimes you are terrified. I have found a new roller coaster analogy. Sometimes momentum is not enough to get you up the next hill after you've swung through a deep chasm, that's when some added strength is needed, you need that chain to help pull it up to the next peak.
The Deepest Dive
If you are in a valley right now, I encourage you to find those safe, external supports that can be the strength you need right now, who can help support you to the next peak....because it's there, better times are waiting for you just over that next hill.
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The Deepest Dive
Fertility has been my 10 year long roller coaster ride. The same roller coaster every time, waiting to be able to finally get off, move on and graduate to the mother of all roller coasters. There were moments that one or both of us weren't even in the cart, so to speak, but finally in 2012, both my husband and I were in and buckled up for the ride, and having him beside me as we started along these tracks again renewed my hope! The lows were spent in anticipation of the highs, and in the loops we clung to each other and felt safe throughout. It was more than centrifugal forces keeping us glued to each other, there was a new, industrial-strength bond holding us together and it made the ride so much more wonderful than before, more than I had ever imagined.
Not even a year later, our ride took us to a pinnacle we hadn't reached before. Maybe it was the exhilaration, maybe it was the high altitude, but we were euphoric. This was it. This had to be it. Only a few weeks along and we were sure, after all we had overcome to get to this unified place, it had to be it. Until unexpectedly the ride dive bombed into a spiral downwards. Gravity had no mercy on us, and as we sunk into the lowest valley I had that familiar sickening disassociation of leaving my heart and stomach to free fall behind me.
At first I tried to do what I had done before. These early moments of 'pretty sure' that made me soar, hitting these pinnacles 4 times before, only to then sink to the deepest lows.. Some times I told him after the fact, some I didn't tell him at all. Each time I tried to spare him, or maybe myself. I had trouble understanding what had happened and the abyss it left me in, I didn't want him to have to feel it too. But I also worried that maybe he wouldn't feel it at all, and that possibility hurt even more. I didn't really tell anyone else either, not sure if sharing would make it more real, or less real, so I swallowed my screams and chugged back up the next hill as best I could.
But this time, I was not alone in that cart, and I could not hide my despair from the mirror who was glued to my side. And then, I knew I didn't have to. Every thing I felt he felt too. That made it easier and harder all at once. I didn't have to wonder if this was normal to feel so much pain. But I did have to see the heart break on the face of the one I love most. When we hit the bottom and embraced, it was the most beautiful intersection of pain and love I've ever known. And even though the abyss was still there, I had an anchor.
The Persistent Pull
Not even a year later, our ride took us to a pinnacle we hadn't reached before. Maybe it was the exhilaration, maybe it was the high altitude, but we were euphoric. This was it. This had to be it. Only a few weeks along and we were sure, after all we had overcome to get to this unified place, it had to be it. Until unexpectedly the ride dive bombed into a spiral downwards. Gravity had no mercy on us, and as we sunk into the lowest valley I had that familiar sickening disassociation of leaving my heart and stomach to free fall behind me.
At first I tried to do what I had done before. These early moments of 'pretty sure' that made me soar, hitting these pinnacles 4 times before, only to then sink to the deepest lows.. Some times I told him after the fact, some I didn't tell him at all. Each time I tried to spare him, or maybe myself. I had trouble understanding what had happened and the abyss it left me in, I didn't want him to have to feel it too. But I also worried that maybe he wouldn't feel it at all, and that possibility hurt even more. I didn't really tell anyone else either, not sure if sharing would make it more real, or less real, so I swallowed my screams and chugged back up the next hill as best I could.
But this time, I was not alone in that cart, and I could not hide my despair from the mirror who was glued to my side. And then, I knew I didn't have to. Every thing I felt he felt too. That made it easier and harder all at once. I didn't have to wonder if this was normal to feel so much pain. But I did have to see the heart break on the face of the one I love most. When we hit the bottom and embraced, it was the most beautiful intersection of pain and love I've ever known. And even though the abyss was still there, I had an anchor.
The Persistent Pull
The momentum of life barely allowed us pause, and the push to move forward was persistent. But we were resistant. We did not want to leave that grief behind so quickly and easily. We resisted the pull to the next peak, and while I was grateful I could see there was another peak, I wasn't ready to move out of the valley yet.
After that deepest of dives, I needed a pause. I still felt my insides had not fully come out of free fall yet. My heart had barely landed but with a tremendous thud, feeling about 10 lbs heavier sitting weighty in my chest. I still felt this hollow pit in my core, but it was more than that, it felt vacant where just days before it had not. How that was possible I couldn't quite grasp. The physical void was infinitesimal, but add to that the weight of love, joy, hope, anticipation of both of us, well the expansive abyss I was feeling was no longer just external but internal as well.
It is exhausting, resisting the forward momentum, and the weight of two heavy hearts in that cart just made it seem so tiring to face chugging back up the next hill. We finally realized that our uplifting would have to come from sources outside ourselves.
The Hope of Help
The Hope of Help
It was something we may not have done so quickly had we not been in such a state. Only at our weakest do we recognize our limits and the purpose of community. To grab ahold of that chain pulling us up the next peak which we have no strength to do on our own. We haven't always had people in our lives we could trust with the chain. They've spoken empty words leaving us more hurt than before we shared. There were times we thought certain people might be uplifting but after trusting the chain in their hands they let it go, and we slid back into the valley.
This time was different though. We had found safer people, and they came through for us. When we opened up authentically about our hurts and our needs, they showed up how we needed them to. And the next time we felt that upwards tug, on that next peak was gathered those we reached out to, and they started to pull that chain, lifting us up that hill. They got us to the next peak, and then through a few more valleys and peaks since.
If you are in a valley right now, I encourage you to find those safe, external supports that can be the strength you need right now, who can help support you to the next peak....because it's there, better times are waiting for you just over that next hill.
Save to Pinterest to bookmark this post for future reading.