Loneliness

As I sat at my kitchen table, laptop humming and warm underneath my hands and fingers lightly tapping the keys without making any definitive decision as to which letter to press first, I discovered speaking about loneliness and my loneliness eluded me.  Yet it was there, churning and contracting and constricting inside of me like a deep muscular knot.  And will still be there after I have clicked the publish button.  My loneliness shying away from the limelight reminded me of an Emily Dickinson poem:


The Loneliness One dare not sound --
And would as soon surmise
As in its Grave go plumbing
To ascertain the size --

The Loneliness whose worst alarm
Is lest itself should see --
And perish from before itself
For just a scrutiny --

The Horror not to be surveyed --
But skirted in the Dark --
With Consciousness suspended --
And Being under Lock --

I fear me this -- is Loneliness --
The Maker of the soul
Its Caverns and its Corridors
Illuminate -- or seal --     


I've discovered that loneliness does not want to be known or spoken about.  It wants to remain secret and unspoken, simmering just under the surface of my skin.  I've also discovered that loneliness is a really good seamstress.  It weaves within my tapestry the lies that I am alone.  That I am the only one who feels this way.  That no one will understand me.  That no one will love me with the loneliness I feel.  That everyone will leave me if I'm not who they want me to be.

That doesn't mean I am never happy or don't feel joy.  Also being single doesn't automatically mean you are carrying loneliness.  I have been in good, healthy relationships and still felt lonely.  I have been surrounded by people and still felt lonely.  I think that's another one of loneliness's threads - it makes us believe it looks a certain way, distracting us from what's really behind the curtain.

The only way I have figured out to combat my loneliness is to speak about it.  But it's hard. It is hard to say that you are lonely if you are a woman.  Because sometimes it happens that as soon as you've gathered up the strength and courage to address your enigmatic house guest and as soon as the words stumble across the threshold of your lips, people will want to fix it.  Like a tear in the kitchen wall paper.  They will scramble to get their glue and patches and quickly put the wall paper back were it belongs, glowing with pride at their accomplishments, all the while forgetting that I was the one who peeled back the paper to begin with.  Forgetting I wanted them to look beyond the paper into the structure of my home.  For they can't fix it. It is not one persons whole responsibility to sweep in and Deus Ex Machina.  I wanted them to see it, see me, and still love me.

It's also hard because we have raised our daughters and women so well to care for the needs of others, placing their family and partners first that they don't know how to speak their needs.  As much as women are needed, we don't want them to have needs or to reversely need others.  We want to be strong, not needy.  We drown ourselves in tending to the needs of others, in needing to be needed, without having to have needs ourselves.  So not only do we not know exactly how to ask for our needs but we also feel extremely guilty and selfish.

And if I am going to be completely honest, I think another reason it's hard (at least for me) can be summed up in the beginning line of anther Emily Dickinson poem:

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness --
I'm so accustomed to my Fate --


I don't know if that sentiment is me or the loneliness or both.  I'm not exactly sure whose threads are whose in my tapestry, and maybe part of me is afraid of what I will look like without it since it has been so long - I'm not sure what I would look like.  Or who would still love me.

And yet, even now, even in light of the loneliness I have confessed, I want to be done with this burden.  And all lonely people are asking you to do is see us.  And if you feel extra kind, to reach out a hand, gently feel the rough and jagged edges of where we tore away the wall paper and lovingly call it a beautiful broken and let it remain. 

Then someday we will show you a new room.

Love in What You Leave

The coffee shop was filled with the expected Saturday afternoon buzz.  It was April 30th. My mother's birthday, and it was lovely and temperate. The windows were open, allowing the unfiltered sounds of the city to pour in with the breeze. 

Some caffeine seeking cliental walked in and out, ordering their espressos and iced lattes and some snatched up any available real-estate they could. I had arrived early to insure we had a spot.  The only available one was a small round table, close to the register.  I set my hot tea down after trying (and failing) to sip it without burning my mouth and the table teetered ever so slightly, squeaking loudly in protest to my liquid burden.

He had arrived ten minutes ago, ordered his drink, and joined me.  I braced the table, trying to muffle its protestation.  Immediately he had begun to talk about....I can't even remember.  This was the café in which we first met which is why I had picked it.  As a theatre artist I enjoyed the poetic symmetry it established.  As he talked, I wondered if he noticed or would notice, since he heralded himself a great theatre artist.  Since it wasn't really about him, I doubted he would. 

Stopping himself, he asked himself what he was talking about and why, and then asked what I wanted to talk about.

I pulled a deep breath in, gathering as much strength from the sweet, warm spring air as I could and looked him straight in the eyes.  I let my heart peek out from behind the walls I had built in order to protect it from him. 

I said that we were done "seeing" each other, or whatever term ambiguous term we were using. 

I said that I had loved him.

He opened his mouth to begin what he would do - tell me I was wrong and manipulate my emotions with his words to eventually make this all my fault. Make me look and feel stupid. Small. Weak. Unwanted.

I cut him off, my tone slicing through his words.  I said this was my truth and he could not tell me what it was I felt. 

I said I did love him, but that if this is what love looks like, I want no part of it anymore.  I said he no longer gets to touch me. He no longer gets to use me. He no longer gets to make me feel little and insignificant.

He told me he wanted to be friends.  He told me he cared about me.  He told me that he wouldn't have come here at all if he didn't care about me.

Guilt began to rise from my heart up into the back of my throat like bile.

I swallowed.

I said if he really cared about me, he would have ended it with me when he wanted to see other people rather than cheating on me.  I said if he cared, he wouldn't be trying to make me feel guilty.  I said if he cared he wouldn't have been such an asshole.  And I said that I didn't want to see what friendship looked like if this was how he did relationships.

But I couldn't stop there.  For months I rooted through myself looking for the weeds he planted in me.

I found the one that said being in an unhealthy relationship was better than nothing, and I told it that it was wrong. And pulled.

I found the one built on loneliness, that cultivating the lies that I was alone, isolated, and no one understood me.  The one that told me the best way to fix it was to ignore it. I told it no, and pulled.

I found one with that said I was worthless and unlovable, one that was able to grow deep roots from all the years of memories from other people doing and telling me the same. I told it no, that it was bullshit. And pulled.

I found the one that told me it was all my fault, and that I deserved this.  And I told it to shut the fuck up.

Thing is, this garden which flourished under his care was not originally planted by him.  It had been tilled and tended for years of people saying directly or indirectly that my worth as woman was tied up and summed to a romantic relationship.  What he encouraged to grow were seeds dropped from the words of people assuring me that God's faithfulness to me would be evident in me having a someone.  And each person who would nod their heads in agreement that singleness is a gift but then want no part of it, who wanted to cure my singleness with their grandsons, made me feel like I was worthless and unlovable.  This garden was able to grow because we as a Church spend so much time telling women to be in relationships rather than telling them how God loves them, just as they are.  We don't face the actual pain of their loneliness, their additions, their insecurities, and their failures.  We would rather don't teach our girls and women to love themselves with the love that God has for them, which beckons us to leave our Egypts behind.  I'm not trying to place blame on one person or one group of persons - the responsibility for our neglect is all of our to bear and wrestle with.

It was hard.  I thought many times it would break me. There were moments when I almost went back because having something (even something unhealthy and destructive) seemed better than having to learn to love myself.  But with time, tons of tears, and a wonderful therapist, I was able to leave them behind. 

And any time they grow back, I pull them up again and leave them, some easier than others.  You see, I leave these things, this relationship and even harmful friendships, because no matter how deep these lies get planted in me have grown, deeper still was God's love for me.  And I am only able to leave not because of my own strength or because I innately understand my value but rather because of God's steadfast love for me.  A love that wants me to leave Egypt, to leave behind the things that weigh me down and the lies that keep me enslaved.  A love that wants me to find healing and wholeness in ways that may hurt but that are truth-filled and healthy.

Beloved sisters who are reading this and struggling, you are worth being loved.  It is not your fault. You are not alone. You don't have to be perfect and you don't have to pretend to be perfect.  You are loved, and I pray that you trust in God enough to start loving yourself by leaving the garbage behind.