Guest blog by Heather Lee-
“How did you get like this?”
My boyfriend’s ex-wife posed this question to me on the bank of an alpine lake. It was during one of our first attempts at doing something together with everybody. We were an alphabet soup of characters. Both new significant others were in attendance (cue Moi), as well as kids, friends, and pets from "before". Even our camping destination was ripe with decades of pre-divorce history and memories.
With her query, she referred to my willingness to engage with the messy situation. The turbulent river of emotions, uncertainties, and anxieties permeating the trip was undeniable. Yet there I was, cheerleading my way through it, checking in with all the players, giving a voice to the unspoken currents.
When she asked her question, I felt hazy about the answer. Internally I intuited that my approach was something special and positive. Externally I received compliments for my methods of navigating our complex scenario. But thus far, I hadn't considered how I became the person who was doing that. At that moment, several nerve-calming cocktails in, I sputtered an explanation to her. Supportive friends, meditation, therapy, books, and podcasts made me this way! But my response felt incomplete.
A Question to Ponder
In the days and weeks that followed, I replayed the conversation in my head. The reply I delivered didn’t feel quite right. All the things I listed were true. For instance, therapy has helped me. But somehow, it didn’t feel like the root cause answer. Over the subsequent six or so months, I repeatedly asked myself her question. How did I get like this?
To start this inquiry, I am compelled to first acknowledge that she was also committed to allowing our awkward scenario. She had extended the invitation for us to join the outing in the first place. The alchemy of the trip required us both to be high versions of ourselves. So, this isn’t a ‘me, me, me, I’m so wonderful’ commentary. It’s simply the view through my lens. All the participants worked together to accomplish our successful outing.
But back to her question. I interpret it to be one of the most beautiful and affirming utterances ever made to me. “How did you get like this?” was her conveying “I like who you are. I want some of that. I see you. I’m on my own journey too.” Her validation encouraged me to acknowledge to myself “I like who I am too. I have value to offer. Some of the proof of that value is right here in front of me. I’m doing a good job with this situation.”
Even with this acknowledgement though, the question itself persisted. How did I arrive at this situation secure enough to thrive and help others thrive at the same time? How did I promote collaboration, while also managing my own emotions and insecurities? (You know I had them!)
The Beginning
A glance at my personal history provides some insight. I was born and raised in a family unit that saw the world in black and white. The universe handed my parents a comical assignment, a child, me, who turned out to be very grey. In doing so, it also sentenced me to years and years (and years!) of self-doubt and questioning. Am I a good daughter? Is it important to be a good daughter? Will I suffer punishment for my life choices? Will I be a family-less and lonely
person? Should I diminish myself to fit in with their black-and-white worldview? Do my life’s accomplishments qualify me for respect? Does it matter that I’m a successful adult with a helping and professional career? With these questions and many more, I embarked on a 20-year (so far) journey to soothe my anxieties and find some answers.
Influences Along the Way
My profession (I’m an RN) has taught me uncountable life lessons. Beneath a curated life (picture fancy cars and tropical vacations), we are all equal. In a booty-baring hospital gown, with a scary diagnosis, there is no difference between a CEO and a laborer. Life is fragile and can change in a millisecond. In our moments of need, compassion is a universal elixir.
As my life flowed on, I made many seeming “mistakes”. For instance, I married and divorced (a major no-no in my family of origin). Then, I found myself a nearly full-time single Mom to a 2-year-old. There were no grandparents or other family nearby to help. The day-to-day aspects of that load were staggering, and hard years ensued. A crummy apartment, a long work commute, a child not thriving in daycare, an ex that made our lives harder, a car breakdown at the worst possible time, several stern rebukes at work about my “attendance problem” (kids in childcare get sick a lot!), the hits kept coming.
My oh my, those times were painful. A never-ending series of challenges hurtled my way. You know that phrase ‘sink or swim’? It turns out it’s possible to languish somewhere between, floundering at the surface for a long time. As the waves arrived, I navigated each challenge the best I could. Sometimes it felt like too much, so I cried or slept or imbibed or verbal-vomited to a friend. Then, after each breakdown, I faced a choice. Would I sink or would I keep trying to swim? And so, each time, I chose to get up, do the dishes, make myself presentable, and show up in my child and my lives. Over and over, life knocked me down, and over and over I stood up. This pattern, with some self-help and some counseling too, continued for years. There were good times during those years, but looking back, I group them mentally as “the hard years”.
An Uncomfortable Answer
This brings us to the simple, root-cause answer to the question she leveled. The hard years were also the growth years. It turns out it was pain that’s how I got like this. Pain prepared me to thrive in the complex emotional landscape of that camping trip. My exquisite pain, my patient’s pain, my child’s pain, my ex’s pain, my family’s pain, the world's pain, pain everywhere. It coaxed my willingness to try new (dare I say better?) ways of doing, thinking, and being. That pain was so unbearable, that it propelled my consumption of books, podcasts, meditation, and therapy. I tried anything I thought might make me feel better. And while I was trying to improve how I felt, the catalyst of pain accidentally grew who I was. All that bobbing at the surface promoted my personal growth in a way I never could have conjured without it.
To this day, her question is one of the most substantial compliments I’ve ever received. It represents the worthwhile outcome of so much pain. I feel a warm glow inside when I think back on it.
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