Pink Story: Loved Ones Care

I had never had any kind of surgery before.  The most extensive of my hospital visits was stitches when I was 7 and birthing my children.  

I was going to have surgery.  I was terrified.  I struggled to envision how they were going to do it and even though I knew it would be fine.  I thought about and worried about it all the time. Of course I didn’t say anything about my thoughts and worries.  Sometimes speaking about them makes them more real.  If I didn’t say anything, I could pretend it would be okay.  

Sunday rolled around.  I didn’t want to go to church.  I didn’t want to talk to anyone.  I didn’t want to pretend all was okay and I didn’t want to make a big deal about the fact that it might not be.  I held it together until the music began and I attempted to sing.  Then I cried.  I cried and cried.  I couldn’t stop crying.  I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t sad.  I was just feeling the weight and had no choice but to let go.

Of course, my tears brought sincere questions from everyone who saw me and I answered honestly. I realized this place, this church, is a place where people care about me.  It's not pretend.  I need to learn to accept it.  I need to learn to let go and receive.  I’ve seemingly held myself up for so long that I have to practice letting go and letting others hold me up.  I stink at letting others help me.  

It could be because I think I’m strong enough.  I made it through my parents divorce, the miscarriage of my first baby, people attacking me with lies, financial struggles, sleepless nights. . . .  I had come to think I was unbreakable.  And if something was breaking me, I needed to keep it to myself because other people don’t really want to hear about it, they can’t or don’t want to help.  They have their own problems, why would they want to take on mine as well?  I had convinced myself that other people did’t want to hear about my problems and that I was strong enough to handle them by myself.  I didn’t want to burden anyone else.  What if they have their own problems and adding mine is just too much?  What if they don’t care and are only pretending?  What if one day they use this weakness against me?  

Unfortunately, I have not learned any of these lessons.  I don’t  speak my mind, I don’t ask for help, I don’t tell people when I don’t feel well.  I just put my head down and keep walking.  My tears gave me away in this instance and I felt comforted by loved ones.  If only I could learn to let go more often and let others in to comfort me, I would probably feel much more free.