The middle. For me, thinking about it or feeling to be in it have largely become commonplace. In my job as a professional mental health counselor, I often attempt to help guide people from less functional and more problematic extremes (e.g. aggression or passivity in communication) to healthier, more adaptable attitudes and behaviors somewhere closer to the middle between those two extremes (e.g. assertiveness). In my personal life, however, the concept of "the middle" is, and has been, much more complex and elusive. On the one hand, the middle is good, adequate or at least preferable to the alternatives. For example, being in the middle class, somewhere in the median American family income means we are not homeless and do not go hungry. Having more might be nice, but the middle is more than sufficient. In other situations, however, being in the middle is quite undesirable. Whether it is being in the middle of two warring family members or trying to make a decision between two equally disagreeable options, some middles are uncomfortable and even downright painful.
I often feel that I am attempting to escape a middle where, by involuntary inclusion, I feel stuck. Or, that I am hanging in the balance in a limbo-like state of "maybe, maybe not" or "wait" I am referring here not so much to typical, natural transitions (e.g. kids moving out, aging parents) or the state we often find ourselves in when we are attempting to make a change in our life (e.g. getting married, apply for a new job). Those are tough and stressful enough, indeed. The events and circumstances I am speaking of here, nevertheless, are ones which are not by our own creation and, without a doubt, not expected. They keep me landing in this wearisome middle when a definitive "yea" or a "nay" would be preferable. There is a unique agony in limbo. What starts out as a potent sense of hanging on for dear life hoping for the desired outcome gradually, insidiously morphs into the need to know born out of desperation and often, exhaustion. A point comes when the loathsome final blow is preferred to ongoing, seemingly never ending indefinite suspension. Relentless hope turns to weary surrender. The relief can come as a surprise, such as when I finally accepted that my brief marriage to my ex-husband, my college sweetheart of nearly ten years, was truly over. The simultaneous experience of devastation and relief. An end and a beginning. It is nearly impossible to explain.
I didn't really start consciously thinking in terms of 'the middle' until my now dear husband of 16 years, Scott, labeled our seemingly frequent unwelcome, emotionally draining and usually painful circumstances as such. The "almost but not quites", the "maybes but not yets" and the "hurry up and waits". "Once again, we are in the middle", he would say. This is especially bothersome and heartbreaking when a potential blessing we weren't even seeking gets dangled in front of us, like the proverbial carrot, only to seemingly be snagged away just as we go to excitedly reach for the unexpected treat. A tease of sorts.
A spirit of gratitude does help. My family and I, husband Scott and 13-year old daughter Mandy, are committed Christians. I believe in a loving God who has His Hand on me and is aware of my sufferings. He allows them and sustains me. I trust Him. Still, as a therapist, I am not inclined to spiritualize away the reality of my difficulties and subsequent feelings. Many a frustrated Christian has sought out counseling simply because platitudes and bible passages were not what they needed. Although true and ultimately helpful, what they needed was someone to acknowledge their pain and be able to sit with them in it.
So, I praise and thank God for all of the mercy, grace and favor he has granted me. As for my own challenges, losses and disappointments, in addition to loving support and time spent periodically seeing my own therapist, one thing that really helps me is writing. Sometimes I write about what took place as the situation unfolded but I more often write in other forms, such as a poem, or in a third person narration. I enjoy writing and have found it not only assists in my grieving, healing or decision-making process, it also frequently cues me to important details I might not otherwise be aware. For instance, when I have significant difficulty writing regarding something I truly want to write about, it usually means there is something crucial getting in the way, unforgiveness, unspoken words, misunderstanding or that it is either too soon to write or that I need to approach it from a different angle. On the flip side of that, sometimes the words pour out of me, the rhymes flow easily and I feel tremendous peace at the end. This usually indicates to me a sense of closure. Any work that was needed is likely done and I have found peace and acceptance with the situation. This is a marvelous and liberating feeling. This happened when I wrote a poem about the rise, life and demise of my first marriage. It was a surprise and really moved me along in my healing process.
The middle. The uncomfortable, uncertain, sometimes grievous, sometimes disappointing, always annoying middle. Regarding our legally-blind, vision-impaired daughter, it's that she's not blind enough to be blind, but not sighted enough to be sighted. She is not impaired enough to get treatment, not well enough to not need it. Two lost pregnancies meant being pregnant enough to have created new human beings, not pregnant enough to meet those human beings. The upcoming posts are poems, stories, thoughts and humor from the vantage point of life in the middle. My life in the middle. Healing, humor, frustration, loss and faith will all be embraced, These will not necessarily be shared in a chronological order, or any order at all. I believe whim and The Holy Spirit will be my guide.
These are my experiences. Moments. Weeks. Sometimes years, teetering on the brink of the middle.
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