New Normal

Hey Steph,
  Have you ever had a moment that you wish you could go back and redo? Like a car accident. The few times I've been in a car accident, I always think, "Man, that was so stupid. If I'd just put a little less pressure on the gas or double-checked my rear-view mirrors." Same thing goes with stubbing my toe. The agony of pain after stubbing a toe makes me regret the fact that I didn't practice my walking more studiously.
      While the lost money and the extreme physical pain of these two examples can make me want to get in the TARDIS and redo those moments, I've been thinking about bigger things that we do that cause sorrow in our lives. As you know (though not a ton of others know), four years ago I broke off an engagement to a boy I had dated for about a year. For months leading up to this called-off engagement, I felt trapped in a pit of despair created by uncertainty. Nearly every moment of every day I felt this weight on my chest, pushing down on my soul and eking out my store of hope. And when I finally figured out that I didn't want to get married to this particular amazing guy, I wasn't quite free from these feelings yet. It was as if this tear that had gone through my heart had also torn apart the reality of the world I lived in. Happiness was not something that I just had. I had to work for it now. Who I was seemed to be an undefinable entity: I didn't know. What or who was God? And what did He have to do with me and my broken life? I awoke each day to a shattered world all around me, and I worked to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of this world.
        Most days looked like this: I woke up. Felt that weight on my chest. Tried to push it aside with positive thoughts. Went to work. Threw myself in anything that distracted me from all the uncertainties and doubts in my head. Made it to my lunch break. Called Mom. Inevitably cried to her--and oftentimes whined to her. Went back to work. Flung myself into scripture study, grasping for any side pieces of my puzzle to help frame what God was and cling to the hope that that provided. Went to sleep. I repeated this practice every day for several months.

        During the course of all this, I often thought, "Why didn't I break up with him that one time I thought he was annoying when we'd only been dating for three weeks?" It's true that I thought about breaking up with him but it only lasted about four hours--and it was totally me running away from commitment. But whether it would have been a good idea or not, it didn't matter. I was where I was and wishing that I wasn't there wasn't going to change anything.
        I easily romanticize my past life. I think of my life before this happened, and I think of how sure I was in the world and in God. And it's true that I was, but it wasn't all bliss. That girl also hated her body and thought she was weak. She had no peace about the future either.
        My friend who works in physical therapy told me about a term they use in her profession. Many people she works with have gone through some event or disease that leaves them physically weakened. In many cases instead of talking about full recovery, they talk about reaching their new normal--a new level of physical capability that's not quite as capable as they use to be. When trying to work through trials, I've found this viewpoint to be helpful in moving forward. Instead of bemoaning my lost former self, I can accept what I am now--and the beauty of having seen the rough side of life is that you value all the good things more than your younger, less-tried self did. To keep with the physical therapy metaphor, you might have lost your ability to physically walk, but your tried soul can come out of this more full, knowledgeable, and compassionate. The trade-off of a scarred heart is strengthened character that you couldn't have gotten without the pain.
        To be honest, I'm still working on that jigsaw puzzle (It's huge and the pieces are tiny!), trying to put together those sections that are hard to distinguish one piece from another. Before the world shattered for me, I looked on it and it was gorgeous and full of light, but after I'm done putting it back together, one painstaking piece at a time, I think I'll look at it and cherish all those details--black, brown, gold, and green--that I worked tirelessly to fit inside the masterpiece.

Love you, Steph.

Cheers,

Amanda