There were so many times in my life when I felt completely overwhelmed. Stuck in a situation I felt I could not figure out what was best for me. Confused and burdened by the weight of it all. Acutely aware of the heavy pit in my stomach and, paradoxically, the light headedness. Often these moments seem to happen in slow motion and the first thing that comes to mind is begging and pleading to be on the other side of the pain, or confusion, or anger, or sadness. An outburst of anger, or streaming tears usually follow, most often in a quiet place, alone. The feeling of being completely alone often engulfs me, followed by a barrage of internal dialogue telling myself to get over it, I surely cannot be so unique that no human before me felt this way. Then, thankfully, kinder words like ‘stay in the moment and cry it out, it will make you will feel better’ quickly replace the ‘buck up’ thoughts. This is often what hitting a brick wall feels like for me.
I wish I could tell you that I crush my brick walls or leap over them once my emotions subside. I find it’s usually not so simple or linear in nature. I often ask myself what is the lesson—what is the point to my struggle—bargaining with the powers at be for immediate answers. Then I breathe. Deep breaths, as the tears stream down. In these moments I am reminded that life is not supposed to be easy or simple. Answers have to be worked out and discovered with time. I tell myself that I have never been left disappointed by my life lessons, that answers are often revealed to me sooner rather than later during ‘ah-ha’ moments. I tell myself three things: to trust the process, trust the process, trust the process. Then I beg for sleep. The physical toll of hitting a brick wall can be exhausting.
“…after I’ve stabilized myself, I find the ore to paddle forward. Often the strokes are short and weak, but nevertheless forward is my direction…”
I do not deal with issues on my own, despite the initial shock or seemingly isolating feeling of the situation. I eventually confide in people I believe can best understand and comfort me. Sometimes I talk at nauseam, repeating myself, reviewing every possible scenario I can fathom—other times I sit in silence listening to the other person trying their best to guide or console me. The path to clarity is often not a straight one. Sometimes steps have to be retraced and the road can be rocky.
A passage in a good book, an inspiring quote on social media, a kind word, the warmth of the sunshine on my face while I’m driving, or a hug from my kids are just a few ways these guiding lights point me in the right direction. This is when I dig deep and connect to my inner most strength. This is when I ‘trust the process’ because surrendering to it can be so comforting. I don’t always find the answers to my problem during these moments but instead I find the strength to persevere, to stay afloat.
Eventually, after I’ve stabilized myself, I find the ore to paddle forward. Often the strokes are short and weak, but nevertheless forward is my direction, in the end guided by my best compass—my intuition. I truly believe I will be better on the other side of it all, and with this thought I’m guided to make the right decision. How do I know it’s right? Because whatever I decide in the end the brick wall has been removed and the lesson, or the consequence, is mine to face. I discover that the strength to deal with whatever happens is well within my capabilities, grounded by my years of experience, and padded by the support that I receive by those that care for me most. This is the most exhilarating part of being on the other side of an issue, watching my decisions unfold. Knowing I’ve tried my best and hoping the outcome, the lesson, is just as fulfilling and rewarding. Sometimes I need to circle back but the wrenching feeling of doom is often not there. I just need to slightly alter my way—the brick wall is still well behind me.
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 