Fire and Grace

While it's true that Pinterest will suck away one's life if one is not careful, it is also true that Pinterest can, on occasion, be the source of profound inspiration or wisdom. Tonight (or, shall I say, this morning), I found myself profoundly struck by a quote one of my friends (the lovely Hannah Robertson) posted. It said:

"She had fire in her soul, and grace in her heart."

And, as sometimes happens, I caught my breath. Yes. Yes, this. This is the mark of a well-balanced person. A successful person. I don't remember whether or not I have mentioned this- most of my early posts are still far too painful for me to re-read yet- but I found myself in the hospital at the end of August last year. Every time I spoke with the doctor or the social workers, they would always say the same thing: You're not worthless, your life has value. What struck me was that all of the other patients there needed to hear just that. They felt worthless. Devoid of value. That was not my issue. I always responded that I know my life has value. I know I do a lot of good. I know I'm not worthless. I've known this ever since I read the Divergent series, and Veronica Roth gave me the chance to see myself through the eyes of others, in the character of Tris. That wasn't my issue. 

What was my issue? My fire had gone out, and I could no longer find the will to re-light it, nor the grace to accept that yeah, sometimes other people will completely screw things up for me, and the only thing I can do is take it, and go on. I was tired. No, not the kind of tired that comes from running around all day. Not the kind of tired that comes from trying to do well on a math test. Not even the kind of tired that comes from working so hard to achieve a goal, and yet falling short. I was 32 years old, and I was tired of life. I was tired of doing my best to do everything right. To never mess up. To always do what I'm supposed to, and yet still having things completely and totally screwed up by someone else. I was 32 and had never messed up anything important in my entire life. And yet, my life was still a living hell. Why keep going; why keep trying, if other people were just going to come along and screw it all up anyway?

I was 32, and had been dealing with PTSD since I was 3 years old. That was at the hands of my brother and sister. Then another PTSD- causing event occurred when I was six, mostly having to do with my brother. At 12, I was severely bullied in school (as most Autistic children are at some point), and again, wound up with even more PTSD issues from that. Finally, at 13, my parents enrolled our family in a cult, and subjected me to nine years of fairly severe abuse, causing the worst of my PTSD issues. Later, my sister became so toxic I had to cut her off in order to retain my own sanity. The older I got, the more my health declined. Even after my Celiac diagnosis, there were (and are) still too many unanswered questions and unresolved health problems. The older I get, the more my pain increases and my joints (among other things) deteriorate. I didn't do anything to cause the constant pain I have experienced for two decades. I always took care of myself. I just happened to be saddled with an unfortunate set of genes. And then he came along when I wasn't looking for anything, was better than I could have ever imagined, and then I experienced so much betrayal at his hands. 

After so many years, it all just kind of blew up. Of course, dealing with chronic anxiety, PTSD, depression, and Autism (which takes things that would be traumatic for anyone and magnifies them by about 10x) is hard on the best of days. Sure, I cope unusually well, as all of my doctors and therapists remark on a fairly regular basis, but I'm only human. I may have a fire in my soul that a lot of people don't have. That explains how I have exceeded expectations in most areas of my life. I have a drive that refuses to allow me to admit defeat. But the fire isn't unquenchable, nor the drive unstoppable. It takes a hell of a lot, but my various issues can become nearly insurmountable. 

I'm not even entirely sure what my point is in writing this post. The biggest reason I'm writing this is to help me process. I suppose the most significant thing about that Pinterest quote that struck me was...grace in her heart. At first, I thought it just meant grace toward others. Grace to forgive, and to move on. Grace in spite of the fire. But the more I write, and the more I think about it, I think it's far deeper than that. Grace that not only forgives in spite of the fire, but in fact, grace that keeps the fire burning. Grace that is able to take the hits and still keep going. 

No, I'm not criticizing myself for nearly giving it all up. It takes a lot of grace to be able to accept help and to ask for it. I remember both my psychiatrist and one of the social workers commenting to me that I was not in the hospital because I was unhealthy, as were most of my fellow patients. I was in the hospital because I was healthy and recognized that I needed help. That was hard to understand at the time, but it's true. The unhealthy response would have been to just put myself out of my misery. But I didn't. I went to my mentor, Dr. Hoffman, and his wife, Margaret, and asked them to help me, which they did. I then went to the hospital. I went to my friends. I took trips every weekend so I could just keep going. I moved a thousand miles away, to start over. 

It may not have seemed or felt graceful at the time. But it was. I gave myself the grace to ask for help. It took a long time, but eventually, that fire got relit. Am I completely over everything that happened? Not by a long shot. I'm not sure a person can ever completely get over something like that. But I have the flame again, and it continues to get stronger with time. 

I don't even know how much of this, if any, made sense. But fire takes a lot of courage to feed and maintain. That is true. Grace, however, takes even more. It's easy to mistake cowardice for grace, or grace for cowardice. In reality, the two are worlds apart. True grace takes far more courage than we give it credit for. Grace to forgive, grace to ask for help, and grace to move on. 

It's funny- I never really thought of myself as much of a graceful person. No, I'm not perfect. Yes, I have a long way to go. But I do have a lot more grace than I ever gave myself credit for in the past. And I suppose, it's high time I start to be more mindful of grace in my life, in all of its capacities. 

Disclaimer: I do just want to say...yes, I know there are people in life who have worse situations than I do. I know there are people who would like to have it as good as I have it. I also know that I have been through a lot of things that a lot of people never go through. I'm not looking for sympathy here, or high fives. I'm just expressing my experience and my feelings from my perspective as I walk through my life. And that's all I can do.