My Life Is Not My Own

My Suns are my happiness in this life. I truly feel that they have been a Mercy and a protection from my Lord. Some have asked, how? The simple answer....My life is not my own. I remember the first time I looked into my husband's eyes, my own filled with confusion. I wasn't sure what I had done, but I knew I'd done something wrong. Over time, I learned to do nothing...don't speak, don't ask, don't complain. That's how fights started. How car keys were taken, phones confiscated. Peace was shrouded in silence. Where there was silence, there was peace. I needed the house, the kids, the thoughts racing through my mind to be QUIET. I didn't know that sadness often hid in silence as well. As my spirit was silenced, my heart saddened. My Suns were my greatest Loves, but I couldn't enjoy them because they were also my greatest worries. Did they hear us? Did they know how unhappy I was? Did they think it was my fault? Would they ever forgive me for breaking up our home? I had tried so hard to shield and protect them from the truth that they'd essentially lived a lie. Until the truth came crashing in. The truth was raised voices, condemning words. The truth was me crying on the floor of our tiny living room in that basement apartment. Mattresses on floors, blankets made makeshift dining areas. The truth was friends buying groceries, family driving us around. My life was making sure that little bellies were full, little bodies were well dressed and rested. In having to do it on my own, my life was not my own. Credit card bills mounted, my anxiety peaked. While I was falling apart inside, things were coming together. We moved into a bigger place, I got a car, I was no longer living on credit or depending on friends for necessities. I put as much of our old life back in place as I was able to. Basketball at the Y, purchased a trumpet for those band classes, art-based playgroups...I was making it happen. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that I had gotten so caught up in providing for them that I wasn't caring for them like I once had. I knew they needed men around. So, I surrounded them with friends who I felt would be good influences, oblivious to the fact that many had agendas of their own. The most awkward existence is one of being physically present but emotionally unavailable. Healing had been placed on hold. I had to be ready at a moment's notice to fill in the gaps that inevitably occur when co-parenting doesn't happen. Role models became a revolving roster of creative, pseudo-platonic Baba's, Uncle's and Amu's. It was ok though, I had our faith as the foundation. Until I made a really bad decision in a moment of feigned enlightenment. I got "married" again. I did not Love him, nor did he Love me. But we were doing it "for the pleasure of Allah, so it couldn't go wrong." Right? Wrong! I knew better. My parents had taught me that you can't start off wrong and expect things to turn out right. I didn't repeat my previous relationship. I found a whole new way to be in a bad relationship. I created an entirely new set of worries. In trying to provide them with a live-in male role model, I only showcased a new list of "do-nots." I regrouped by doing more. I did all the "stuff" I was supposed to. Counseling, community service, extracurricular activities, exposure to arts and culture...you name it, I did it. Healing, however, was still on hold. Healing came in the midst of the next storm. My Daddy died, we feared my Mom was dying...and I had to keep going. There was no shoulder for me to lean on. I was the shoulder. I looked at my life, and my heart broke. Would my suns miss me the way I missed my father? Care for me the way I cared for my mother? At that time, I would've said yes without hesitation. Today, I'm not so certain. Holding it all together can be perceived in many ways. Especially by children. I didn't yell, cry, scream, or break outwardly. I didn't dignify the lies and slander with a response. Indifference was like warm cocoa on a winter day as a coping mechanism. It filled in the spaces where healing was needed most. It's hard to know the difference after a while...unless something hurts you. For me, it was the day my sun looked me in the eye and said, "I hate you. You don't care about anything." I wanted to scream, cry and yell in that moment. I wanted to show him credit card bills and bank statements. I wanted to throw my hand mended pieces of resale clothing at his feet. I wanted to express how absolutely exhausted I was. I wanted to hurt, but I understood how he felt that way. I never acted like I cared. I began to pray for healing, and it came. It remained elusive for so long that I almost didn't recognize it. The busy-ness never helped...I am one of the busiest people I know. It definitely didn't lie within the lines of the lovelorn poetry I was known for. It came in falling apart. Realizing that I could not control everything, and wasn't meant to. Accepting that I was doing more than I was designed for. Understanding that my deepest strength was rooted in my ability to be vulnerable. To know that my life was not my own, nor was it my Suns'....it was a gift, an opportunity to fulfill my purpose, to evolve, to Love.

The Formula

We all talk about the Love we want. Not so much about the Love we have to give. We ask God to send us things. Rarely, to prepare us to receive and appreciate them. I've learned that wanting is the nemesis of happiness, and I strive to be grateful more than anything else. I've "lost" a lot, and found parts of myself that would've gone unnoticed otherwise. Meeting people where they are means knowing where I am as well...some of our paths will not intersect, or even meant to. I say all that to say....Give more, want less, expect nothing. Peace