I’ve known some rough years. I’ve known
quite a few bad patches too - some of them admittedly self-created, and the
rest, well, perhaps not so much so. And while many of my life-long friends have
observed with occasional comment how challenging my life appears to them,
it’s the only life I have right now and I feel an inexplicable moral obligation
to make the best of it. I confess though that I do at times feel as if I’m a
walking testament to the veracity of “what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” –
Lord knows I’ve muttered those words to myself like a mantra long enough to almost
be convinced it’s true.
The reality is that I don’t do victimhood or
martyrdom very well. Nor do I have much use for the notion of “suffering for
suffering’s sake.” Frankly at this stage, I think if I hear one more
person offer me up (what is usually meant to be a compliment) some
well-intended words of twisted encouragement about how strong I am because of what
I’ve endured as if that’s supposed to be enough to keep me going, I think I’m
going to puke.
In my experience, the development of inner
strength is directly related to how one navigates through the land mines of life
and subsequently processes through the post-explosion wounds and emotional
compression that is the aftermath … not unlike that which transpires during the
formation of a diamond or in the tempering of fine steel.
I believe most people really do try to pave
their individual journeys around the wheel of life with good intentions as they
maneuver through it all in the best way they know how, the way they’ve been
taught. Yet when life hits us between the eyes with a painful and profound compression
event which we frequently have little or no control over, it seems the most
expeditious and effective way we have as human beings to alleviate our own suffering
while simultaneously strengthening our character is to voluntarily change our perceptions,
our belief systems and/or our way of being – whatever that entails.
The process of change is very personal and
often irreversible. Although change tends to be frighteningly hard for most people,
I personally don’t find the actions associated with change to be especially
devastating … not anymore anyway. The devastation in my experience comes not
from the act of change itself, but from the illusion that has to be shattered in
order for the act of change to become a healthy necessity.
I call these illusion-shattering land mines
“Towers” because, like the blind-siding shit bombs that they are, these explosions
historically strike at my Tower with destructive purpose and without mercy. Upon
impact, I know with trembling certainty that something deep inside of me will
be violently ripped from my core as the rest of the world callously carries on
unaware and unaffected by the gaping hole that’s about to be left in my soul. The
feeling of anguish is almost indescribable. Yet it’s from this black hole that
true strength is born. Go figure.
The day my excuse for a father narcissistically
tried to defend his lifetime of abusive bad behavior by insinuating he’d done me a favor
and deserved some credit for making me strong, was the day I knew it was time to
release any illusion I’d ever held with regard to his place in my life. It was
also the day I officially resigned from my lifetime role as the 'strong one', aka The Rock of
Gibraltar. This shit bomb of a “Tower” was clearly a monumental one, yet the
changes I ultimately made because of it, a blessing.
I quickly discovered that people get fighting
mad when the rules of a relationship are unilaterally changed and new
boundaries are established, particularly when their self-serving agendas have
been abruptly obstructed in the process. Resigning from my role as everyone’s
Rock of Gibraltar meant that my strength could no longer be used against me or
taken for granted. It meant that I could no longer be held to a higher standard
simply because I was stronger. It meant that the emotional emergency room I’d
generously sustained for decades was permanently shuttered to those who had abused
or taken my strong support for granted. And above all, it meant that those
around me could have the opportunity to step up and find their own inner
strength. Yes, a blessing indeed.
This being said, all I can say now is that the
Thanksgiving holiday finally allowed me the opportunity to catch my breath long
enough to recognize that the last 12 months have been one of the most difficult
years I’ve known in a very long time; the last 3 months, especially so. Talk
about feeling overwhelmed by a blitzkrieg of shit bombs. I suppose Winston
Churchill was feeling much the same way when he said, “If you’re going through
hell, keep going.” Perhaps his brusque quip is just a poignant way of reminding me that “this too shall
pass.”
Well, what stone remains of this former Rock
of Gibraltar has suffered markedly from the eroding effects of emotional compression, and the cracks are starting to show. It must be time to let go of everything and bow once again to the strong winds of
change…
© by DK King
