I Knew, But I Stayed—Until I Reached My Breaking Point:
I have come to realize that the hardest part of the huge changes I made in my life was never the change itself or even the messy aftermath. The time I spent wallowing in indecision and self-doubt, the metaphorical darkness before the dawn, was far more unbearable then any ensuing upheaval.
Some of us wrestle with the angels of our inner truth for years before we finally surrender to their relentless determination. In the process of coming clean with ourselves we are often suspended in a liminal space, holding two seemingly conflicting desires. On one hand we feel compelled to root right into the reality we feel stuck in and a contrasting urge to shed our old skin and emerge as something more authentic and free.
We are often stretched between our fear and our inmost calling, like a rubber band drawn to its limit, as if we might snap under the strain of our own ambivalence.
If we allow ourselves to hold two seemingly conflicting desires and just sit right down into the middle of that inner struggle, we can actually feel ourselves expand. The tension of this push-pull dynamic creates a formidable growth edge. It requires us to accept our own power as the Chooser. We must face that unavoidable truth that our choices have the power to destroy reputations, families, careers, long-standing relationships, and carefully curated lives.
Not only must we own up to the “shame” of changing our minds, but we must also come to terms with the fact that our decisions are what put us in this position in the first place. That can be hard to rectify as we learn to follow our inner compass. We chose things that we ended up not wanting in the end. We learn, a little too late sometimes, that our powerful ability to choose couldn’t keep up from choosing a partner or career or a religious path that we would eventually outgrow. The very fact that we may choose wrongly can be paralyzing. It’s no wonder we feel so much pressure to not make a mistake–look where our choices got us! Being imperfectly human and fallible can cause us to strangle on self-doubt.
But then nobody prepares you for the vexing capriciousness of your Soul and the stasis that it compels you to sabotage over and over again just as you settle into your comfort zone. The axiom is that life is supposed to be linear and destination-focused. Some of us can appreciate our parent’s or grandparent’s quiet determination to stick it out, through thick and thin. We watched the generation that believed you must stay and stay and stay no matter the cost, and that revealed to us where a life of quiet desperation eventually leads.
The rub is that our authenticity often bumps up against our conditioning. That friction created by our resistance to our inner knowing becomes a hotspot demanding our attention and inviting us to reconsider the rules we’ve agreed to live by.
Before my biggest leaps I was tormented by the self-recrimination of wishing I could avoid ruffling feathers and rocking boats. I wanted to want to stay. I knew what I was being called to do, yet the seismic reordering of my life felt both selfish and absurd. I was wholly unprepared for the force of my soul’s bidding to break formation.
I’ve always been an avid journaler, and before my divorce, I stumbled across yet another self-help exercise with a prompt: What is the biggest lie you’ve been telling yourself? (credit to Kute Blackson).
And bam—I blurted it right onto the page: I don’t want to be married anymore. Even though I hadn’t spoken those words out loud, I nearly covered my mouth after writing them. At that point, I was 15 years in. We had two children together and a growing business. That truth threatened everything, and instead of admitting, I talked myself out of it. I buried that knowing under a pile of rationalizations and walked myself back from the ledge—for two more years.
Looking back, it’s incredible how deeply I buried it. When I first started tiptoeing out of my marriage, I didn’t even consciously know I wanted a divorce—until it was inevitable. My puritanical roots screamed that I was following in the footsteps of Eve, destined to doom the world to damnation in one fateful choice. But despite the fear and guilt, pointing my boat in the direction of “wrong” felt undeniably right.
I still remember waking up alone in bed for the first time, with realization slowly dawning that I wasn’t married anymore. And with that realization came an overwhelming sense of relief. I had married for keeps and I hadn’t seen a way out of the life I’d signed up for. Now that I was free there was no going back. Ever. And that’s the first time I knew, really knew, that my Knowing could be trusted.
Sometimes our Knowing is very quiet at first. Sometimes we don’t listen to that voice until the pain of ignoring it becomes greater than the cost of acknowledging it. I unexpectedly admitted that I didn’t want to be married any more, 2 years ahead of the impending split. Somehow I was able to minimize and repress that confession right out of my conscious mind. All the while the discomfort of the status quo smoldered in my subconscious like an impending volcano. And that repression, self-recrimination, and doubt was creating an agonizing avoidance pattern. I can look back over my post-divorce years and recognize that the difficult moments of leaving weren’t nearly as painful as was ignoring my truth.
It’s a bit like watching a young child afraid to go down a slide, hesitating at the top. Once they finally face the fear and make the slip, they turn into little slide junkies, wanting to go down the slide over and over and over… Not that our choices are a proverbial walk in the park, but we can all think of examples of how anticipation is often worse than execution.
No one gets to decide for you, not your friends, not your family, your pastor, or therapist. You alone decide on what is right for you and you get to choose your next steps.
Choosing is hard when you know your power. It’s hard when you doubt yourself. It’s hard when it’s messy. We can reduce some of that fear when we recognize that we are not limited by any choice we make. We get to choose over and over again, like children on a park slide. It’s okay to change our minds, and even circling back has it’s place in our healing journey (sacred circles). It’s true that some of our choices have far reaching implications and should have due consideration, but we must trust that the ashes of the life we have burned down can enrich the soil of a fresh and emerging landscape.
Your soul insists on growth and expansion, and she is impervious to conventionality. She may very well make you miserable until you heed her call.
