I’m sure there are other ways to do it (though I suspect they are all traumatic-feeling as they’re happening), but I have to admit my divorce was the best lesson for learning that anything can happen, and having my own back is the only way to meet that great unknown with gladness. Before that, I had so little genuine sense of self-worth. I placed my sense of value and safety outside myself, in being chosen, in playing my part in the story of heterosexual nuclear family well.
Having that container shatter and feeling myself pour out the cracks was like the world ending, like tipping over the edge and plunging down a waterfall with no bottom. Like dying but also still having to work and parent and pay bills and do the dishes, which is a disorientation I wouldn’t wish to experience again.
It might seem strange, then, to recognize in hindsight the necessity of it all, but it does feel that way now. That I was gripping so tightly to the life I thought would save and redeem me, and the only way to get me to understand how to stop doing that, to stop imagining that someone or something else could, or should, do that, was to pry my fingers off and pitch me over the edge.
It is odd to feel so grounded in myself while also viscerally aware of how unknown everything is. It’s not unlike standing on a precipice all the time. But I also look around at my life now here at the edge of it all, which is so thoroughly mine, and which I couldn’t have imagined before, and I feel my hands open and face out. It’s a different prayer pose than I was raised to, but it feels deeply right.
My daughter went through a divorce and is confidently (and not so confidently) where you are. That feeling of "I got me" is so helpful, but also daunting when thinking and planning for a future. I love the image of a different prayer pose.
Thank you so much for this post, Maggie. I turned 50 this past December, and I'm seeing so many of my friends -- married, single, whatever -- in as much flux as I am and going through one awful thing or another, which supports what your therapist said about security being an illusion. As someone who has never married, I have pangs of insecurity myself. I wonder at times if I'm somehow uniquely disadvantaged, despite abundant evidence to the contrary. I wonder, too, if the choices I made not to "settle down" were for the worse. But then I realise I'm someone who hasn't settled, period. I'm someone who's completely comfortable living on her own, going to a movie or a restaurant on her own, wandering on her own, sleeping on her own, waking on her own. I wonder how many people get to say that about themselves.
I've also come to realise it's not only me that's got me. This me was "got" over time, built by every encounter with every writer (you among them) whose voice speaks to me across space and time, providing solace and succour and strength and a renewed sense of wonder at the universe when I need them most. With that kind of collective wisdom on tap, I've no business feeling I can't be responsible for myself, yes?!
This is one of my favorites, among my favorites. Generally, we crave certainty and stability but they can be illusory and the more we can lean into “you’ve got you”… a comfort during our bumpy rides. I also find comfort in some of the Eastern teachings about the beauty and appreciation of impermanence. To acknowledge the beauty of future as a “waiting cup” allows for possibilities unimaginable in the present moments. Thank you for this Pep Talk, Maggie. I am grateful for it and your good heart and wisdom. I shall also keep the quotation by Baal Shem Tov close at hand as a reminder during the inevitable falls…. Always, Terry
You’ve personified and reminded me of and encouraged me to believe this about myself in at least a hundred beautiful poems and words. Keep Moving is scripture.
Honestly, Maggie. Your light is a gift. It shines into the corners and helps us find our own. Thank you. Love you so, friend 💙
I learned a reality of future when my father died. It was sudden even though he was 88 and on blood thinners. A stroke. Now I'm facing the possible loss of my mother. I've never thought of a future in which I will be without parents. I needed to read your post and know, at the very least, I can trust myself. I will be gutted again, but I will be OK. How do you know just the right thing to write at the right time?
I’m so sorry. And yes, I think that’s the comfort we can take when we’re grieving and reeling—knowing that we can endure it and keep going. Take good care.
I would have loved to have met you and heard this when I was younger, but you hadn't been born yet :) But I too have learned through living to trust myself, to catch myself when I fall. When I'm paying attention, I remind myself that the future is unknowable, and nothing is certain except returning to love again and again. I appreciate your wisdom Maggie, and of course, your poetry. xoxo
I’m sure there are other ways to do it (though I suspect they are all traumatic-feeling as they’re happening), but I have to admit my divorce was the best lesson for learning that anything can happen, and having my own back is the only way to meet that great unknown with gladness. Before that, I had so little genuine sense of self-worth. I placed my sense of value and safety outside myself, in being chosen, in playing my part in the story of heterosexual nuclear family well.
Having that container shatter and feeling myself pour out the cracks was like the world ending, like tipping over the edge and plunging down a waterfall with no bottom. Like dying but also still having to work and parent and pay bills and do the dishes, which is a disorientation I wouldn’t wish to experience again.
It might seem strange, then, to recognize in hindsight the necessity of it all, but it does feel that way now. That I was gripping so tightly to the life I thought would save and redeem me, and the only way to get me to understand how to stop doing that, to stop imagining that someone or something else could, or should, do that, was to pry my fingers off and pitch me over the edge.
It is odd to feel so grounded in myself while also viscerally aware of how unknown everything is. It’s not unlike standing on a precipice all the time. But I also look around at my life now here at the edge of it all, which is so thoroughly mine, and which I couldn’t have imagined before, and I feel my hands open and face out. It’s a different prayer pose than I was raised to, but it feels deeply right.
Oh, Asha—yes, yes, yes. Thank you for this.
My daughter went through a divorce and is confidently (and not so confidently) where you are. That feeling of "I got me" is so helpful, but also daunting when thinking and planning for a future. I love the image of a different prayer pose.
Thank you for this. Have been having a very “wobbly” day and this was just what I needed to read.
I’m so glad, Kizzia—thank you.
Thank you so much for this post, Maggie. I turned 50 this past December, and I'm seeing so many of my friends -- married, single, whatever -- in as much flux as I am and going through one awful thing or another, which supports what your therapist said about security being an illusion. As someone who has never married, I have pangs of insecurity myself. I wonder at times if I'm somehow uniquely disadvantaged, despite abundant evidence to the contrary. I wonder, too, if the choices I made not to "settle down" were for the worse. But then I realise I'm someone who hasn't settled, period. I'm someone who's completely comfortable living on her own, going to a movie or a restaurant on her own, wandering on her own, sleeping on her own, waking on her own. I wonder how many people get to say that about themselves.
I've also come to realise it's not only me that's got me. This me was "got" over time, built by every encounter with every writer (you among them) whose voice speaks to me across space and time, providing solace and succour and strength and a renewed sense of wonder at the universe when I need them most. With that kind of collective wisdom on tap, I've no business feeling I can't be responsible for myself, yes?!
Akhila, I’m going to be thinking about the “you” (and the me!) built over time. Thank you for this. Here’s to collective wisdom. 💗
This is one of my favorites, among my favorites. Generally, we crave certainty and stability but they can be illusory and the more we can lean into “you’ve got you”… a comfort during our bumpy rides. I also find comfort in some of the Eastern teachings about the beauty and appreciation of impermanence. To acknowledge the beauty of future as a “waiting cup” allows for possibilities unimaginable in the present moments. Thank you for this Pep Talk, Maggie. I am grateful for it and your good heart and wisdom. I shall also keep the quotation by Baal Shem Tov close at hand as a reminder during the inevitable falls…. Always, Terry
Terry, thank you. This note was just what I needed this morning!
You’ve personified and reminded me of and encouraged me to believe this about myself in at least a hundred beautiful poems and words. Keep Moving is scripture.
Honestly, Maggie. Your light is a gift. It shines into the corners and helps us find our own. Thank you. Love you so, friend 💙
Kate, you are such a bright light. Thank you. 💗
I learned a reality of future when my father died. It was sudden even though he was 88 and on blood thinners. A stroke. Now I'm facing the possible loss of my mother. I've never thought of a future in which I will be without parents. I needed to read your post and know, at the very least, I can trust myself. I will be gutted again, but I will be OK. How do you know just the right thing to write at the right time?
I’m so sorry. And yes, I think that’s the comfort we can take when we’re grieving and reeling—knowing that we can endure it and keep going. Take good care.
Thank you for passing this on. I needed to hear this.
Thank you for reading, Marni.
I would have loved to have met you and heard this when I was younger, but you hadn't been born yet :) But I too have learned through living to trust myself, to catch myself when I fall. When I'm paying attention, I remind myself that the future is unknowable, and nothing is certain except returning to love again and again. I appreciate your wisdom Maggie, and of course, your poetry. xoxo
Thank you so much, Janice.
This one is a keeper, a put in the back pocket kind of note. 🙏
💗🙏
Thank you, Maggie. I needed that.