On hope
Not so long ago, when my marriage was still intact but also beginning to crumble around me, I started therapy again. My anxiety was becoming increasingly unmanageable and I was desperate for help.
After the first few weeks, my anxiety calmed, sessions evolved into a weekly reality check about the things that were actually true in my relationship, and in me.
As we talked through the circumstances of my life (well, she talked, I sobbed and choked out words most of the time) the layers of denial, and even delusion, about how bad things really were began to fall away. In my desperate desire to keep my marriage intact at almost any cost, I kept trying to gather those layers back up, wrap myself in them, and reassure my terrified, aching heart that it would all be OK.
After a few sessions, my therapist said, “I think you are an addict. You are addicted to hope.”
We jokingly called this my “Hopeium” addiction every time I was inclined to deny the truth of what had happened and was continuing to happen in my marriage.
It was helpful at the time. It brought me out of the thick haze of gaslighting and abuse.
So many of us are dying for hope.
Beth Moore
But also, in the deepest part of my heart, it felt like a failure.
That strong women, capable women, women who can handle hard things and thrive, are NOT addicted to hope. They see clearly and act accordingly.
Hope, I feared, was childish and weak.
The reason I never give up hope is because everything is so basically hopeless.
Anne Lamott
I live in Southern California.
If you’ve seen the news at all this week, you know that the world around me has been a mix of fire, gale force winds, smoke, evacuations, and loss.
Three of my closest friends and their families were evacuated from their homes two days ago. Yesterday, one confirmed that she’d lost hers entirely.
Complete and total devastation and loss, cloaked in a surreal, smokey haze – their family home, one that they generously and repeatedly opened up as an opportunity to serve others with the most loving hospitality, is gone.
All day long, I fought back tears every time I thought about how she must be feeling. The unimaginable depth of it all combined with having no idea what to do next, mixed with the sheer relief that they are all safe.
Then, late last night, she sent over pictures of the ruins. They were able to get back to their house and fully witness the scope of the tragedy. My friend included one picture of her and her husband, standing in front of the ash that was once their joyful home.
Seeing the two of them, their familiar, wonderful faces together, strong and united despite the devastation – it flooded me with hope.
I am an addict, right?
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.
Anne Lamott
When I reflect back on those therapy sessions a couple of years ago, in the depths of my hopeium addiction, I see it differently now.
I don’t regret clinging to hope, fighting as hard as I could for something that was ultimately destined to fail. It’s who I am. It’s what makes me, me.
Hope is what has saved me and strengthened me over and over again. It is what allowed me to continue to fight for my children getting the medical care they need. It is what fueled endless hours of learning how to best educate children with learning differences. It is what has kept me alive in some of the worst circumstances of my life.
I have decided that I am not addicted to hope. I am a champion of hope.
Hope is what connects me to light and to living.
When all else fails, hope is what I want to cling to. Hope is what I believe strengthens us all.
What life has taught me over and over again, in some of the worst possible ways, is that there is always hope.
Sometimes, we just have to be willing to take a picture in front of the ruins, clinging to one another, to see it.
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