Posted on by palmtreemomma

Baggage Claims

Home. No longer a sprawling tiled-floor apartment in a concrete building, buzzing with the noise and heat of a tropical city. Home was now carpet and wood, stacked quietly on top of itself.

Instead of 3rd floor windows overlooking a bustling street, I could look out onto grass and trees. The yard was just outside of the back door where I could sink my toes into long green grass. It had been years since I’d walked barefoot in the grass. I could meander down the street to the quiet neighborhood park and breath in the lush green of an Ohio summer while walking beside the creek.

Being near nature was soothing and I breathed it in every day. I feasted my eyes on the green of the earth and the blue of the sky and felt my soul expanding again.

Finding Myself in the Baggage

While the boys were occupied climbing trees and playing with toys they had not seen in years, I began to unpack our baggage and all the boxes we had stored during our time away. It wasn’t long until I made a discovery I was not too happy about. I was finding myself in the baggage.

While the physical act of unpacking and setting up house all over again was a welcome distraction from the grief and pain, I was still me. The same things still triggered me. I found myself constantly reacting instead of being proactive and creating the space for what I needed.

Constant Companion

I discovered, for better or worse, I was my own constant companion. While changing continents was necessary, it was not magical. Our baggage accompanies us through change.

The codependency I talked about in the previous post dominated just as much as before. I obsessed over creating a calm and happy space for my family. If they were happy, I thought maybe I could be happy too. I couldn’t dream of doing something for me until they were all happily occupied and the house was cleaned up for the day. I believed my needs only mattered when their needs were taken care of. Which, when you are caring for little humans, is expecting the impossible.

Our baggage accompanies us through change.

I didn’t know how to do anything else. It still felt selfish to take time for me when there was so much to do and so many hungry mouths to feed.

Spiraling Down

My emotions were enmeshed with my husband’s and I tried to ride the roller coaster bravely but mostly fell off in terrible ways. If he was sad or depressed, I felt it was my fault. When he was tired, I felt I should do more so he could do less. If he withdrew emotionally, I feared he was loosing interest in me.

It was a vicious cycle and I was dying inside. I had initiated a transcontinental move for my family so that I could begin to heal in a familiar place. But now that I was here, I couldn’t let myself take the needed steps to heal because it felt selfish.

I went through some dark dark days. I wasn’t suicidal, but I wanted to die. I begged God just to take me. Hope had vanished. The weight of the world was on my shoulders and I could barely take another step.

The Value of Supportive Friends

There were a couple of people who kept me from going over the edge during this dark time. One friend cancelled her anniversary plans with her husband and met me at an ice cream shop. In the safety of her soulful presence, I let it all out. She listened and then she pushed back just enough to help me see I needed to start taking care of “me”.

Another friend had just separated from her husband, who was gay. She decided her kids were better off with a mother who was moving towards wholeness, even if it meant breaking up the traditional family image they had projected for years. A parent who was whole and healthy, was better than one who broken inside.

Her wisdom had a jolting effect on me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. It wasn’t selfish of me to do what I needed to do to take care of me. Moving towards wholeness may be temporarily disconcerting to those around us, but, in the long run, makes us into someone who can love and live better.

I must add, though, that if you are in a codependent relationship, the other person will be more than temporarily disconcerted. If you are no longer the crutch or the enabler, you may feel the full force of their wrath and it will be doubly hard for you to pursue wholeness. If you are in this situation, it is of utmost importance that you surround yourself with wise people. Find true friends to keep you on track and help you sort through what is true and what is distorted.

Finding Myself in the Baggage

Nearly a decade later, I can look back and realize that I truly did find myself in the baggage. It was a long process but I dug deep and sorted through. I let go and tossed out. Now I treasure what is left behind. Today, I truly like the self that I found in my baggage. It was the baggage that had to go, not me.

Once you figure out who your true self is, and care for it, something beautiful happens. You no longer realize with dread that your self is your constant companion. Your soul savors it with joy because it’s like coming home. You can knock about in that soul of yours and look out at the ocean of life and smile.

So for all those who are not yet at that place, who have forgotten what hope feels like, I see you. I hope that you can find a little bit of hope in these words.

Like Patel says in one of my favorite movies, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel –

Everything will be all right in the end so if it is not all right, it is not yet the end.

Patel in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Keep holding on. Bravely face yourself and all your baggage. Have the courage to keep digging. There is a treasure for you to find. And I, for one, am cheering you on!


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Posted on by palmtreemomma

Ocean Crossings

An ocean later, we were home. The long arduous journey of flying halfway around the world with 3 wild boys, their dad, ten suitcases and five carry-ons was nothing compared to the emotional and psychological oceans I was having to cross. The guilt and anxiety I felt for pulling my guys from their happy place left me feeling as if I were drowning in an ocean I could never begin to swim.

Oceans of Guilt

When I gave Austin the option of staying behind and getting a divorce, he would have none of it. He continued to choose me, even thought it meant walking away from his dream job. In some ways I felt relief, but mostly I just felt guilt, and lots of it.

When we broke the news to our boys, they were very disappointed. Our oldest had been looking forward to moving to the upper classes at the international school they attended and all of them were thriving and hanging out with kids from all over the world. I tearfully sat through their good-bye ceremony at school and felt like the most horrible mom in the history of moms. Looking at the beautiful faces of their classmates, from Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, Germany, Holland, England, Ireland, Australia, Ethiopia, I couldn’t believe I was making them leave all this.

I knew deep down, that I had to do this or a part of me would forever die.

The guilt I felt was haunting. The me, before my husband came out, would have sucked it up and made myself stay in the situation, even if it was harmful for me.

Somewhere in the middle of all this muck, I had come across a book about Codependency. I realized with startling clarity, that this pattern of relating had become normal for me. While it was a necessary tool of survival in childhood, I now saw how damaging it was for me as an adult.

Codependency made it impossible for me to set healthy boundaries or practice any kind of self love . It kept me jumping to meet the needs of others at my own expense. Codependency made it difficult for me to say no to people. I was always aware of the feelings of others in the room and worked so so so hard to keep things smooth and calm so that others might be happy. I couldn’t relax and be happy myself unless everyone else was taken care of and happy. This, of course, was impossible and filled my life with stress and anxiety.

The decision to move home, even though it was extremely disappointing for my husband and kids, was the biggest thing I had ever done for me. I knew deep down, that I had to do this or a part of me would forever die. So kept moving forward, through the oceans of guilt that dogged my every step and breathed down my back as I filled suitcases and said good byes to people I loved deeply.

Oceans of Anxiety

Anxiety chimed in and joined the overwhelming guilt. Even though I was finally pushing for something I needed, I had a hundred million questions and fears.

How would we pay the bills once we moved home? It was the scarcity of jobs in our area that had prompted us to move overseas in the first place. Would Austin have to settle for a job he hated just to keep food on the table? What would that do for his emotional health? How would the boys transition to going from a small loving international school community to the huge public school system? How was I going to be able to act like all was normal when I was still dying inside? Would we be able to find a counselor who could help us? Could we afford one if we did find one? What would we drive? How would we afford health insurance? And the biggest question of all – were the two of us going to make it through this together?

All the habits of safety I had clung to had actually never brought me to a safe place

I was scared, so scared. Every day I was tempted to take back my decision and just do what felt good for everyone else, to take the road that felt safer and more sure. Yet I knew that all the habits of safety I had clung to had actually never brought me to a safe place. Perhaps when the letting go is terrifying, it is also utterly necessary.

Oceans of Grief

Grief is our body’s natural response to loss. I was feeling waves of it wash over me daily. There were so many losses at our door. The husband I thought I had married. My self esteem. His dream job. The perfect school for the kids. The lushness of the tropics and the warmth of the people that inhabited them. Beautiful community. Identity.

We had spent much of the last decade as volunteers and didn’t know how to be normal people who worked from 9-5. We had the incredible privilege of not having to worry about money, focusing our concerns on marginalized people. It sounds beautiful and noble but, the truth was, I had no idea who we were apart from that.

And I was still wrestling with the loss of my identity as the wife of a straight guy. It was something I was never going to get back.

Additionally, I was starting to recognize that many of the ways I found identity and purpose were actually harmful. It was devastating to realize a life of serving and self sacrifice had wounded my own soul deeply because it came from an unhealthy place.

Like the butterfly my son showed me in my dream, I was going through the fight of my life. Pulling myself out of the muck that threatened to smother me until my torn wings finally pulled free and I began to fly across the ocean. Ravaged, torn wings beating still, carrying me towards home.


Click on the button above to send me an email and I will let you know when new posts are up! If you or someone you love is in the closet, or if you are struggling with your own guttural grief and need someone to talk to, email me. I may not have time to answer you but I will read it and hold you in my heart.

Photo courtesy of Adrienne Gerber Photography.