Unhinged

I’ve experienced a great deal of heartache throughout my life including physical, emotional and sexual abuse, two divorces, the tragic death of my only brother, an eating disorder, a miscarriage that led to a complete hysterectomy, a debilitating familial identity crisis, loss of direction, loss of jobs and relationships, and most recently the traumatic and sudden death of the love of my life. I’ve spent many hours feeling overwhelmed, unsettled, lonely and isolated. My confidence has been shaken to the core countless times, leaving me feeling unable to measure up or move forward, frozen in the grips of despair or heartache. As a dear friend recently suggested, most despair can be summed up in a single word: Unhinged.

My journey through profound sadness and heartache began as a little girl. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but I was being groomed by a narcissistic mother and abusive stepfather to live with grief and depression as though it was the life source running through my veins. I was born into my mother’s third loveless marriage in 1957. When I was just three years old, she would leave that husband to pursue a life with a married man, who was also an alcoholic abuser. In an era of bobby socks and drive-ins, our life was filled with hidden emotional and physical abuse and the keeping of secrets that would protect our caretakers at the expense of everything.

When banished to my room as punishment, I found solace in books and journals. I was perfectly happy to quietly retrieve my little flashlight and my latest library book hidden beneath my mattress. I would pull the covers over my head, turn on my flashlight and read and write for hours. I could escape to a world that inspired me and offered hope for my future. Reading and writing would serve as the deepest and most cathartic way for me to deal with my reality. I found comfort in writing about my experiences and feelings. It became the release I needed to block out the reality on the other side of my bedroom door.

At the tender age of 14, my only brother was burned to death in a tragic accident at the age of 28. Not only was he my rock and salvation, he was my best friend. He had served as my protector against the harsh reality of emotional, physical and sexual abuse. The night of his death, my stepfather firmly grabbed my elbow and led me outside, away from the family that had gathered to mourn. He forcefully put his pointing finger in my face and told me the consequences I would suffer if I shed another tear. I had been on the receiving end of his abuse for years. Although I trembled inside, I immediately put on a stiff upper lip. 

I pushed grief deep into the crevices of my soul. It found its way through my veins to harden my heart, act out in unspeakable ways and harvest resentment. From there, I carried grief, hurt and heartache into every relationship, both personally and professionally. Burying my pain took a tremendous toll in all areas of my life. I was an unhinged mess.

I needed help to sort out the pain and agony I had buried for years. I was overwhelmed and exhausted by my past poor choices and those of others. My second marriage was in shambles, and I was in desperate need of guided healing. I knew it would take a special person to help me sort through, unravel and heal all the grief, confusion and heartache my soul contained.

I was fortunate to find the right therapist for me. It was a long and winding road, but with Roberta’s guidance, compassion and care, we worked together over many years to transform my broken heart. I will forever be grateful for her gentle and compassionate guidance in helping me understand the magnitude of the abuse I had endured and the toll it had taken on my life and especially my Spirit.

Following several years of therapy and my second divorce, I was faced with more devastating and life-altering news. At the age of 45, I learned my father was not my biological father. This was a secret my parents had carried and held from me all of my life. To say that it threw me into another bout of darkness is an understatement. The magnitude of this life-changing event was unbearable at times. I was forced to begin the painful journey of facing the truth of my parentage and the impact of their lies upon my life. I was thrown into a real-life identity crisis.

My siblings were no longer my siblings, my grandmother, someone else’s. I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. The harsh reality of DNA test results settled into my weary bones like a cancer with no cure. While a simple mouth swab proved within 99% certainty that my father wasn’t my father, it didn’t provide evidence of who was. My mother’s suggestion was that I simply believe, without question or evidence, that my stepfather was my biological father. Given I detested him and his abuse, I was not willing to accept her word, given she had lied to me my entire life. As a result of my insistence for answers, my mother disowned and disinherited me in favor of her pristine reputation. We were estranged for the rest of her life.

I dedicated myself to unraveling under my therapist's capable guidance. I allowed grief to have its way with me. While it was painful, it was deeply cathartic and served a deeper purpose. I was grateful to have the foundation of previous healing work to help shore me up. Looking back, this was a gift that led me to explore the truth of who I am spiritually, and who I want to be as I move through life.

I turned to our Creator for answers and solace. I found peace in building a new foundation of faith, one that gently held my broken pieces. I leaned into building a life that I felt was successful, peaceful and harmonious. I found myself to be a content and happy single person, living an authentic life filled with anticipation, longing and wonder. I finally understood the spiritual meaning of being “born again.” I was enjoying the life I had built, one brick of foundation at a time. I was happy to live the highest and most authentic version of myself.

Following the rebuilding and restoration of my life, and against many odds, I pursued a career in real estate, purchased my first home, and ultimately opened an independent real estate brokerage. I had accomplished something I could be proud of in spite of my rocky foundation. I had built anew,

And then, when least expected, I met Jon, the love of my life. In an instant, our lives changed upon meeting on a cold January morning. Over time, we thoughtfully and gently walked towards deep and passionate love. We took our time to commit ourselves to loving one another unconditionally and forever. We locked arms and hearts to live a very happy and harmonious life. Individually, we had done the hard work of therapy and healing from past relationships, and we protected ourselves and our love, peace being our primary focus. Our mutual love exuded from us and we relished in sharing it with our families and friends. We shared almost five glorious years together before it was over in an instant.

While dancing with me and my grandchildren at my youngest son’s wedding reception, Jon collapsed and died on the dance floor. It was a horrific tragedy that unfolded into a nightmare for all of us. Chaos erupted as my sons and other guests began CPR, trying to save his life. By the time the EMTs arrived, it was too late. It’s still challenging to wrap our minds around the enormity of the loss of Jon’s physical presence and certainly the circumstances of his death.

The initial shock and trauma of loss and grief brought on medical issues, including severe memory loss, sleeplessness and inability to function. My sons and their wives took care of me for weeks as I found myself in a desperate fog of disbelief and despair. As a family, we have faced our challenges together. We have intentionally embraced this tragic event and have worked to transform it into a celebration of love. It hasn’t been easy, but we have stood by one another through it all. Early on, we made a conscious decision to live love forward - in honor of Jon.

As I gently made my way towards healing, I also made a conscious decision to observe my grief and our culture's response to it. I decided to embrace what worked for me - and what didn’t. I literally embraced my grief from a vantage point of observation, with a dose of grace. I made progress with each step, even if some of those steps included missteps and back steps.

What I learned along the way has brought hope and inspiration to my soul. I’ve learned we are perfectly capable of reaching higher ground, seeking safe spaces, fully living through our heartache, and encouraging the wounded towards authentic healing in the midst of darkness. We can learn to live joyful and authentic lives again and encourage others along the way. I have learned we can collectively share our grief and we can raise the bar of consciousness to normalize our understandable heartache. We can embrace one another with true compassion, and lift one another towards our highest callings. We can heal - individually and collectively - and live the highest and most beautiful expression of ourselves.

I share my life experiences in hopes of encouraging others. With grace, compassion and unconditional love towards ourselves we can lift our hearts towards true, authentic healing. This isn't easy in a pain-avoidant culture, one that is determined to dismiss heartache and grief as quickly as it comes. But is is possible. No matter what you are experiencing, there is hope and a promise of a life well lived for the unhinged. The path is not always easy, but with determination and desire it is possible. Be gentle with yourself along the way.