The Toothache, The Mud Puddle and The Truth

Jon Brown was my first professor of Social Work.  He was a short man with thin white hair that neatly framed his round face so perfectly that he could have easily been a news anchor.  Instead, he stood humbly in front of our tiny classroom and talked about things like toothaches.

"When you have a toothache," he explained, "It's difficult to really care about someone else's toothache."

It's a metaphor that has stuck with me through the years.  It is one that I often have to remind myself of when, on days like today, I am struggling to find that place of empathy that I need to be in.  I'm overwhelmed with my own troubles and even though I know others around me are struggling too, I can't seem to really identify with them.

I feel out of place.  I've never been very comfortable with life when seemingly everything is in limbo.  Now though, everything is so unsettled that the word "limbo" falls far too short in describing the level of discord that I find swirling around me.  I wake up every morning in a bed that isn't mine beside a man who seems bewildered by the fact that I'm there.  What clothes I have with me are in a pile on top of a dresser in my son's room--or what we call his room for now.  I take a shower and carefully mark every movement I make to be sure that every item I use gets put back in exactly the same spot it came from.  I keep my cosmetics in a bag that I try to hide away in a cabinet when I'm done with them; it seems as though keeping myself as inconspicuous as possible has become my number one goal lately.  I try to be as invisible as possible, and yet I still end up feeling intrusive.  I've never felt so sick over a dish being left in the sink, or about using too many towels or wearing too many shirts in one week.  I try so hard to keep everything exactly as it would be if I weren't even there, but the reality is, I am there and it's nigh unto impossible to hide myself away so completely that there isn't a sign of my existence anywhere, even when I'm away.  I find a necklace of mine lying on the bathroom sink and I scold myself for not hiding it away with my other things.  I realize I've been leaving my toothbrush out--I hadn't meant to do that.  I try so hard to not leave my things in sight, but inevitably I forget something, and there I am, glaring up at him from the coffee table in the form of a pen or a hair clip or a scribbled note.

I suppose it would be easy to mistake my inner turmoil for a lack of gratefulness, but that isn't it at all.  If anything, it's my gratitude that seems to be holing me hostage.  After so many years of opening my door, my heart and my home to other people, I'm finding myself on the other side of the fence and I'm really not sure what to make of it. On a certain level I feel like a pathetic loser--someone who couldn't even manage the very basic task of keeping a stable roof over her head.  On the other hand, I feel so cared for.  It's hard for me to accept such a conflicting view of myself, but I am both these things and lately, nothing more.

I guess I'm in what Jon Brown would have called "The Mud Puddle."  It's when you find yourself at a low place in life and instead of just jumping up and brushing yourself off, you feel the  need to just sit there a while in the mud getting thoroughly marred up in it until you can't even see where you end and the puddle begins.  I wish I could be invisibly camouflaged in my puddle of failure and confusion, but no matter how hard I try to disappear, I keep getting found out.

The truth is, change is hard for everyone.  I know my son is struggling with the newness in our world.  I know my presence and his presence have created an upheaval around the house where once a man and a dog peacefully co-existed in their perfect little world together.  In my head I know that I'm not the only one who is feeling the challenge of adapting to change, but it isn't always easy to look past my own struggle and appreciate the struggles of those I love.

The truth, is that change is never easy.  Loss is never simple, and learning to be at peace with a world that seems to not want you in it can feel damn near impossible.  The truth is that accepting your inadequacies, realizing that your presence doesn't necessarily make anyone's life particularly better, learning that dutiful friendship often trumps true affection and incorporating all those harsh realities into who you're becoming is discouraging, daunting and truly overwhelming at times.

The truth is, toothaches and mud puddles are not very helpful in the process of moving forward; but they sure do seem like convenient explanations when you can't figure out what to do or how to feel or where to go next.

The truth:  I don't really belong anywhere and until I do, I'm afraid I'm never going to find that feeling of home again.