There is a pocket resting deep within my chest wall, adjacent to my heart. I’m certain it has always been a part of me. Years ago, I became more aware of its presence in my body as the weight became more than I could bear. It seems as if there is a fistula connecting my heart to this pocket. Upon further investigation, I have found that the pocket is filled with the words that my heart is unable to contain, words too painful for me to feel and remain alive. The pocket acts a safe space to hold what otherwise feels intolerable.
Years ago during a celebratory dinner, I began filtering the comments that headed my direction, words about my children and my parenting and what is “normal”. As I sat there deciding where each comment would rest inside my body, the tension in my chest began to increase with an intensity that could only dissipate if released externally. Unfortunately, my emotional state left me feeling highly sensitive and somewhat irrational. In attempt to make the discomfort stop, I erupted verbally with the words on the tip of my tongue, “You are such a Miss Know It All!”. In that moment, the world swirled around me and I froze. Did I just say that? Responses to my verbal explosion confirmed that I had indeed said something extremely hurtful.
That moment, although painful to recall, has served as an invitation to explore how I manage my internal world. A complicated world composed of conflicting dialogue, questions, and opinions rests deep within my core. Sorting through this noise has been a challenge for me especially when it comes to my feelings surrounding parenting.
Years before we ever received any formal diagnosis for my son, I was inundated with comments that his behavior was “normal” kid behavior. I remember the first time I had a friend agree with me that something was different about him and how validating that was for me. My heart has never been to have a label that would define him but rather to have understanding and insight on how to come along side of him as he navigates life.
Somewhere along the way, I had to get honest with myself and accept his neurodiversity by agreeing with a diagnosis. In doing so, we began to discover groups and individuals who knew more clearly how to speak our language. Although I would not have chosen on my own to join the circles I belong in, I am grateful for the community of others who are facing similar challenges.
We long to feel connection and to belong.
While there has been goodness in connection, I am also aware that at times, I’ve felt that familiar tension rising up inside of me. While talking with someone recently I noticed it again. Hyper aware of this trigger for me, I began to disconnect slightly from the conversation to pay attention to what was bubbling up inside of me. My mouth wanted to blurt out, “Stop! You don’t get it! That’s not how it is for us.” Instead, I chose to listen, thanked the woman for the insight, and moved on.
Feelings of isolation and resentment washed over me later as I sat in the reality of what had just happened. How confusing I must be, not only to others, but also to myself. I don’t want people to normalize what I go through, I want them to understand. At the same time, I know that others can never fully understand. So, how can I be loved if I’m never really fully understood? To be honest, this is the question that weighs heavy in my chest.
I may never be fully understood and loved by everyone I hold dear. Can I begin to receive connection in another’s attempt to know me regardless of how badly I feel they are screwing it up? Will I be vulnerable in sharing my story, even if they never understand the depth that is me? Will I be kind in my responses when the tender places in my heart begin to scream?
I long to be a woman who emphatically says, ‘YES! Yes I can, yes I will.” Truth is, that’s harder than I’d like to admit. I am learning that the pocket deep inside my chest doesn’t need to contain everything. I am learning to let go of that which doesn’t belong and I am finding there is more space inside of me. That open space creates room to just be…and to be me.
Bethany Cabell, a lover of simplicity, is often inspired to write by the relationships she holds as a wife, mom, and a physical therapist. Bethany, her husband and their boys returned to life in Texas after wandering off to the Midwest for a season. What she once pictured her life to look like has forever been changed by her two sons. Navigating this messy and beautiful path of parenting two children each with their own unique challenges, she finds grace and beauty in the gift of each moment.
Bethany, this is such a beautiful and timely entry. With my very different set of circumstances, I feel the isolation and misunderstanding that often accompany the unique path I walk in this particular season of my journey. Ongoing grief as I navigate daily losses of dreams, hopes, expectations and sometimes even community to walk with me makes life sometimes overwhelming. I want to say today, I see you. I hear you…and I applaud your perseverance, courage and strength. Carry on, sister. I’m cheering for you! Christine
Bethany, my heart hurt for you as I read this piece. Yesterday, a friend shared this quote with me: What is most personal is most universal. I hope you can find others who can accept you and all the pain you carry in your heart. Not everyone will understand or “get” your struggle, but some will. I hope you find them.
“Can I begin to receive connection in another’s attempt to know me regardless of how badly I feel they are screwing it up? Will I be vulnerable in sharing my story, even if they never understand the depth that is me? Will I be kind in my responses when the tender places in my heart begin to scream?”
Girl. Bingo. You hit the nail on the head with these questions. I know there are so many examples you hold of interactions gone wrong and reasons to never be vulnerable in sharing your story because people won’t understand. I love that you recognize how hard it is to entrust your story even to friends and family, knowing full well they won’t totally get it, yet still having grace for clumsy responses and acknowledging their desire to know and understand, even if they never can 100%. That’s a lot of tension to hold and gaps of understanding to overcome.
I’ve been thinking a lot about grace lately…how much of it I need in human interactions, how much I want to extend to others. (As someone who’s felt tragically misunderstood for most of my life, I need a lot of grace, haha). I was recently talking to someone about how grace is like a dancer…a body that is fluid and flows and adapts and bends…there is nothing crusty or tense about a dancer. Grace is a kind of lubricant that softens our failure to fully get it or say the right thing and it always invites me back to the reality that even though people are imperfect in their understanding and responses, our hearts for each other are good. No one will fully understand us and yet we want to keep trying to understand each other! Love covers a multitude of sins. And I appreciate when my friends are bold to say how my responses impact them. We learn so much from each other that way.
Thanks so much for putting words to this journey and sharing so generously of your story each month. Love you, girl! You’re and incredible mom and woman!
You articulate beautifully a real and painful struggle! I can only imagine your struggle, because I do not understand. I have my own struggle, my own times I have shouted the words You don’t get it, feeling so misunderstood. I am learning a lot about listening….both too those who “have all the answers” and just nodding and trying not to internalize and carry that as well as just listening and walking along side others whose struggle is very different from mine, but there are common things and we can walk together being heard. May you find comfort for that space, as well as your heart as you navigate this journey. Joan
Good words as I listen to my bigs and littles.
You seem to be writing right where I’m living. These lines really hit home: “I may never be fully understood and loved by everyone I hold dear. Can I begin to receive connection in another’s attempt to know me regardless of how badly I feel they are screwing it up? Will I be vulnerable in sharing my story, even if they never understand the depth that is me? Will I be kind in my responses when the tender places in my heart begin to scream?” These questions are ones I am wrestling with daily. Will I choose vulnerability without understanding? Thank you for your writing.
Bethany, thank you for your courage and so generously sharing your story. I resonate with the dilemma of the pain of being misunderstood or dismissed with easy answers or people trying to “normalize” what is unmanageable and yet also a deep desire to belong. I’m so thankful that you have a group of women that truly get it and also that your heart longs to be vulnerable and speak truth even when misunderstood. Beautiful.
Bethany,
I saved this email so that I could read it again. I just re-read it and my heart drank it in. I read and re-read the words:
Feelings of isolation and resentment washed over me later as I sat in the reality of what had just happened. How confusing I must be, not only to others, but also to myself. I don’t want people to normalize what I go through, I want them to understand. At the same time, I know that others can never fully understand. So, how can I be loved if I’m never really fully understood? To be honest, this is the question that weighs heavy in my chest.
And then the following paragraph underscored your courage and commitment to loving whole-heartedly, and to compassion. As spoken in another comment, your personal struggle is also universal, and it is a gift to me today!! Thank you.