I turned 50 this year. Can I share that there is a lot of pressure to be awesome by 50? You should take a monumental trip, have a huge party, have your children rise up and call you blessed. Good Lord! The pressure! My 40s were hard. In the last ten years, I have sat in more therapy sessions, cried more tears, and felt little ability to pull my unraveling life together.
My life fell apart because I had been living for a curated Jesus who demanded perfection. The thing was, I was not perfect, my marriage and children were not perfect, and my family of origin is a shit show that could be a reality TV show. I am grieving the years that things looked more perfect because life did feel more under my own control.
I hate powerlessness, and yet I am powerless over life. I hold so much struggle in my body. Years of generational trauma and recent trauma piled on top. It was bound to avalanche down at some point. And it did. A real avalanche creates an alluvial fan of debris. I am coming to you from the debris field.
Instead of a huge party to celebrate, here’s what I am asking of my friends who have stuck with me. Love me in the middle of the debris field. Love me as I’m buried. Love me as my kids mess up and fall down or as they complete tasks but we know how hard it actually was. Love me in the millions of un-postable pictures.
Bless me for moving forward. Bless me for the therapy I’ve paid for and all the illusions I have allowed to shatter. Bless me for fighting for my marriage and my children and myself. Bless me for leaving false Christianity behind. Bless me for trying new things even when they do not work. Bless my depression. Bless my desperation.
Bless me for unraveling to the point of realness.
I was reckoning with all these thoughts this week while having a really unbearable day. My husband looked at me and said, “Do whatever you need to soothe yourself.” Then he left the house for a few hours. Wise man. I decided to watch the movie “Dances with Wolves” while in a very hot bath. I didn’t know why until I was two hours into watching Kevin Costner’s character mimic my life. John Dunbar did not do well handling the realities of the Civil War. He knew he needed something else. He was posted in the middle of an unsettled territory, alone. That feels awfully familiar in literal and metaphorical ways to me.
Then my body sank into the cooling water as I watched the Sioux tribe take him in and teach him how they lived, which was slow, filled with meaning, and beautifully attentive to what is necessary. He learned new ways, but he sucked at it. He was clumsy and curious. That felt familiar too. I watched as his presence cost the tribe. And then, the last scene of the movie undid me.
The tribe is wintering in a valley, and Kevin Costner’s character has decided he needs to leave to protect the tribe from the army pursuing him. He’s packing up when his friend screams from the tip of a ridge: “Do you see me? I am Wind in his Hair, and I am your friend, Dances with Wolves!” He yells it again and again, pronouncing loyalty and honor to a man who has brought equal parts good and bad. Kevin Costner can’t even respond but keeps moving out of camp.
I cried hot tears realizing that so much of what I have been needing for my birthday was the real pronouncement of loyalty and honor to my very mid-process self. I honestly don’t think we, as a society, know how to offer this kind of seeing well, but we need to keep trying.
My therapist asked me to write how I’d want to be named right here, right now, and this is what I said: “I want to be called Mother, Protector, Warrior, Storyteller. A creator of safety, justice seeker, beauty maker, emotional container, rock carrier, flower planter, fun maker, order bringer, peace maker, history knower. I’m a secret comedian, and I love to mow. I will fight anyone over my children or someone I love. I’m a badass, hot mess that doesn’t look any closer to pulling it together today than yesterday.”
We are all messy when it comes down to it, and we do not always stick the landing on decade birthdays. And that is okay; in fact, it is worth celebrating.
Shandee Mikesh lives in Northern Colorado with her farmer husband, goats, chickens, and corgi. She is a recent empty nester but still mother to three enjoyable young adults. You can find her mowing for hours to rid the farm of rodents and snakes, taking a hike, or laughing at menopause.
I don’t know but all of us want to have dinner with you haha
Shandee,
This is beautiful and so resonant!
You are an inspiration to me as I approach 50 in a few months. Keep writing and sharing your authentic and messy beautiful self!
Bless your mid-process self! Thank you for sharing truth.
What a powerful story of admission, acceptance, success. I, too, would love to have long dinners of deep conversation, pee-in-your-pants laughter, and sighs of relief over a tall, cold glass of something with you. I love your frankness and honesty. It gives us all permission. Keep writing; I need to read.
Brilliant!