Three Grounding Words

Photo by Eric Lagergren on Unsplash

A year ago at this time, my existential crisis began. I could feel the rumblings of all the change that was to happen in my life. Much of it I welcomed. My girls were getting ready to move out on their own. One of them just got engaged, so we were in the beginning stages of planning a wedding and gaining a son-in-law. Meanwhile, the news was out that the glorious corn field that our backyard backed up to was going to be developed into a 51+ community—meaning we had less than a year to get the heck out of dodge before construction began. Additionally, I turned in my final edits to Saving Face. And while excited and proud of that book, it felt like a finale. Empty nest, book launch, moving, wedding…

The rumblings were also inside me—that it was time for a vocational change. While I love the writing, discovery, and connections, the hustle of the marketing and the evangelical subculture surrounding it wears on me. I escaped from the abusive culture, but I’m constantly reminded of how many victims there are, the latest scandals, and then the everyday challenges to the integrity in participating in the whole Christian writing ecosystem.

And yet I keep yearning for a deep spiritual life—in my inner life, family, friendships, and in a church.

A year ago, it was just a few months before my 49^th birthday, and the rumblings of transformation and uncertainty were reverberating in these multiple facets of my life. I reevaluated what my values are, what matters to me, and seriously thought about how I want to spend this next stage of my life—what do I want to do, where do I want to live, who do I want to spend my time with?

We planned to put the house on the market by March 1. I decided not to write a book this year, but to try and get into a grad school counseling program. Meanwhile, I was going to take a couple classes as a non-degree seeking student to get some experience and see if it’s what I really want to do. Between the lines of the last two sentences is a middle-aged woman going back to the classroom which she hasn’t been in almost 30 years, in which her professors will be younger than her and her classmates the age of her daughters. Not scary. Not scary at all. I can do this. I’ll be a much better student now, as a mature adult. I’ve totally got this. I’m excited. But also freaking humbled and terrified.

It's like I was starting all over again. But I like risk-taking. I love adventure. I was tapping into the agency that I did have as a going-on-49-year-old woman. After writing Saving Face, I was finding more of my own face, wanting to go for it—for all of me. And to shed the fractures of my face that I was still wearing. I wanted to be more purposeful in my life in my friendships, and with my family. Writing that book was transformative; I needed to keep living it.

And that’s when the chronic back pain showed up. My mind was reasonable, encouraging, and collected. My body wasn’t buying it. My nervous system went into fight or flight. It was a lot at once, and no matter what my mind said, my body was holding the fear and uncertainty. After all, it still had a good bit of trauma to recover from.

I’m a journaler. And I highly recommend this practice. I committed to writing raw, digging up my fears, disappointments, excitement, dreams, and anxiety. I think my physical pain was communicating and I needed to listen. Here is one of my excerpts:

It is a scary time with so many unknowns. But I also am seeing how my best plans and goals are getting subverted. How I am being made to wait in uncertainty. And I’m trying to see the freedom in that, the possibility, the need for faith, and the revealing of what/who Aimee is without all these things. I hope it’s a time of discovery.

During this time a year ago, I was sitting on the front stoop of our last home and experienced a visit from a hummingbird that left a big impression on me. It flew straight in front of my face and just stared at me for a few seconds before flying away again. It seemed like a comforting messenger, God’s way of telling me I was going to be okay. This special visit imprinted a message to me—was it God? Was it my own attempts at trying to assign meaning to it? I don’t know. But it was three grounding words that I’ve been assuring myself with through the year:

Love your people.

Simple, I know. But it put things in perspective for me. I am blessed with a wonderful family and friends. Love the people God has put in my life and he will take care of all the things. However things turn out, I have what matters. No regrets.

This morning, I still sit with some of these rumblings. My daughters moved out, our son is home for the summer—home—as in we did it, we found our place. Now we are having many pool parties, painting rooms, changing light fixtures, and all the things. It feels good. But it was a rollercoaster to get to, including a short-term rental for five weeks. During those five weeks we threw a helluva wedding, and now have a married daughter and a new son-in-law. I loved being a student again over the spring semester, aced my classes, but did not get into the fall program I applied to. Apparently, there were only 15 spots, and I overestimated the value of my maturity and experience over the young Psych. Grads with amazing internships. I’m trying again for the spring semester now that I have two classes under my belt and am taking one more class in the fall. I will likely apply to other schools this time as well. A set back—a humbling one—but not enough to give up yet. Saving Face is in the world, and I am proud of that book. My chronic pain is probably 80% better.

I’ve taken more risks. Going back to school made me want to do more peopling outside of the echo chambers of my vocation. I’ve always joked about opening a speakeasy. But I don’t really want to run another business. Why not work in one? One that is the first organic certified distillery in Maryland? Why not try it out? Why not?!

I was thinking about that hummingbird visit, the two “reminder visits” I received thereafter, and those three grounding words that have comforted me and helped me to move forward in all these transitions. I looked back at my journal entry. When I wrote about it, I received it as a benediction. I felt seen and blessed by God. I felt his face shining upon me in my anxiety. And I felt empowered that in all the uncertainty and risks, I can love. I can take notice. And I am so blessed.