Faith

"Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."

- Kahlil Gibran

I was walking down some steps. Not even full steps, but those little steps outside of a building heading to the curb. I took a hard fall and sprained my ankle and foot pretty severely. Crutches, immobility. Then two trips in a row that I could not reschedule, both of which involved large amounts of walking. The ankle and foot took twice as long to heal. Then a full-blown migraine. Took me out of work for a day. Then bronchitis/ pneumonia. Took me out of work for four days. Fever. A lot of sleeping. A lot of crying. A lot of frustration.

Although I had tremendous help from family and friends during this time, I have rarely felt so alone. Some loneliness is from the outside in - you see something or hear something and it reminds you of someone who is far away, and you cannot reach them, and you feel lonely. But this was loneliness from the inside out. The loneliness has been monumental, striking, and frightening.

In some ways it is progress. I rarely allow myself to feel the depth of my loneliness. If what I'm telling the kid is true for me too, then it's better to feel it than not to feel it, whatever "it" is.

Staring at this loneliness feels a bit like staring at the sun. But at least a part of it - like those spots of light and and darkness that are still there when you close your eyes - comes from this ludicrous adventure called being a mom. And it's more than having a life too crazy to tell anyone about. It's more than being too exhausted to hear the "helpful" reactions of well-meaning friends and family. It's more than cancelled plans and trips.

Parenting my RAD child has been an exercise in holding two contradictory secrets deep within my soul. The first secret is that she is a damaged, difficult, often cruel, often out-of-control person who can't be trusted. When we are connected and enjoying our time together I hold this secret tight because if I let it out, the moment will be lost, and these moments are ultimately all we have. The second secret is that she is beautiful, funny, brilliant, compassionate, and capable of achieving anything she sets her mind to. When we are in the thick of things, I hold this secret tight because if I let it out, I'll be disappointed and depressed and I'll let my dreams and expectations destroy the compassion that can only come from acknowledging her reality and her limitations.

Secrets are isolating. And having a secret from oneself... well, it's lonely. From the inside out. Two weeks with no one but my own sweat and phlegm as company has given me ample time to contemplate the reality of holding two such contradictory concepts at once without letting one eclipse the other. Bottom line: it hurts.

Then in searching the internet I came across the opening quote from the poet Gibran. And it reminded me of my two secrets, the twins that inhabit my Gemini brain. Truth is I've been thinking a lot about faith recently. I was burned by faith. I was blinded by faith. At least that's what I told myself. It may still be true. But holding a grudge against faith has not been very productive for me.

So maybe it's time to revisit faith, in her role as the constant companion of my close friend doubt. Maybe if I can encourage them to play well together, life will stop knocking me on my ass. There's only one way to find out.