Learning to trust again...

I sought the approval of others from an early age. I wanted to be liked and I genuinely liked other people. I trusted other people and gave my trust freely to others (in many cases) before it was legitimately earned. I wanted to think the best of everyone around me, of every situation, and I viewed the world through rose-colored glasses. It mattered to me that I was accepted, included, and I cared about how others viewed me…until I stopped caring about what others thought.

Looking back, I wonder why I felt this way and why it mattered so much to me. Was it part of the human condition? A result of my birth order? The desire for kinship, friendship, membership, or courtship? Did I not get enough attention? Did I get too much attention?

I was the one trying to keep up. Not only was I the youngest in my immediate family, but I was the youngest cousin and grandchild. I desperately wanted to be seen for who I was, and not identified as following in someone else’s shadow or footsteps.

I can vividly remember hiding behind a dresser in my closet for what seemed like an eternity to see if anyone noticed I was missing. When would they come looking for me?

And I don’t know where the perception of being the youngest child became such a glorified position. As the youngest in my family, you were put to the test. Sometimes the scapegoat (having no idea what that even meant), sometimes the guinea pig, like the time my sisters put me down the clothes chute - one dropping me from above and the other catching me down below (despite a babysitter being on-site), and sometimes serving as the get-out-of-jail-free card (with the charming little smile).

I carried this posture of belonging into my teens, twenties, and even my thirties. My general memories are those of going along to get along at work, not making waves with friends, and being the easy one to travel with on an extended trip. I was pretty low maintenance and willing to let others “get their way” in order to keep the peace or avoid conflict. I found it was easier this way.

I could strike up a conversation with almost anyone and many people sought out my welcoming demeanor to share their stories. I was an open book, and likewise, an avid listener for others.

Maybe I had blinders on until then, but the tide had shifted, and I came to the realization that not everyone liked me, or accepted me, or included me. A heightened sense of awareness emerged that I had never recognized before nor had a pulse on. This turning point was unequivocally magnified that summer afternoon when I walked to the mailbox.

I opened the mailbox door to a card that had the words mediation on it. The thoughts began flooding my head as my heart sank to the tip of my big toe. Was this what I thought it was? Was I imagining something? Was I awake at this exact moment?

Being the truth seeker that I am - I went inside and immediately called the county to inquire about any divorce filings that might exist under my name. To my shock, the person on the other end replied, “Yes.” I was in complete disbelief. My sister had died the prior year and I couldn’t even begin to imagine what this roadmap might look like. How would I possibly get through this without her support and guidance? She was my closest trusted confidant.

Given the date on the calendar, I had a feeling I might get the official word on my birthday, a Sunday that year, when 364 other options existed. And my instincts were correct. I was overwhelmed by a sense of betrayal, deeply hurt and humiliated, seeing the vision I had for my life and my family destroyed, and I felt guilty that I had let my children down. My vows weren’t fleeting.

In hindsight, I believe God gave me a heads-up so I could maintain my composure when the hammer dropped, and that I did.

When the person you are supposed to trust the most lets you down, it forever changes your perspective on trust and boundaries.

It would be two long years before everything was finalized. I went from being a stay-at-home mom to a full-time working single mother raising two children alone. I would be the one left behind to pick up the pieces and move forward, to put on a brave face in public, to answer the questions, to absorb the scrutiny, judgment, exclusion, and “all the things” that go along with it.

If you had told me then that I’d find the ability to forgive myself and the situation, I would have told you that you were out of your mind. I wasn’t there yet. I had to walk with God for quite a while to understand his plan for me was for good and wasn’t meant for harm.

I learned to give up control over what I couldn’t control (which was virtually everything). I surrendered to celebrating holidays on a different date than the calendar acknowledges. Most parents rip the Band-Aid off when they make the college drop-off, but this reality landed much sooner for me. However, the greatest life lesson I received through the process was the importance of prioritizing my love for my children first and my desire for them to thrive and be happy.

For me, learning to trust again meant not allowing my value to be connected to the actions or words of others. And when I stopped caring what others thought, it was the most freeing moment in my life. It gave me permission to exist exactly as I am.

Psalm 139:14 - “...for I am fearfully and wonderfully made...”