This is hard. I know I have to let go but there is a part of me that isn’t quite ready. I want to hold on.
Sixteen. The magical age where kids can learn to drive, the gateway to freedom. Theirs and mine. Having been the family chauffeur for 25 years, I am looking forward to our youngest getting his license and handing over the keys to the car.
No more waiting in cold parking lots at 10pm in the dark of winter. Gone will be the days of rushing out of work to jump into the car to race to the school where I peel in just in time to pick up said child and put pedal to the metal to get back home just in time to turn around for the next activity.
“Go! Go! Go!” “Get your gear together” “Do you have your water bottle?” “No, I don’t know where you put it“. “Hurry up! Dinner is ready!” These are the sounds of a crazy person aka…. a mom.
Food is quickly inhaled. Jump back in the car and we fly down the hill. We’re coming in hot with seconds to spare. The treadmill of my life is running fast. I hold on so I don’t fall off.
Before we get too far, I do need to clarify that the reason I drive so much is because I love an active kid. I am super supportive of school activities and more. I do wish that we lived a little closer so that he could walk. It’s 5km distance between our house and most activities and no public transit. Also, it’s uphill. Tough to carry a hockey bag. I throw on the chauffeur cap and go.
This all will change with the freedom to drive. I delight in images of waving goodbye to fast and furious. Peace and quiet go nicely together over dinner and a glass of white wine. I might even see my husband across the table and remember his name.
To achieve freedom, there is just one thing in the way. Said son (Owen) must learn to drive which means sitting in the driver’s seat, taking the wheel and having control of the gas pedal. I sit in the passenger seat and wonder if today is the day I almost die. I hold on. Letting go isn’t easy.
Here are a few confessions. Owen is our youngest. At sixteen, he seems younger than the other two kids. This is completely not true but, in my eyes, he can’t be old enough to drive. I stall. I let him drive every once in a while. I also put him in drivers’ education which is a two-day course followed by eight hours of labs online. Another stall tactic to him taking the wheel. It’s the struggle to be willing to let go.
Four months have passed. I can’t stall any longer. I only wish it was back to the days where he was learning to bike. Remember those days? You let go and they wobbled down the road and the worst that could happen is scraped knees.
I have not been the best example. I have felt that posted speed limits were more guidelines than rules. Suddenly, being in the passenger seat, 50km per hour (30 mph) feels like warp speed.
We persevere. I try and remain calm. I point out when he might want to be a little more in the middle of the lane, he says he is. There are few instances where because he is learning a stick shift that we stall. I try to yell quietly “FIRST! YOU HAVE TO FIND FIRST”. Not helpful when we are in the middle of the intersection. It’s messy. I try and trust him. He’s not fooled. He notices that while I say, “you’re doing great“, I am clutching the arm rest for dear life. He looks at me. I blush but still hold on.
If I let go, he will be gone. This is the dance that I dread. Keen on freedom but oh how I will miss the moments together. Yes, the shuttle driving is tedious but it also when we connect, when we talk and catch up. For almost a quarter century, I have been the lead role in my children’s lives. I would call myself the “conductor”, they might lean towards the descriptive of “dictator”. Whatever. The point is, I was in the centre of their lives, and I felt useful. Giving them their freedom is letting go and then who am I?
The balance of knowing when to hold on and when to let go is hard and permeates into many crevices of my life. I tend to hold on longer than I should. Letting go often makes my heart break.
I am grateful for digital cameras. I now have a database of moments, visual placeholders of time that allow me to visit over and over again to relive feelings that I never want to forget. When I look at photos of Owen, it’s hard to believe the journey. Those chubby cheeks, bath time rituals, the slow stretching from toddler to teen. The journey of life.
It’s a bittersweet journey. Cheering at milestones that mark the moments that will only lead to the time when he is ready to let go. This is hard. I know I have to let go but there is a part of me that isn’t quite ready.
“You fight to hold on. You fight to let go”
Unknown
And it’s not just kids. It’s everything and everyone. Jobs, careers, opportunities friendships, relationships, family and more. It’s the tension of life. A balance of knowing when the tides need to change. Sometimes I time it just right, other times, I miss the window. I often wonder what I have missed by holding on when I should have let go. The same can be said when I have let go and maybe I should have held on. It’s complicated.
If I could wish one thing today it would be that I could turn back time to live more fully in the moments that mattered. I blinked and then it was over. Time marched on. The hand that I held slips away. Our fingertips brush gently. We let go and say goodbye. It’s feelings of grief which feel harder because of how much I love you.
And there it is. The days are long, the years are short. Endings that lead to new beginnings. I regret that sometimes I drove so fast that I missed much of the scenery. I forgot to pack a picnic so that when a beautiful landscape presented itself, I could stop the car and soak it all in. Likely it’s impossible to stop time but perhaps in my next beginning, I can slow it down. Not rush. Really listen. Pay attention. Let the people that I love know that I see them, hear them and value them. If I could do one thing better in this next chapter, I would want the people in my life to feel that I was fully present.
And as I turn the page, maybe there is time and space to check back with those that I thought I lost and let go. Perhaps, we could check in and see if there was a second wind in which we could fly. Let go of what has held us apart.
Here’s to new beginnings, new chapters and believing that it’s never too late to jump.
The bags were packed, not to be carried, but to be set down and left behind. When I took that first step, I have never felt more free.
I had a picture in my head of how my life was “supposed” to be and when I looked in the mirror, it was anything but. I thought by 50, I would have braved the crocodiles and somehow emerged onto safe ground which was defined by accolades that I could hang a sense of relief on.
What kind of accolades? I’m going to go with a fairly average vision; successful career, comfortable retirement, healthy savings, good family and friends and maybe a house that had a linen closet, more than one bathroom and possibly even a place to iron my clothes other than my bed. I saw myself as stylish; owning clothes that said “dry clean only” instead of a wide variety of items that require a mere 5 minutes in the dryer with a damp towel. My husband and I would grow gracefully old; him looking great wearing khakis and a blue button down shirt and me in my white and blue linens. I see the flaw. I think that my life aspirations were modeled after a retirement ad that I saw on TV…..
The Dream…..The Reality….No need to dry clean…
As I hit my 50’s and certainly what most would describe as a mid-life meltdown, I found myself taking stock of life and looking at where I had fallen short. What have I done versus what others have done? The expectations that I had of myself and what I had wanted to achieve were certainly less than and my disappointment in myself was was deep and I felt shame that somehow I had fucked it all up based on poor decisions.
I started writing this blog in April 2020 with the ambition of documenting the journey of what it was to fall apart and have the courage to start again. I envisioned a process that had eloquent insight into what it is to muddle through midlife despite things being not exactly as one dreamed and being able to rise.
I saw 2021 as the Revival Tour where I rocked out on stage and sang HALLELUJAH with relief at having made it to the other side.
I enjoyed all my new paths of exploration. I took up gardening, raising pigs and chickens. I bought a mountain bike, went back to school and got back into hiking, camping and canoeing. I took on new work opportunities, started an exercise program and even joined NOOM.
While I was keen on food security, I sucked at gardening. Don’t hate me but after two years, I can honestly say that I do not find love in the dirt. All spring and summer, I watched people show their amazing gardens and I so wanted to be like them. I wanted to dig in the earth and find a spiritual sense peace and beam with pride as a I served a “garden fresh” salad to the table. Unfortunately, that’s not me. Anyone who knows me, knows that I don’t like cooking. I’m not even a fan of food. Why did I think I would love to garden? I have never felt it an honour to feed and nourish my offspring; I sort of saw it as retaliation for something I did in a past life.
I turned my attention to mountain biking. I bought a bike in hopes that an equipment upgrade would enhance my performance. I did improve. Slightly. I just could not find the love of grinding up hills while sucking wind only to risk life and limb on the downhill. I did enjoy being out with my son and husband but as a mountain “braker”, I’m not sure they loved the outing the same way I did.
Hiking? Canoeing? OK. I’m keen as long as I don’t have to go with my family but I sure did like those little meals that come in a bag.
My lumps and bumps are still there. I had some losses but I worked it out that my losses came at a cost of approximately $37 / pound. It was a good program, just not for me and we had to break up. We had what I call some “creative differences” over how to count calories.
So there you have it. I won’t even bore you with how to revive a travel business during a pandemic. There was a brief glimpse of hope before the door slammed shut once again. Surely one of those things that I started would have been the catalyst that would lead to joy and yet…. I just felt the same.
Before
After
All my talk about “jumping” and courage and trying to be brave was all stuff best left to inspirational t-shirts and podcasts. It wasn’t working and I felt like a fraud. The mic dropped, the bus broke down and the tour got cancelled.
I believe in hope and with this belief, I was going to give it one more go to reboot my connection to life and getting back on tour. I joined seven of my dearest friends on Saturday September 18th to rappel down a 23 story building in Vancouver, BC to help raise funds for children and families with disabilities. A big jump for sure.
I had done this before in 2019 but I did it with my eyes closed. No lie but honestly, can you blame me? The hardest part is climbing over the edge of the building and trusting that the ropes will hold. The vision of the robes breaking and free falling to a messy death is real.
In 2019, my Super Hero partner was not only an inspiration then but remains an inspiration now. She really does leap over tall buildings and throws her arms out wide to embrace the experience. She kept saying to me “Shelley, just look at the view!”. My fear of heights is often paralyzing and it took all I had to unclench my eyelids and take a brief peek at the view. That millisecond glance was nice but my goal was to quite simply “arrive alive“.
And while I was glad to find firm footing at the end of that day, a part of me yearned to do it again and stretch that comfort zone. When my gal pals all signed up for 2021, it was a no brainer that I would join them.
It was an amazing morning. The weather looked good, the skies were bright and the gale force winds that had ravaged the city the day before seemed to be quiet. Everyone was nervous in their own way yet we all shared a commitment to overcoming our fears in pursuit of a great cause (www.eastersealsbcy.ca). One by one, we headed to the roof, each with our own narrative. It was amazing, in fact, it was a metaphor for life. Each one of us lived the same experience but differently and in that, I found inspiration.
Some of us were happy to just get over the ledge and find our way down while others took to the sky like birds in the wind. My Super Hero partner from 2019 was as magnificent as ever and continued to take in the views and live every moment of being up so high. Another friend found so much joy that she looked like someone from Cirque du Soleil the way she somersaulted in the sky. I was in awe watching her find joy in the journey and without fear or hesitation. What is even more remarkable is that her real life journey has given her scars and yet, in that moment, she chose to soar.
For me, while I did not use the opportunity to try out for Cirque du Soleil, I was happy that my Super Hero friends inspired me to open my eyes, to love the journey and to even let go of the rope and feel secure enough to dance with delight at being able to push back the fears of “what if” and trust that all would be well.
My friends, my heroes….
It was a day of celebration. Many other friends and family came to cheer and I am delighted to say that thanks to tremendous support and generosity, our team raised a little under $15,000. We are stronger together and together, we make a difference.
There wasn’t ever any question that I wouldn’t do the jump. Let’s be honest…..how does one write a blog called “And Then I Jumped” and not actually do it? I needed to fix the bus and get back on tour.
I returned home but no matter my efforts, I couldn’t get the bus to start.
This is the hard part where I tell you what happened and why I stopped writing. I fell down a really dark hole and couldn’t get out. I had this idea of what life would be like for me and I didn’t measure up. I felt that I had failed myself and my potential.
While I had always been quite mean to myself, in October, the voices in my head became vicious. The rhetoric was awful and just a barrage of vile. The monsters who I call Shame and Blame had a firm hold on me. All day they kept yelling at me, reminding me of all my failures, hitting me with memories of when I could have made a different choice. I sat there and took it, feeling like I deserved no better than the beating I was receiving.
Once a day, my monsters let me out of the hole. I could pop up for just long enough to make dinner for the family and ask everyone how they were doing but right afterwards, I was dragged back down to ensure that I didn’t get to bed without further feeling like I was worth nothing.
To escape, I did everything I could to numb the pain. 5pm would come along and I would count the minutes until I could go to bed and find reprieve. Sure that worked but at 3am, they found me and dragged me back down that hole of pain and the beatings and berating would start again. Every reminder of being less than; like glass cutting skin.
I was down in that dark hole for a long time and to be deeply honest, endings looked easier than beginnings and to this, I gave true contemplation. I felt the anguish that my life was hopeless and likely without purpose. I can honestly say that I felt that I was a waste of space. And yet, somewhere in that darkness, a small slice of light came through and the dream of being back on tour held me back from a final jump.
H.O.P.E Hold On. Pain Ends
It was just enough light and I called a friend. I knew she had faced monsters and could possibly understand. She put everything aside and listened. I asked her not to counter anything I said with something positive. I needed her to hear what the monsters were saying. I needed to confess what the voices were yelling. Even though she was on the phone, I felt as though she was holding my hand and she listened with her heart. Grace. In that moment, I was granted grace.
When all was said and done, I asked her how she makes the changes she makes. I asked how and where do I make the jump? “Shelley, it doesn’t have to be a jump. It’s a bridge. You look to where you want to go and you take one step at a time”
A bridge. A connection to tomorrow. Suddenly, I knew where I wanted to go.
Crossing a bridge took more courage than making a jump but if I hadn’t practiced jumping, I wouldn’t have been able to take the first step. I was scared. I was scared to own the life that I actually wanted. What if it wasn’t enough? What if I wasn’t enough? And here’s the rub. Living life safe was only making me miserable. I was too busy living the life I thought I should live based on the comparisons of what others were doing. I tried to be someone I wasn’t and in that place of pretending, it’s why I could never measure up.
So here’s what I did. I packed my bags with all those mean words. I crammed them all in and didn’t leave anything out. “Loser, failure, inadequate, stupid, idiot, incompetent” and more were packed. It actually took two suitcases and they were heavy.
The bags were packed, not to be carried, but to be set down and left behind. When I took that first step, I have never felt more free.
People asked, “why didn’t you call me?” “Why didn’t you let me know?”
The answer is because I loved you too much. I would never want anyone to be in that dark hole, to face the monsters or feel the cold and take the beatings. It isn’t a place that you invite people to go. It is a prison with a torture chamber not a cafe with lovely lattes and warm chocolate chip cookies.
The other answer is because I didn’t know how to let go of my pain without falling apart. I was afraid. What if I let go and the ropes failed and I fell to the ground? I wasn’t yet strong enough to open the wounds. But please know this, I knew you were there. You were the light.
I share this because I made it through and if you are struggling, please know that even thought it might feel like you are alone, you aren’t and there is hope. I say that sincerely and speak from experience.
It took time (a lot of time!) but I let go of what I thought it was “supposed” to be and am now living who I want to be. I’ve also let go of comparisons and “labels” that weren’t helpful to me. I am married and have stopped calling myself a “wife“. All that did was conjure up images of loving to cook and clean which just made me feel guilty because I really hate that shit. Same thing with being a “mother“. I have had children who I love and adore but my image of what a “mother” is comes from outdated narratives and none of them involve dancing on tables while singing out loud.
My impressions of what roles “should be” weren’t my definitions. I borrowed them from other people and tried to make them fit; like trying to fit into jeans that were three sizes too small. No wonder I hurt.
My constant comparison was only crushing my own potential but now I feel free. I am who I am and I can own that; all of it. Even the messy bits. I don’t have to fit what isn’t mine or that which is destined for me. There is no one else who is meant to live my life. That spot has been saved for me. Copy and paste is done and with that, the mean voices are now quiet.
So dear readers. The bus is back on tour and Revival feels amazing. I hope if you are carrying baggage that is holding you back that you let it go. If you find yourself in dark places, find a hand that you can hold. Look ahead and see what you want and feel what it might feel like to take that first step. Letting go of fear has changed my life. For the first time ever, I have absolute confidence in what comes next. It doesn’t mean that I am not afraid, it just means that I feel more brave than scared. I have found my own passions and they are bringing me joy. The release of my labels and making comparisons is something I wish I could describe. I can only share that it feels like I am finally free.
To all those that love, thank you. Thank you for holding my hand and for seeing things that I couldn’t see for myself. Thank you for being patient and kind. You were the stars when I needed the light.
With love to all and with my love, my hope that you all find joy whether you take the first step or make the jump.
And Then I Jumped...... 