Waiting at Warburton
13 November 13
Before we arrived at Ann’s on Friday, I knew that we’d be stuck here. The bus’ starter motor stopped working in a neighbouring town, and although a tow-start got us going again, it wasn’t a permanent solution. When I let Ann know our predicament, she invited us to park at her place as long as we needed.
Furthermore, Ann was out of town for a few days, and her kids were staying with their fathers, so we had the house to ourselves! It was a relief to know that we were so welcome, and it has been a blessing to be at a house for the past couple of days because it’s been raining and cold — typical Victorian weather, I’m told!
As I waited for the right Toyota part and the right help to materialise (which it did, thank-you-very-much, Willow and Jase), I basked in our special location on the edge of the Yarra Ranges National Park, thankful for the journey that brought me into a loving community of outstanding individuals.
Oftentimes I look for parallels between what is happening in the physical stories that surround me and what I need to do with internal self-work. This story about the starter motor breaking down has me reflecting on the areas of my life in which I am not progressing, and I’m thinking a lot about new beginnings and a new phase of life that doesn’t include David.
It’s been sixteen months since David and I have been separated, and I’ve had to transition through a period of mourning our suddently-severed marriage into an acceptance of a situation where it is likely that we will not be living together again. I do feel a resistance to moving on, but it is not from my own spirit but from external or past voices that I tune into.
As I consider divorce, I stagger under the weight of the negativity I heaped upon the concept for so much of my life. For many years I judged others and condemned those whose marriages didn’t last, because staying together was all that was important in my conservative mindset. Now I hear judgements — all those gossipy conversations and pious prayers for a reunion of each marriage that I knew nothing about! — and I know that these echoes are the remnants of my own past unloveliness bouncing around in my head.
I need to find my own personal starter motor and get it going again. I need to once again reframe my life’s purpose in the scope of raising the girls to be wise and experienced and compassionate. Even as I run out of my own power and although the main evidence of my success plays happily around me, I sometimes drown in feelings of inadequacy. I have no one alongside me to help me make difficult decisions about the future and finances and parenting and remaining conscious throughout each struggle, and this aloneness can be overwhelming.
Now that the bus is going again, I think that it’s also a sign that I move on — not just physically from this most hospitable of houses — but also mentally from the past. It’s a difficult transition to make because the unknown is often the scariest of options; while the future is wide open with possibilities, it also gapes as an abyss.
So I carry on, as best as I can, knowing that our lifestyle still works for our family, and I remain conscious of not passing on my own inner turmoil to the girls. We’re heading to Tasmania, and I’m really looking forward to the ferry ride this weekend. Tasmania was the place I came to when I sought healing last year, and with friends waiting to welcome us home, we’re moving into friendly territory. There’s more healing to be done.