Choosing not to suffer
8 February 16
I choose my own suffering. And that’s something I don’t wish to endure any longer.
(Photos to come)
***
We say goodbye at the gate. Aisha is flying to spend time with our Melbourne family — she plans on window-shopping, eating meat and submerging herself in the big city. I’m thankful that I don’t have to personally facilitate those experiences, but the separation pains me.
As I watch Aisha walk alongside the flight attendant and climb the stairs with her luggage, I feel like bursting into tears. We’ve been apart before, so the sadness is mostly residual from my own early experiences of leaving my parents to attend boarding school from the age of six. I’m also imagining a lonely time when I’ll have four daughters spread across the globe … and then whom will I clean up after?
Aisha is happy and confident in flying alone. She knows that she only needs to tackle this for the first time, and then the world will be open to her. She is not sad, she is watchful and focused — intent on learning whatever tricks she can to make her next solo flight easier.
I am sad, but not for her — for me. In acknowledging that, in recognising that my pain is rooted in the past and projected into the future, I can choose not to suffer. Not at this moment. Not for this. No longer.
***
The mechanic calls me. He is clear and informative and friendly, but the report is grim. Mechanical details rearrange their letters in my head and all I’m left with is the fact that I probably won’t have the bus back this month. I don’t dare to ask about the final price tag — I’m not as grossly masochistic as that.
After receiving the news, I am tempted to wallow in the pain of losing our transport, our independence, our free-ranging activities, our adventure-mobile. We’ve been camping in a tent since December — which has been lovely — but I’m ready for a change of season.
On a practical level, we’re surrounded by supportive friends who have vehicles and are happy to assist, but I feel uncomfortable surrendering my independence in order to accept their help. And that hurts. I’ve built my identity on a foundation of independence (however illusionary), and in losing transport I also have to demonstrate to the girls that I’m dependent on others’ good graces to drive us places — much like they are to me.
In seeing this all within myself, I can let it go. I can open myself to the new depths of friendship that can form as I allow myself to be vulnerable in new, practical ways. I can choose not to suffer. Not at this moment. Not for this. No longer.
***
I open the email without assessing its message in advance. I have no time to prepare for the punch to my gut. It arrives in the form of a courteous message from a Queensland police station: “Property lodged at the [station] can now be returned to you. The property consists of:
- Baby accessories: Pram/Stroller – Pram, and
- Household articles: Bedspreads/blankets – 1 x blue blanket (in poor condition)”
Fuck! I didn’t expect that. Memories of that dreadful night overwhelm me, and I burst into tears. Brioni and Calista hear my sobs and enfold me with their arms, quietly holding me until the emotions are all spent.
As I explain my weeping to the girls, I allow for the authentic expression of my painful memories. But I also remind them (and myself) that without the events of that night, we wouldn’t be here — where we are — in this current adventure, in this moment, in this place.
While the real pain of the grief continues to flatten me at times, the loss is continuing to transform into a greater gain. I’ve been able to do amazing things as a single, powerful woman, and I am doing a sterling job at raising these four girls in a peaceful and respectful way. I can befriend and mentor other young men in Elijah’s stead, and I can open my chest and display my mangled heart as proof that life continues — not just a mediocre life, but one of compassion and generosity and amazing adventures. I can actively choose not to suffer. Not at this moment. Not for this. No longer.
***
It’s a work-in-progress, this not-suffering thing. Each time I discover I’m retreating into suffering, I remind myself to return to the present moment — where everything is alright.
Emotional pain has been a constant companion since childhood, and perhaps I’m subconsciously afraid of a vacuum. Whatever will fill its vacated allotment in my mind? Do I dare hope for something good? Yes, of course I do!
Because I can choose not to suffer. Not at this moment. Not for this, or that, or the other thing. No longer.
1 · Stevi · 8 February 2016, 11:55
<3 <3
2 · Gwenda · 8 February 2016, 12:04
Thank you Lauren for this beautifully written blog.
I am sorry that you are experiencing these emotions at this time, but you have it all in hand.
Thank you for reminding me that at 63 I too can choose not to suffer,not at this moment, not for this or that or the other thing. No longer.
We can embrace the day together.
Hope to see you sometime in the next few months.
3 · Melissa · 8 February 2016, 12:17
***Hugs*** Thank you again for sharing so open and honestly.
4 · Sandie O'Brien · 8 February 2016, 12:21
My darling , it has been along time since we held each other, I read your words here …….my heart is open , I feel a pain it hurts and I also feel a great feeling of love and connection, I feel alive, I feel my tears fall down my cheeks, as I write this , I love all that you say above…I am present to my heart……. this morning I woke early and went to the beach for a walk , I wrote 3 names in the sand for I also choose not to suffer with my past around the three wonderful people to whom I am no longer connected to physically , my grief fills my being, and I also feel the love being that I am . You will always hold a special part in my heart. Love Love Love xx
5 · Annie · 8 February 2016, 12:42
Much love to you dearest. You continue to be an inspiration.
6 · Trish tiffen · 8 February 2016, 15:30
Lauren you have a true gift in your writings. Also amazing insight. Much love xx
7 · Liss · 8 February 2016, 15:40
Incredibly poignant words, Lauren. I wish you peace. Xx
8 · Hellena Post · 8 February 2016, 17:03
Gorgeous words and emotions beautifully expressed! I can almost see you as you think and say them. I love you, and what you’ve expressed so perfectly here, and especially for being in your life through this time, to witness how completely every single word above, is true from the bottom of your heart and soul.
You’ve done and you are doing an incredible journey through these experiences that make even the most pain hardened quail……. And I’m honoured to have been able to glimpse some of your journey, hope, faith and love :)
9 · Katia · 8 February 2016, 21:31
Thank you for this post.
You’re a true example…
I’m not strong enough yet, and I can’t return to a present where everything is alright, but once I can do that! That’s my goal…
10 · · 8 February 2016, 22:10
<3 <3 <3 Good luck and travels for Aisha, I can’t imagine how we will feel the first time Daníel Valur goes on a flight on his own, I’m hugging him close right now at the thought!
My heart is going out to you right now, and I hope our friendship can help in this time of difficulty. Let us know if you need anything. We love you!
11 · Ruth · 8 February 2016, 22:10
Hello Lauren,
I’ve followed your journey on FB. I feel your pain as a mother. But also as a kindred soul I believe. I’ve walked and run over the red bridge where it happened and seen the flowers. I’ve cried out to God as to why and prayed for you over these years. I have lived in Eagleby and now I’ve moved on to an another suburb. I moved here from Canberra in 2005 when expecting my son. It was my new beginning but also another disaster. My 2nd marriage fell apart by the age he was 2. I was raised by fundamental Christian parents and left home at 15, married by 16. I’ve travelled around Australia and pretty much raised my older children on my own. I’ve lived in caravan parks in the out backthe, and lived an adventurous life. I’ve been challenged by my belief system to the fullest extent. I’m 48 now, have a 3 yr old, 9 yr ol, 25 yr old expecting and a 28 yr old whose wife is expecting. I’ve faced all you had without it actually happening… I’ve worked for government and ended up here purely for my family’s support. I dream of hitting the road again daily. You have my support and my prayers Lauren.
12 · Mary · 8 February 2016, 23:18
You are solid. No assumptions, no projections, completely mindful of the present moment and connected to yourself in your ability to experience the pain and choose the joy. Connected to others in your willingness to share your vulnerability. Prayers of thanksgiving for who you are (as far as one can know another through her writing). Prayers of comfort and peace as you grieve. Prayers of hope for the new “Sparkling Adventures” around the corner which will introduce you to the next part of yourself to be discovered, deeper relationship within (our inner space is eternal) and with your children. Profound blessings to you.
13 · Lesley Joy Clark · 8 February 2016, 23:23
Thank you for being courageous enough to share your “mangled heart”.
I will also choose to move away from suffering.
God bless you dear friend
14 · Jennifer · 9 February 2016, 10:02
Oh Lauren! So many things! Sending you hugs and prayers from Ohio. You are such a beautiful spirit and you’ve inspired so many. I hope you can feel our love now, sister. I know you will choose joy. But I ‘m also thankful that you are gently allowing the grieving as far as is necessary for you. Praying safe travels for ALL of you but specials for Aisha. What a brave little spirit ;)
15 · Laura · 9 February 2016, 12:17
My heart broke reading the paragraph about returning the babies things. I’m so sorry. It is a good reminder to us all that we truly do get to choose how,we feel each day. Be strong young mama.
16 · Yada · 11 February 2016, 05:01
It’s one in the morning and I woke, wondering and worrying again about my 29 year old daughter whom I haven’t heard from in over a month now…and the first thing I found was this latest post of yours. I’m humbled by you. Grateful for your strength, openness, consciousness and grace.
Choosing, being aware that one does…and then: choosing not to suffer.
Thank you.
17 · Elise · 11 February 2016, 06:58
Lauren,
I’ve followed you for several years (I still have your beautiful sticker on my van) and would just like you to know that you are in my thoughts. You continue to inspire, and I am sending you love and light from Wisconsin. Even though we’ve never met, I feel like we’re friends. Thinking of you. <3
18 · Paula Mantilla · 12 February 2016, 11:28
Lauren,
Such a great perspective. Suffering IS a choice. Your outlook on life is such an inspiration and I am happy to say I am raising my children similarily. We too are fond of unschooling, free range parenting, and exploration of the world around us. I am proud to be one of the parents along with you who are raising our children to make a difference in the world!
Peace & love to you xo
Paula
19 · Kadie · 12 February 2016, 11:30
Beautifully written! <3
You have so much grace.
20 · Mary · 13 February 2016, 05:42
Forgive my ignorance as, I am not a tech savvy individual . . . I am seeing a lot of <3. I’ve been attempting to speculate on what this means and I am certain it must mean something kind. Does someone feel comfortable explaining? (What I see is “less than three” and, for some reason, my right brain is not kicking in).
With Gratitude,
Mary
21 · Elizabeth · 14 February 2016, 07:18
Mary people are sending the heart emoticon but for some weird reason it is turning into the three. Lauren I hope you are okay thinking if you and your lovely family
22 · Mary · 16 February 2016, 11:00
Thank you Elizabeth <3 : )
23 · Paulo · 6 March 2016, 11:54
Beautifully written, Lauren. I feel a lot of what you said. Different experiences maybe, but same feeling—the past is the past, and although it shapes who we are today, it is gone forever. What we have is NOW… you know what I’m saying. Keep your head up! Luvya, -P
24 · Christina · 19 July 2016, 22:22
This’s is awesome stuff. Wondering if I could speak with you sometime. Soon. I have a big something going on and feel like u might be able to help with a story of your own which may help to mirror something I need to know about my own situation before it’s too late. Feeling vulnerable.