about the rise

“What if pain – like love – is just a place brave people visit?”
glennon doyle melton

Today was a day that the less lovely words were made for. Words like, “yes, yes I’m fine” & other little words like, “yes, I’m just tired”. Today was a day that the less lovely, the less revealing, the less alive, & the very appeasing words were made for. Actually, this year was a year that the less lovely words were made for.

I like to inspire, maybe it’s that little nine year-old dreamer in me with all the big words and colourful pictures. I guess I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t though. Here’s a lie I’ve bought into: you must have risen above in order to inspire. When did we start teaching each other that?

At the beginnings of books, I sometimes write a short letter to myself for once I’ve finished it– once all those words and stories and sentences have made their way from the pages & made a home in my heart. At the beginning of this particular new book that I drove twenty minutes in a car void of AC to buy at the end of a day that the less lovely words were made for, I wrote a little letter. I said:

Brie, you’re Superman yearning to see if Clark Kent is actually more brave. 

I don’t like how true- nor how dramatic- that is. But it’s written in cheap ink, so oh well. I’ve always believed the strong, courageous, put together person to be the hero in the cape… which is particularly troublesome, because I am a tired person who recently wears sunglasses- not because it’s sunny out- but because I don’t want people to see I’m crying. The lies in my head love this, because it’s the exact opposite of what I tell other people. “Feel all of your emotions when they come & how they come. They have purpose. They are beautiful. They are worthy of attention.” Yet here I am. Believing that for other people. Believing something entirely different for myself.

I recently found out that I do this thing: I numb. I think it comes from this deeply rooted fear that if I don’t look strong- i.e.: if I feel all the pain, all the anger, all the hurt fully– I can’t inspire people, I can’t love people, I can’t be a credible writer or prayer or singer. So instead of feeling all of those valid emotions, which are as heavy and as real as boulders, one at a time, I put them in this backpack.

At first, it’s not bad. Grief: throw that in there. Shame: there’s plenty of room. Anxiety: I can still hold more. I begin to run out of room, & still I carry it. Add Loss. Add Fear. Then today, I slipped. I tried to add Bitterness to my backpack, but I realized I’m running out of room.

I panicked. I tried squeezing it between Pain and Fear– no luck. So then I tried tucking it beneath Regret, and all of a sudden- Anger broke out of the bottom of my bag. It didn’t just fall. It blew up as it met the ground– smoke of memories rose until Anger blinded me. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t convey my thoughts, I couldn’t even say the less lovely words anymore. A friend passes, & I muster my strength to grin. Two minutes later, I receive a text: are you okay? I was in danger of blowing my cover; I was in grave danger of breaking down.

But I’m Brie! I’ve been called strong. brave. courageous. a lion heart. People who revisit their demons are not strong or brave or courageous. Brie, you don’t break down. You carry on. You carry on. You carry on.

Then I heard something from the wild Wind: is it lighter?

I paused. I reflected.

I am angry. & I feel lighter somehow.

How is it possible that I’m feeling anger fully- not masking it with a silver lining or smiling through the pain- & I’m feeling lighter? It hits me. When I numb myself to the pain, I numb myself to the good. If I turn off my senses, they are all gone. I am working at this whole living thing with an extreme disadvantage here. I am not looking at myself with grace, & without grace, what beauty is there to find? Friend, I didn’t realize this on my own- while overcome with Anger. It was with the aid of a dear, dear Sister. She offered me her home as a safe haven to be angry. I was confused at the oxymoron. Safe haven= quiet time in soft lighting with coffee & a stellar instagram post. I do not enter a safe haven to be angry.

Yet, she insisted, & I agreed. I did just that. I gave myself space to be fully angry. It was scary & terrible & it hurt like hell. When we face the emotions we have long since stuffed away, we face the source of them again. I wasn’t just facing Anger- I was meeting with the instances & the people that made me tuck it away to begin with. & it was horrible. & I am grateful for it. I am grateful for my friend who offered her new mason jars to me (so I could smash one on the ground). I am grateful for the walls that heard me yell ugly words at them. I am grateful for my heart that sped up & eventually sped down. I am grateful for the rip in my backpack of numbed emotions. It was a long time coming.

& here is the lie. Superman is more brave. I must hide Clark Kent. But I asked myself the scenario I ask friends facing the same thing:

two knights come up to you. You are to pick one to protect you. One knight is wearing brand new, shiny armor. He is pristine. The other knight’s armor is dented from battles. His sword is worn. His arms are scarred. 
who do you pick to guard your life? 

Obviously, they pick the knight who has been through battles & survived. Suddenly, his scars are not scars at all: they are medals of victories earned through resiliency.

Brie, who is more brave? He who is in the battle or he who watches, unscathed? & there is the grace. & here is the challenge: grace. Grace is powerful. Grace is a weapon against a brutal, brutal, messy life. Brave people replace the less lovely words, “yes, yes I’m fine” with “actually”. Brave people say actually. They let the pain of that single word interrupt their rampant numbness.

I am slowly unpacking my bag– & I am hating it. I am unlearning all of these lies to relearn truth. & I am hating it. But there is beauty. & there is a lightness to it all.

& how sweet the rise is. On the way up, we let go.
We let go.
We unpack what we’ve learned. We feel. We break. & there is a wild lightness in it all that makes us love. makes us sing. makes us grow through the cracks. makes us carry on by slowing down.
Rise & rise again, my friends.

“What if pain – like love – is just a place brave people visit?”
glennon doyle melton