Flowering Quince on the creekbank at the farm.

I am all about personal growth. I needed it desperately…several times in my life. Each time the opportunity presented itself, I came out a better version of myself. After my first divorce, it was honestly all I could do to be a better mom and get through my days. Hubby #1 moved back to WV after we separated so he could go to college. I stayed on in Denver, raising Daughter #1 and working. I really didn’t have much time to think about personal growth. I wouldn’t have known what that meant anyway.

One of my biggest seasons of personal growth came after divorce #2. I felt like such a failure. I was forty-seven years old. Daughter #1 was grown and married and lived clear across the country. Daughter #2 was just 10. I did a lot of work in the five years after that divorce and it was really, really hard. I tried dating, but I wasn’t very good at that, either. I opened my needlework shop, I had an excellent therapist, and I learned to say no. I learned about boundaries…something the adult child of an alcoholic knows so little about. I learned about co-dependency and how badly I didn’t want that in my life anymore.

Right around the time I decided being alone wasn’t such a bad thing…in walked Mr. Virgo. A whirlwind romance ensued and soon we were walking the streets of Aspen, rubbing elbows with the beautiful people and enjoying fine dining and lots of fun. We moved around the state to new work opportunities. We lived a beautiful life. 

Then he died.

While that was the most painful experience I’d had up until then, I did…once again…achieve a great deal of personal growth. I don’t think I had to work at it as hard as I did after the divorce. A lot of the tools for coping were the same. 

Try as I might, I always had a hard time getting past this feeling like there was something wrong with me. I didn’t seem to think the same way as most people. I didn’t learn the same way or work the same way. I’ve since learned that I am probably neurodivergent…meaning, maybe I’m a little autistic…a little different…a little ADHD. 

And that’s OK.

A lot of people fall into the category of neurodivergent and they live perfectly normal lives. They function, they cope, they adapt, they mask. They get by.

Yesterday morning, I was laying in bed thinking about the one characteristic I have that trips me up far too often…far more than I usually admit. And that is…anxiety. Anxiety has been my constant, most unwelcome companion for as long as I can remember. I hate it. It makes me feel broken…abnormal…weird. You can’t keep asking people to wait up for you to get your act together so you can join in, because (you think) you can do that if you just work on “fixing this problem”.

What hit me yesterday morning was a brilliant flash of insight.

Maybe I was never broken. Maybe I was just planted in the wrong places. Mistaken. Misunderstood. 

What if? What if I quit trying to FIX myself to fit better into other people’s expectations of me? What if I free myself of the obligation of trying to fit someone else’s notion of who or what I should be and just live my life? What would that look like?

Mr. FixIt has been my best mirror. He celebrates and encourages and lifts me up at every turn. We went out to the farm yesterday and mowed. Afterwards, we worked to try to fix the well pump. We spent several hours out there trying this and that. (I think we have it figured out…we just need to go to town to get some parts tomorrow.) Last night, I excused myself to go write this post and let Mr. FixIt watch his police shows. As I turned to walk up the steps to the kitchen, he called after me. 

“You did good work today.”

I turned back to him with such a look of love.

“Thank you for telling me that, sweetheart. You did good work, too.”

We should always lift each other up. Offer encouragement. Show our gratitude. This tells me, more than anything, I’m ok. I’m doing good work. I’m loving well and living well. I am not broken or weird. I’m just me…delightfully and perfectly imperfect. There is a part of me that gets anxious. But it doesn’t kill me. It doesn’t last forever. And I’m learning that the part of the brain that gets anxious is the exact same part that gets excited. So, when I start getting the first tingles of anxiety, I tell myself I’m just excited and start naming all the things that I’m looking forward to doing.

It’s working better and better. I saw a psychiatrist for several years. He said two things that have always stuck with me. 

“The goal of therapy is to get out of therapy.”

And…

“At some point, you just have to get out there and live your life.”

This is not to say we can’t benefit from seeking professional assistance with our mental health. I am so happy to see the conversations going on now regarding mental health. Maybe after the huge challenges we’ve all faced in the last two (six?) years, we can finally normalize mental health and get rid of some of the social stigma. Wouldn’t that be great?

Life is really a lot less complicated than what we make of it.

?

“for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”

2 Timothy 1:7 ESV