Tsunamis and Head Wrapping (a.k.a. I Totally Understand if You Don’t Understand)

When my husband first told me he was leaving our family I was in complete shock.  It, and the days that immediately followed, was like an out-of-body experience.  Nothing seemed real.  My body moved, my mouth spoke, my heart continued to beat, but I was completely numb.  It was as if the neurotransmitters in my head were stuck in some sort of surreal loop trying to process something unprocessable.  I couldn’t move forward, yet I couldn’t move back, and nothing seemed to compute.

A week or so later I would describe this experience in an email as an “emotional tsunami”.  A complete drowning and upheaval of reality washing over me while I was frozen in time and helpless to act.  I stood anchored, watching the devastation occur - the walls of my life crumble around me, the future of my family wash away with the tide - all the while powerless to stop it.  A tsunami.  Nothing else came close to describing the feeling.

A few weeks later I would run across this term again.  Tsunami.  This time it came in a book I had picked up in my mad grasp for answers, Runaway Husbands by Vikki Stark.  I was shocked to learn that I was not the only one who had feelings like this.  Other women experiencing the same Shock and Awe attack on their marriages had felt it too.  As Ms. Stark defined the stages of recovery associated with sudden abandonment, the first stage on the list was TSUNAMI.  “You take the first hit when you are informed out-of-the-blue that the marriage is over.  You feel like you’re drowning and go into shock.”  (pg. 13)  This is precisely how I felt.   And as much hurt and pain as there was involved in the whole ordeal, the mere fact that I was not alone in my stupor provided a very faint glimmer of hope in a very dark place.

It is not an enemy who taunts me -
then I could bear it;
it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me -
then I could hide from him.
But it is you, my equal,
my companion, my familiar friend.
Psalm 55:12-13

It has now been over eight months since the initial waves of that tsunami rolled over me.  The flood waters have receded in many ways, but unlike in nature this tidal wave has a way of rolling in again and again as life attempts to move forward.  I survived the initial deluge, but it is still a daily battle to stay emotionally afloat and some days I need a much larger life preserver than others.   

All to say, I am not out of the water yet.   Heck, most days I can’t even catch a glimpse of the shoreline, but I am gradually getting better at treading water and the raft I am desperately building out of scriptural driftwood is slowly coming along.

But then there’s the head wrapping.  As more and more people learn of my family’s situation the response I get more often than not is, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing.”  Now don’t feel like I just singled you out if you yourself have shared that thought with me, it is literally what I hear from most everyone in some form or another.  As people hear the timeline of events, the details of the separation, the swiftness of the whole ordeal, they simply cannot process what they are being told.  They want to take me at my word, but simply cannot image there isn’t more to the story.  Perhaps I’m putting on a self-protective spin, or leaving out details that would make me look bad.  They wonder how this could have happened without me knowing it was coming, and that’s okay.  I understand.  I get it.  The disbelief, the initial shock, the confusion and the questions.  It is the same tsunami effect… just in a lesser degree.

You see, lack of comprehension is one of the few things these days I understand.  While the initial emotional responses here resemble a tsunami, in her book Ms. Stark insightfully compares the actual series of events encountered to a sudden tornado.  “It’s as if, one minute, you’re enjoying a relaxing family picnic on a cloud-free summer day.  Ten minutes later, after the tornado hits, you’re dazed, battered and bleeding, your kids are traumatized and your life lies in shattered splinters on the ground around you.” (pg 47)  And that is the incomprehensible part - from one extreme to the other in a blink of an eye.  Unexpected news that leaves you astounded.  We were literally on our way to Disney World for a family vacation when my life was changed in an instant.  So, again, I get it.  I totally understand if you do not understand the reality of it all.  It’s okay if you can’t wrap your head around it.  I am no way claiming that I have no responsibility for the status of my marriage- I was part of a team and a partnership, but truth be told I can’t wrap my head around it either…  Nor can my children, or my family, or my closest prayer warriors… and we’ve all been watching the events unfold from the first sign of high water. 

The fact is no one understands it.  And no one can’t fix it.  You can’t make it better.  You can’t explain it away.  You can’t answer all the questions, solve all the problems, or comfort it into feeling better.  You can’t really do much of anything about it at all.  And that is okay.

The one thing you can do though is pray.  Pray for all those directly involved – my children, my husband, our extended families on both sides - and pray for the many more who have been affected by a vast ripple effect.  This situation has broken hearts and damaged relationships in my own home, but it has also done devastating damage to many peripheral relationships as well.  And sadly it has impacted hearts and minds literally around the world. 

Pray for yourself, that you can use it.  That you can grow from what I share, that you will be better for it and that the experience as you know and understand it is not wasted as a victory for Satan, but is instead used in a way that brings glory to the One who created us. 

And please, pray for me.

On page 51 of her book, Ms. Stark sets forth a frighteningly accurate description of a wife struggling through that tsunami stage.  I share a partial quote here as she describes it far better than I can.

“In this state of shock, time becomes malleable, the body feels strange and the world becomes unfamiliar.  She can’t make sense of what she’s hearing, because she can’t think straight – she’s too numb to think at all.  Her brain just can’t handle it.”

I honestly cannot tell you how my children were fed, clothed and cared for last December, January or even February.  I just don’t know.  That time period was an enormous challenge.  It literally took conscious effort just to get up and remember to breathe.  I passed through the days on rote action and prayed constantly.  I did not eat.  I did not sleep.  I spent hours searching scripture for strength and answers, and if I did manage to catch a few minutes or hours of sleep I would wake up literally already praying.  It was not uncommon for me to put food on the table (after the girls reminded me to) and then go upstairs and cry while the kids ate.  I would put the little ones down for naptime and then sit and stare into space feeling completely lost and overwhelmed.  I would drive people places, grocery shop, show up for church, take Jack to the doctor – all the things I was supposed to do – all in an impenetrable fog and always on the verge of tears.  I would come up for air long enough to beg for more prayers and then just as quickly retreat to my emotionally-numb stupor.

So, you see, I get it.  I totally understand if you don’t understand.  I get that the whole thing is overwhelming and unfamiliar and probably makes you uncomfortable.  And, again, it’s okay.  You’re off the hook.  The whole situation sucks.  It does, and there’s no nice way to say it.  Talking around the issue to protect the sensitivities of those who don’t know what to say about the big pink, elephant in the middle of the room isn’t going to do anyone any good anyway.  Reality is reality, whether we like it, choose it or approve of it and thus let’s just call a spade a spade and be done.

As you can probably tell, by the mere fact that I’ve managed to write down the words you are now reading, I have now somehow moved past that Tsunami.  It still comes rolling back in now and then, but I’ve even made progress through the Tornado where “your thoughts are spinning wildly as you try to come up with some desperate plan to make this not be happening…” and the Thunderstorm where “you feel attacked, raw and fearful and don’t know when the next thunderbolt will strike…”  These days I spend most of my time in an Ice Storm.  “Life is hard, cold, unrecognizable and unforgiving.  You’ve lost your footing.  There is no future and time slows way down.  You’re frozen, just trying to make it through each day.  You wonder if you’ll ever feel normal again.”  (all quotes - pg 13) 

Bleak as it may sound, that is actually a very apt description of where I am.  I know many people wonder about me and my running.  I’ve had many tell me how inspirational it is for them, but the reality of it all is that it gives me the ability to mark the days.  Each day of training I complete is another checkmark on a calendar that would otherwise stand frozen and obscured by the ice.  True it is great exercise, it is good therapy, and it is time to myself, but ultimately, right now, life is about survival.  Taking one day at a time.  Giving each day a tangible success.  Providing my cold, unforgiving days with a small glimpse of normalcy.

So how about we make a deal?  You don’t worry about trying to wrap your head around all of this, and I won’t worry about you needing to fully understand it.  Instead we will just pray together over the hearts and minds living through or encountering it and we’ll go from there.  Because the truth is, I still have a long way to go, and every time I feel like I’m moving forward I inevitably slide back a little too.  I don’t mean to be anti-social, I’m not ignoring your emails or your messages, I‘m not trying to keep any secrets or hide my new life, it’s not that I don’t want to talk to people or visit or chat, but at this point I still just can’t.  The tsunami has rolled back out to sea, the tornado has dissolved and the thunderstorm has cleared for now, but the ice storm is pervasive and although I can put a name to it, it isn’t something I can simply walk away from.  It’s a process. It’s a path through unchartered territory.   And it’s a very long, winding one at that. 

But… ultimately today is another day, and this day gets a checkmark just like the one before it so I must still be moving somehow.  I mean if you think about it, just getting this blog post written is a monumental achievement given my recent track record so I say we call today a success, and offer up a prayer of thanksgiving.  And then one for wisdom.  And then one for comfort.  And then we will go from there…  Okay?

Better is the end of a thing than its beginning; and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.  Ecclesiastes 7:8

For God alone my soul waits in silence,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my deliverance and my honor;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Psalm 62:5-7