Last week’s epiphany coincided with the pity party I was having over (well, really “under”) my roof. Yes, I was in the middle of a divorce. Yes, my pipes had just burst the previous weekend. Yes, I was a little strapped for cash and just barely making ends meet. And yes, the roof fiasco was poorly timed. How much can I take, really? That’s what I kept asking myself. I was practically shaking my fist heavenward.
But then God shrugged. Get over yourself, Shauna. It’s a little leak; you can handle it. No, I don’t think God is mean enough to tell me to get over it. But I did feel a gentle nudge that came with a mild message: You’re tough. I know because I made you that way. And that was it. Pity party cancelled.
So I climbed to my rooftop and chiseled away at the ice dam. It’s now gone and the stain on my bathroom ceiling has stopped spreading. But my exaggerated response has taught me something about myself (Hallelujah! Does that mean I can stop getting this same lesson over and over again?).
I am no Chicken Little. Maybe the sky will fall someday, but I will not preoccupy myself with whether or not it’s tilting.
While I won’t share the details of my marriage and how it ended, I will say that I decided to be miserable. I felt completely justified in that choice and in so doing surrendered my power. Sometimes it’s easier to be the victim, but when I took on that role I also became an observer rather than an active participant in my own life. I watched my marriage tilt precariously, contributing to its demise.
It may sound odd, but filing for divorce was my attempt to right that balance. I was taking the helm of my life again, deciding what it would look like rather than begging for a new and improved landscape. There’s power in that. And choice and accountability.
So I’m forging forward having decided that there are worse things than a leaky roof or a humble checking account. Life will sort itself out. And while it does, I will be here, smack dab in the middle of it.