by Harlow Hayes
Sophie’s eyes were beginning to tear up and the rest looked appalled. Dr. Moore, as usual, was calm, but I knew she was happy that I was letting it out instead of leaving my wounds to fester. I did not cry because I refused to let myself, but my rage was as hot as magma, ready to spill from within me.
“I feel helpless and weak,” I went on. “And I know I need to stop believing, stop saying it, and I guess I will in my own time, but I do. I feel helpless. Perpetually inebriated, unable to feel enough to fight back. God… for him to pick me. He ruined me. I mean, I have been terrible to so many people, and I didn’t mean to be. And I’ve been so afraid of any and everything. I laid in that hospital bed unable to speak, terrified of every noise and shadow. Where do you go from that? Like, what’s the first step? What makes you even want to take the first step?”
Dr. Moore looked over at me. “Mara, you are not ruined, and that is the first truth I want you to absorb and understand. The second truth is this: in recognizing the impact that it had on your life, I can tell you that you have already made it, Mara. You have already made it, the first step.”
December 27
FORGIVENESS
I have not given up, but I have chosen to not hold on to my anger, my hate, resentment, or pain. I feel sorry for him and my heart aches for him because I wonder what went so wrong in his life that he felt that he had to exert his power any way he could, even if that meant hurting someone else. I have hurt people and I hope that they will be able to forgive me as well. I don’t understand completely, not even now, and I probably never will, but I know I can move on if I choose to. And I choose to forgive, to let it go, but not forget. I have that power.
Chapter 37
She sat across from me at her desk. Her office was cold due to the draft coming in from her window.
“I’m sorry that it’s so cold in here, Mara. They were supposed to come and fix this window yesterday,” she said, zipping up her sweater. “But what can I do for you?”
I didn’t want to open my mouth because I didn’t believe what was about to come out, but it had to. It had to come.
“Dr. Bradley, I want to let you know that I appreciate everything that you have done for me. I am grateful that I have been allowed to make up my hours and graduate, but I think I need to postpone my entry into the doctoral program.”
Her face became shrouded in disappointment. “What makes you think so, Mara? You have been doing so well.”
“I have and I haven’t. I’ve thought long and hard about it and it’s the best thing for now. I still want to attend, but I would like to start in the fall of next year instead of this spring. I’m still dealing with a lot and trying to process everything. I really need some time to get myself completely better.”
“Mara, we don’t hold spots, so you will have to reapply, but I understand why you’re making this choice. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bradley.” And when I left, I felt lighter.
Like I had time. Time just for me.
December 28
FAILURE
Something in me keeps wanting to call me failure, but I won’t let it. Failure has been one of the greatest fears of my life. The fear of appearing incompetent or incapable. I had failed at being a therapist, a counselor, and friend, but that was a lie. Throughout the whole year I could say I failed at a lot of things, but I don’t believe it, because I don’t believe in failure. Maybe the expectation hasn’t been met and I may be disappointed, but I have not failed, because success is not my objective anymore, learning is. And if I can take each of these so-called failures and see the lesson, then I have found something of great value.
Chapter 38
My last day at clinical had come and it left me anxious and wishing that I didn’t have to go. All I wanted to do was walk back into Dr. Bradley’s office and tell her that I had changed my mind, but I knew better than to do that. Though the change made me sad, it was necessary. Me going back and forth with my decision would have made me look even more unreliable, and I couldn’t afford that, not if I wanted my chance in the future.
I had seen several clients since the beginning of summer, but none had any significant impact on my life except Jennifer. Clients would come in, sit on my couch, tell their stories, and I would illuminate the path, the path to repairing themselves and the relationships they had broken by being too selfish, too harsh, too narcissistic, and most were just good old-fashioned assholes unwilling to change. Asshole. Yes, that would include me, too. Even in my own therapy sessions with Dr. Moore, I was never inclined to take any risks until now, or change the way that I perceived the world and the life I led in it. But talking to Jennifer assisted my curiosity and showed me that I had the ability to make the changes I so desperately wanted.
“Honey, they don’t make them like me anymore, I can tell you that,” Jennifer said before she laughed.
“I guess they don’t, Jen. You’ve done well the past few months. I think you’ve exceeded your own expectations.” I sat across from her, listening to her every word.
“I think I have to. Life is nuts. I can’t even imagine it being worse. And for some, it does get worse.”
“Do you condition your happiness on the misery of others?”
She looked at me, confused.
“Sorry,” I said, realizing that my question wasn’t very clear. “Do you say to yourself that you should be happy because there are so many other people who have it worse?”
“I don’t want to do that, but I think most people do. Now I don’t think I do that as much as I used to. I know my happiness is one hundred percent dependent on me, so at the end of the day what others have going on shouldn’t influence it, but everything is so external. I know I look for my validation that way and I shouldn’t, it should come from me. But I’m not all the way there yet. Close, but not there yet. When I was younger I had the tendency to make things sadder than they actually were. Now, granted, there are things that are sad, but I’m not going to go into a crying fit because my husband didn’t squeeze the toothpaste from the right end of the tube, and I think that is where I’ve made my changes. But like I said, I know now that I have to choose my happiness. I choose to create it; it’s not going to be given to me.”
Her words came at me like a torpedo. To listen to someone tell you truth, the truth that you have known and haven’t yet acted on, sliced through me as smoothly as a dull saw. Because I knew that if I was responsible for my own happiness, maybe I was equally responsible for my unhappiness, and that revelation was the punch in the gut. I had been hearing the same type of talk about life, happiness, and misery. I had even written about it in my journal, but this was the first time that it clicked. The switch had turned on in my brain and shined a light on all the dark corners of my mind, making the unconscious conscious. I was so rattled that I dropped my pad and pen onto the floor. I reached down to pick it up and brushed the falling hair away from my face.
“That’s very wise of you, Jen. I am happy that you figured that out for yourself.”
“Thanks, I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said.
I looked up at her and smiled at the thought. This was why I did this. This was why I wanted it so bad, and in time I would come back to it because I was desperate for the moments when life’s purpose revealed itself to you and you didn’t feel as though you had come so far for nothing, but that you did come very far for something, and that something had the power to not just change one life, but many.
December 29
GROWTH
I know what needs to be done, but how do I do it? How do I put my feet into gear and change fully, change wholly? I have been teetering back and forth for months with my feelings, but how do you make the path smooth? The winding river straight? I am proud of myself for not pouting like a baby. For not throwing my hands up in defeat when things didn’t turn out the way that I wanted them to. I was supposed to be in class next semester but I am not. Frankie and I were supposed to still be b
est friends, but we aren’t. Niko and I were supposed to be together and in love but we aren’t, and it’s all right. I am okay and I will continue to be, because I can stretch and adapt, because where I once broke I can now bend, and seeing that change within me is beautiful.
Chapter 39
December 31
DREAMS
Dreams. I still have so many. At times they feel so ridiculous, but I’d rather have the most ridiculous dreams than none at all. I have been very selective about who I choose to share my dreams with because some people will devalue them simply because they have never dared to dream and create any of their own. Some people will be jealous of them because they know that you have the grit and the guts to go after what you want, and some will taint them because the vision for your dreams is so big and shines so bright you shine a light on their mediocrity. But when you find the people who want to share in your dreams, people who believe in your dreams and want to help you build them? Keep them close. In those kinds of people you have found a family that value your mind, that value your creation, which is a product of your deepest self. Those are the people worth keeping. The dream lovers, the dream builders, the ones that are willing to fight with you to see your dreams come to fruition.
I looked at the picture that Sophie had sent me. She was at the airport from what I could see, and her son’s small arms dangled around her neck while they both grinned ear to ear as they curled into each other.
Happy birthday, Mara! I found my hope and I hope you have found yours. I can’t wait for you to meet this little guy.
I smiled and sent her a text expressing that I was happy for her and couldn’t wait for her to get back, and it was true, I couldn’t. It made me happy to see someone else happy, even if my own path or hope wasn’t completely clear. It seemed to be the common theme of the day, week, or month, for that matter. Hell, it was so in vogue I was surprised that it hadn’t been bottled and hocked on a street corner. Hope. I guess what I hoped for was understanding.
Understanding. That was a good word. The word that my mind focused on while the television blared from the living room along with the mumbling of voices and the clinking of plates and glasses in the background. I sat on the edge of my bed and peered through my cracked door, watching them talk, laugh, or glare off into space, but my observation only prompted more confusion.
There life was, I was staring it in the face, watching it move forward as it does, unfolding before my eyes, and I felt as though I still didn’t fucking get it, not completely. I had all this time now and I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. In that moment I could have easily led myself to the doorsteps of another existential crisis, but I decided against it, laid back, and waited for my epiphany to fall out of the sky like any other desperate human being. I rested my hands on my chest and stared at the ceiling, analyzing the lines in the paint and the cracks in the corners. Understanding. It wasn’t an extremely complex word to look at but a complex one to think about. I felt as though I understood little, but the truth was I had developed the ability to understand much even if I didn’t want to admit it.
What I understood was this: that in understanding the significance of my own life, a major shift needed to occur, a change, a transformation, and I had to be its facilitator, I had to be responsible for it, or I would never find my peace.
What did I want? I had only asked myself that question a million times and it was always an itch I could not scratch. I had been chasing after my Goliath dreams my whole life, but I was no David. I had gotten lost somewhere in the wilderness, given up and disintegrated into ash. “There is purpose in pain.” That’s what my mother would tell me. I guess it was to keep me fighting, but it’s hard to stand up when you feel your body has been crushed under the weight of your own misery.
But a new dream was there, hidden, lurking in the shadows waiting to be discovered. That’s what I forced myself to believe and that is what I held on to. I didn’t know exactly what that dream would be, but I knew that it was there waiting for me, and it was something worth seeking out. With that word, understanding, wisdom followed close behind, and in that wisdom I realized I couldn’t piece people’s lives back together if they weren’t willing. I could only guide and illuminate potential paths and possibilities, but that was my job, not my purpose, and that was the distinction I should have made a long time ago.
From that moment forward, my purpose was to understand me. To review what wrong choices led me down the right path. And what seemingly right choices led me straight to doom and despair. And to be thankful for them, for they made me who I am. There was always more to it than logic and more to it than heart, but it was the coming to know that my progression required them both in equal parts that made the difference. The new year was creeping in, and even after all of my thinking and analyzing, I still lacked confidence in my own abilities. The idea of taking that first step from where I was made me squirm, but I understood that even if that first step led me right off the edge of a cliff, I would be better off at the bottom of said cliff than not taking the first step. I guess my mother was right—there is purpose in pain, and I guess it is progress.
“You got thirty minutes, Mara. Thirty minutes left of being twenty-seven!” Kate yelled from the living room.
I sat up so fast I could feel the blood pulsing in my temple. I let out a sigh and reached up to smooth down my hair. My room was pristine. Papers were filed and put away, my work desk was clear, shoes on the closet floor were lined up perfectly, and if I wasn’t calm about anything else, at least my room satisfied me. I looked on the floor for my house slippers and was filled with disappointment when I looked down at my ankle and saw the alcohol monitor. But I had survived worse, so I told myself I could survive the rest of probation. As I slipped the slippers on my feet, I noticed a box sitting in the corner by the trash can.
“Hey…” I yelled into the living room. I walked over to pick it up. “Where did this box come from?”
“It came yesterday,” Melanie said. I could see her staring at the TV through the crack in my door. “What are you doing in there? It’s almost time.”
“Just give me a minute,” I snapped back.
I picked it up and sat back down on the bed. The return address read 20 Lincoln Drive, Tallahassee, FL. It was from home, but it didn’t have a name. I grabbed my keys off the desk and sliced through the tape that held the box together. Pieces of foam flew out and fell to the floor, but when I looked down I couldn’t help but smile. The box inside read Converse All Star. I reached in and pulled it out. At the bottom of the box was a piece of line paper, unevenly folded. I reached in and grabbed it. I sat the shoebox down next to me and opened the note, and the penmanship said it all. It was from the only person I knew that had that chicken-scratch writing. It was from my dad.
Mara,
I have made many mistakes and in my own way I have tried to atone. Atone with God, with the congregation, your mother, your brothers, and anybody else I can think of, but I haven’t been able to do so with you. Before the year is out I must confess to you and to God that I have treated you poorly, and I am sorry, baby. I am so sorry. You are the definition of strength, courage, and beauty, and don’t ever forget it. I love you and I am blessed to call you my daughter.
PLEASE call when you get this.
Love,
Dad
If my heart hadn’t been broken enough that year, it was truly breaking in that moment. I could not move. I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year, but the words on paper were just as powerful as any audible ones. My mother would try to fill me in from time to time on what he was doing, but I’d quickly change the subject or end the call. As you grow and mature into adulthood, you experience so many things, like your first crush, your first petty little heartbreak, etc. But when you realize that your hero, your father, is nothing more than a fraud, it knocks the wind out of you and what once shined before you, full of life, ends up being nothing more than some dull, inanimate object taking up much n
eeded space in the world.
I was anxious, but I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel. When my temporary paralysis wore off, I reached for the box and put it in my lap. I opened the top, pulled back the packaging, and inside were a pair of black high-top Chucks with hot-pink lining and soles, and embroidered on the side was a small hot-pink rose with writing next to it.
She is clothed in strength & dignity & she laughs without fear of the future—Proverbs 31:25.
I reached for my phone and dialed his number. It had been so long, I almost thought I had dialed it wrong at first. It rang and rang until I heard his voicemail. I assumed that he was preaching the New Year’s service. His voice seemed calm, not at all like I remembered it, and to hear it brought tears to my eyes. In that moment, my love for him overshadowed my dislike, so much so that what I thought about him didn’t matter anymore, not then. I was just happy to hear his voice. I left a message, telling him that I had gotten the shoes and to call me back. Then I ended the call and wiped my eyes, smearing my tears across my cheeks. I looked back at the letter: strength, courage, beauty. Then back at the shoes: dignity, she laughs without fear of the future. I laughed. I didn’t feel that those things were true, but feeling and knowing are two different things, and I knew that I had taken another step.
