When you’re in the midst of something absolutely dreadful, a lot of people will tell you that God will not give you more than you can handle in a day. I used to listen and nod, maybe even believing them on some level. I’ve thought a lot about this theory over the past few years and I’ve come up with the following conclusion: BULLSHIT. When, on May 14th 2006, I spent my first Mother’s Day alone with my 19-day old baby girl, it was more than I could handle. Two days prior, my husband and I had gotten married. Our new daughter, Averi, had worn a garland of baby roses as we exchanged vows and wedding bands. Hours later, we were awoken by the news that my dad had been in a car accident and wasn’t expected to survive the night. My husband had to leave to start his new job, three hours away. My mom and my sister flew to be with my dad. I was left with my brand new baby girl and a world of sorrow. It was more than I could handle. On June 9th 2010, I went to Swedish Hospital for a second opinion on my unborn baby’s condition. I had hope, prayer and a Tarot card reading on my side. I left three hours later with a cervical dilation underway, directions on how to check-in to the hospital in order to deliver my deceased baby, and a business card in my pocket for a “Perinatal Social Worker.” It was more than I could handle.
Maybe it’s an issue of semantics. If, by “handle,” you simply mean to say that we can physically survive the day and live to see another, well, I suppose I did alright. If, by “handle,” you mean to say that we are able to take in what is being presented to us and carry on, unscathed, with a plan or even a clue? Not so much. Here’s what I think: I think we’re given what we’re given. When it’s too much, we handle the little bit that we can and the rest is broken up and put into a million tiny boxes, intended to be dealt with at our own convenience, at some point in the future. The reality is that we never find the time, life gets in the way, and those tiny boxes start to break loose from the tight little corners in which we tucked them. They come after us, pelting us in the head and in the heart at the most inopportune moments imaginable – when we’re speaking to an insurance agent or buying coffee. People think that we’ve lost it; that we’re drunk or insane. These people have been lucky; they’ve managed to outrun their tiny boxes. Or maybe they just packed them better.
These people mean well. They have faith. They have hope that we, as civilized human beings, can cope with hardship and pain in a way that is both dignified and sane. I have the same hope, but I’m starting to sleep with one eye open because I know how hastily I’ve packed those tiny boxes.
Wow, this is a great post. Your illustration of the tiny boxes is perfect. People are always saying things like, “oh, you’re handling this so well.” Um, okay, if by that you mean I’m still alive. I’m not curled up in a corner somewhere. I get out of bed most days. “Handling it” means nothing more to me than simply surviving.
Xoxo
Yes, it’s cold comfort to be told that you’re handling it well. No, I’m not. And it isn’t possible to. Your letters to Stevie are so beautiful, Kristin.
-Mary
Kristin, this is a photo of a sunset reflecting on flooded sand dunes. I took it in Long Beach, WA when I suspected that I was pregnant but didn’t yet know for sure.
-Mary
Oh my gosh, I am sitting here with tears in my eyes after reading this post. I’m so so very sorry for what you are going through. It would be more than I could handle. My thoughts are with you.
Thank you, Aleksandra.
what a great post Mary…i’m sure that’s not what you were intending (a great post)…but it was. and i can’t agree with you and your tiny-box theory more. i’ve got some tiny boxes that i continue to run from. one day, i’m sure i’ll be the crazy lady in starbucks flipping out. hopefully though i’ll be old when it happens and i can blame it on old age (and not crappy, tiny box packing) 🙂
I think I’m already the crazy lady at Starbucks, flipping out. Where can I go from here?! 🙂 Thank you, Michelle.
-Mary
Beautiful story. Beautiful writing. Glad I stopped by. You’re right you can’t always “handle” things, but still you try. That’s the best anyone can do.
Thanks so much. Yes, it’s all anyone can do. I’ll keep on trying!
Wow. Awesome post. It is so important that you have a place to vent these feelings out. Like someone else said, sometimes “handling it” just means I actually got out of the bed today. It is ok to be real! check out my most recent post, it relates to being real!
Sometimes I may be a little bit too real. I may need to work on that one! 🙂
-Mary
I read this post yesterday, but today I had to come back and read it again. I’m having a hard day and this post so exactly expresses how I feel. Saw on the side of the blog, under recent Twitter posts, that you are living in Oregon now. Welcome.
I hope that your week gets better, Angela. I hope they can give you some answers. Anything! So, so sorry…
Yes, I’m in Hillsboro! I just saw that you’re in Salem. Thanks for the welcome! 🙂
Mary
I have a daughter with special needs and I hear this a lot…and at times I think, yes, that must be it. You’re never given more than you can handle. Then, most of the time, I think God is a sadist then. Here’s hoping you are surviving today and maybe there’s a little more light for you tomorrow.
YES. I don’t believe God is putting all of this on our shoulders and then kicking back with a cigar and a box of bob-bons to watch us attempt to deal. I’m looking for another explanation here. I had never heard of your daughter’s diagnosis but looked up a bit about it. She certainly sounds like an amazing little girl.
-Mary
Yes, I totally agree with you. And that is why I can no longer shop at the Osh Kosh store in North Bend. My tiny boxes found me and began to attack.
More info, por favor… 🙂