Chinks of light.

Phew. The third-year anniversary of John’s death is over. It was so hard this year. Every day since John died I have got out of bed straight away when I’ve been awake but twice in the last month I haven’t been able to, and this worried me. I’ve never struggled with depression but I would imagine that is what was going on. Life just felt too much and I had no energy at all. After work I would be totally done in, I mean utterly spent. I’ve really had to keep an eye on myself. Two days before John’s anniversary I had Therapy and boy did it knock me out. I came home and lay on the sofa unable to move, a good friend came and got me something to eat. Many thoughts have plagued me the last month: “How is John not here?”, “This cannot be happening.”, “I just want John.”, “He was my best friend.”, “What am I meant to do now?”, “I can’t do this without him.”, “Am I doing the right thing?”, “Would John be proud of me or disappointed.” During therapy, we walked through the last three years and I commented on how much in my life has changed (for obvious reasons) and how much my thoughts, attitudes and theology has changed. “It looks like I have just walked to a different place completely..” I said. My Therapist interrupted (I think she picked up on the sense of panic in my voice), “Yes but you haven’t just walked to another place, I have seen you genuinely think things through, wrestle with things,  read up on things, pray things over for years and months. You haven’t just arrived at where you are. You have worked really hard on your internal life, and I’m proud of you. So don’t worry. Even if no one else knows and no one else has seen. God has seen you, and I have seen you think and pray and agonise over many different things.” I needed it to hear that. That has helped a lot, I was beginning to believe the lie that I have just flippantly changed my mind about things and not thought things through properly. This hasn’t all happened overnight, the morning after John died as I stood in the shower and cried out to God that I wanted to somehow still serve God and live my life through Him even though I had no idea how that was ever going to happen now, I promised to rebuild my life with honesty and integrity to Him and myself. And this is how it is forming. I’ve also realised as I wrote on Twitter yesterday, my compassion for humanity is at an all-time high and so is my Christology. I’m extremely grateful for those. I’m extremely grateful to my therapist and my Vicar who have helped me think and talk things through without pressure to come to decisions or without judgement. So even though the sadness has been heavy, I’ve seen a few chinks of light appearing.

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Christmas time.

The last day of the Christmas has arrived in the church calendar. Midnight Mass was beautiful, I cried even though I was serving but did it discreetly so no one saw, I was overwhelmed by the story of Jesus’ birth, and how special and what a celebration it is, in a way I don’t think I have been before. Christmas was alright, my sister came and we had a good time, walked the dogs and went to church and then shopped on Boxing Day, well she shopped, I just went along with her. I crept into church early Christmas Morning before anyone got there and had a good cry on my own for all the Christmases I won’t celebrate with John or Paula. Life feels so cruel in moments like that. Thought I would be fine over New year but New Year’s Eve at work one of the people we used to employ came into work who I haven’t seen for a few years and the moment she walked away I felt my inside crumble, I just stood in the aisle and the weight of all I had lost hit me, I quickly hurried off the shop floor and into the produce chiller and cried my eyes out in the fridge. It sometimes feels so surreal that I was married and we had a business and we were so happy and now I’m a single part time supermarket assistant struggling to get by. In moments like that the struggle against self pity is sometimes unbearable. It’s a really fight to try and stay positive and remember all the good things that I currently do have and all that God is doing and has blessed me with.

Now away at my Theological College Residential which I adore. I have had and still have a awful cold that is making me feel really under the weather and highly emotional which is annoying me. I cried at an advert the other day 🙄. But I’m beyond grateful to be here and looking forward to all I’m going to learn about and from The Lord. I’m praying this cold doesn’t hamper it.

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Leftover thoughts.

A few thoughts following the last blog post. These thoughts actually started off as a thread of tweets but realised they could and probably should be a blog post. I have extended it a little too.

a) My relationship with The Lord is solid. It really is, I know some people are gonna find that hard to believe, but all I can do is tell you, it is. I also know some people will believe I have been deceived. To which I refer you to point b

b) I believe if I was truly wrong the Holy Spirit has the power to firstly tell me. I am open to their voice, and actively seek it day and night. And secondly to lead me the right way. I’m not sure what else I can do.

c) I am the same person You always knew and (hopefully) loved. I have not changed. My personality is still the same.

d) Possibly an unpopular opinion, but I recognise some people can hide and suppress their feelings and attraction and can do it well and it doesn’t bother them. That’s not me though, I can not. I’d self destruct and I know it.

e) I have to live with myself when there’s no one around, and I couldn’t do that if I was always hiding something and looking over my shoulder. I just couldn’t, it would kill me. I’m see-through. Always have been and clearly always will be.

f) I have not ‘acted’ (however you interpret that) on anything yet, and it remains to be seen whether I shall or not… Does this mean I don’t really know if I am or not? No. It’s doesn’t. Hours of therapy have established that.

g) If you believe I am wrong, this hurdle doesn’t have to mean our friendship is ended. This hurdle can be got over, without accusations, judgements or awkwardness. Should my sexuality really cause a distance between us when it never has before? Is it even worth thinking about?

h) Yes I am worried. Worried about a lot of things. People the most, I guess. I don’t wish to upset or disappoint anyone, and I know that I probably have. But my other options I know would lead me to a very dark place mentally so… partly this is a survival thing for me…

i) My mum due to a myriad of reason drank herself to death, my sister lost her life to suicide, I can not afford to play fast and loose with my mental well being. I just have to do what I have to do, and at this moment this is a part of it.

j) If a theology you hold causes you and/or others so much angst and turmoil surely there has to be something about that theology that needs thinking through and praying and discerning again?

k) Yes, I worry about John and his memory and whether I am tarnishing it, but as my therapist says to me over and over again, nothing can take away from our marriage and what we had together. It will remain how it was no matter what happens. The fact is we had a happy marriage and loved each other very deeply. I loved being married, and I loved John with every inch of my being. Nothing can change that. Ever. I loved that period of my life, it was wonderful. All of it. John, Marriage, our home, our church, our friends.

l) People have been very quiet about this, and I understand that. I know people don’t know how to respond as I didn’t know how to respond to myself for a long time. The cognitive dissonance I faced of pining for John and liking someone else, let alone someone of the same gender as me was absolutely head and heart wrecking. I had to make some peace with it, or else I think I actually might have lost my mind and I’m deadly serious about that.

m) As mentioned in the post I thought this might be the thing that breaks me completely, and for a while I genuinely did. I sat in church for hours, wishing it would all go away (again) and not wanting to have to face it, but I know in my heart of hearts if I skulked out of it, it would just come back around again like it keeps doing. I don’t have the emotional energy to keep going over the same thing. Let’s just face it now, then it’s done. I don’t have to worry about it anymore and I CANNOT tell you the relief of that.

I still love the Lord, I still love you. Surely those are the main things to focus on, no? I’m just trying to do my best, and live as integral to God, myself and everyone else as I can be. It most certainly is not my intention to disappoint or upset anyone. Ok, I’m done. That’s it, that’s all of it.

 

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Brutally Honest.

Stand by your beds because it’s all about to come tumbling out.

It’s been a hard week. I’ve faced a fair amount of pushback on social media for my political and theological beliefs, I also had therapy for the first time in a month and that is the longest I have been without seeing my therapist since I started attending 3 months after John died. I’ve overthought myself to the point of barely sleeping, and have had to rely on mild sleeping tablets the past 3 nights just so at least I got a few hours and can have some functionality.

I’m still in two minds as I write this post as to whether I shall even publish it because to say what I want to say I am going to have backtrack and more, and it’s gonna be a long long tale.

A while ago I wrote a blog called Headspace: https://vickmcq.com/2019/07/10/head-space-very-long-post/       It is a very long post but in it, I tell of my journey of how I have gone from being hostile of the LGBTQ+ lifestyle to inclusive and affirming. I say a couple of things that I need to clarify and somethings I have changed my mind on or realised are not true and haven’t been even though when I wrote it I genuinely believed they were….

I said in the blog post, “I have skirted around this issue for sooooooooooooo many years, for various different reasons, but if I’m being honest, I have been engaging and then furiously avoiding since I became a Christian 23 years ago.” The various different reasons for not engaging in it, and why I was engaging in it and then furiously avoiding it was because as I say later on in the post, “…but if I was [gay], I’m not afraid of it like I used to be. ‘What if it’s lurking somewhere ready to pounce’ I used to worry. Well, it hasn’t pounced and I don’t believe it will…” I used to be genuinely worried that a part of me was gay and that’s why I was engaging with it and then furiously avoiding it.

Let’s take a step back into my history, it’s circa 1997/8. I am playing a game with my school friends where we are rapidly firing questions at each other about which teachers we would snog ( I know! I know!) and when it’s my turn they throw in a female teachers name, and to my and everyone else’s surprise I say ‘Yes’…Erm, what? And this led to about 3 years of me trying to figure out for the life of me what had happened that day. My friends who had been playing the game with me knew the struggles I was having and which, I am sure would be to their shame now, and I don’t wish to embarrass them, coined a nickname for me: Homo. Such was the extent of my feelings and attraction to that teacher, however through all of that I still very much liked and was attracted to boys.  It was such a hard time in my life, cause I was a fairly new Christian and I had read “those” parts of the Bible and obviously taken them like the rest of it at face value. I told my prayer partner, who told my youth leader, who didn’t reject me as I was convinced was going to happen. They arranged for me to meet someone who was Christian and gay. I did, her name was Ruth. That is as much as I can tell you as I cannot remember anything about the meeting other than I was unconvinced by her arguments. I met with one of my friends who was a relationship counsellor. She suggested I waited it all out in case it was a phase. Then various things happened in my life which took my main attention away from it, but it niggled away in the background, and then came back with a vengeance. I was in distress about it and I remember it being my birthday and crying myself to sleep about it. I used to attend a Bible class with a dear lady down the road who taught me and some other young people from church, and I would sit there all night thinking to myself “You are such a fraud if these people knew.” It must have been bothering me more noticeably than I had realised as one evening my Mum said, “What’s going on?” I tried to brush it off but my mum wasn’t having any of it. She kept chipping away at me till I finally and somewhat over-dramatically burst out through sobs “I fancy a woman.” She screamed, “Don’t be so stupid!” Stormed out the room and slammed the door. I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what to do. We never spoke about it again and I suppressed everything heavily. I wouldn’t let anything remotely related to “gayness” near me. The moment any thoughts or feelings cropped up I would internally harshly scold myself. Please note all this time I was (and still are) attracted to men.

While at Stratford College I encountered some fellow students who were lesbians and noted how dysfunctional their relationships were. This reinforced my view that any form of homosexuality was bad and wrong. Phew, I thought. Dodged that bullet.

And so after years of suppression, I thought it was indeed just a phrase, but I was hyper-vigilant in case I caught a whiff of it ever again. In 2006 my mum passed away and I was left reeling. At the time I worked for John Lewis in Solihull and a few months after mums death I started to notice I was attracted to someone in the next department… a woman. Ut oh… I quickly transferred departments.

Fast forward to 2008 and I meet a wonderful man named John, fell in love completely and utterly. Whirlwind romance, engaged, married as happy as I could ever be. It was a phase I was convinced, didn’t need to the think about it apart from to condemn others who were embracing what I believed was their sin. I was so in love with John I can honestly say I didn’t find anyone else attractive in the slightest, my eyes never wavered for a second on anyone else. I was consumed with him, and ai was beyond happy. I was so proud to be a wife, but particularly his wife, as he was the kindest sweetest man anyone could ever hope to meet let alone spend their life with. All very good in the hood. And then John dies and I am undone. My faith is in tatters (see the first blog posts Feb 2017 onwards) church is so incredibly difficult and I just don’t know what to do. I want to believe in God but after what has happened how can I? And then I lose my sister to suicide and I am totally floundering. I cannot find God anywhere. When I started therapy after John died my decision was whatever it turns up, I’m facing it, no matter what that may be. I am being open and honest about everything. I’m being as authentic as I possibly can be.

In times of deep grief, I have found what really helps me is watching TV series and letting my mind process in the background. Father Brown is one of my absolute favourites as it’s gentle and yet has some astoundingly beautiful theology in it. A few months after Paula’s death I was watching an episode “The Lair of the Libertines” and in it, Lady Felicia gets seduced by the female murderer and ends up kissing her. I turned away quickly when it came on the screen. Problem was I couldn’t get it out my mind. Nnnoooo I thought. Come on. Fight. Fight. But I didn’t have the strength. Not having the strength to fight I turned it upside down, downloaded an app on my phone, found a bloke who was interested, met up with them and ashamedly slept with them. I felt totally out of control. My therapist was not happy. We had work to do.

In October 2018 I was led (I believe by the Holy Spirit) to a little church down the road and I encountered God again like never before. I knew that I knew that was where I was supposed to be, but I was beyond hesitant. It was an inclusive church, meaning not only were they open and affirming the Vicar herself was gay. I could not deny that I had encountered God there so for literal months I sat outside the church in my car and weighed and tested whether I should properly start attending and move churches, as I knew I would have to face the ‘gay’ question.

One of the inevitable things about John’s death and then Paula’s is, both of those things are some of the worst things that can ever happen. When I was married to John I knew the worst thing was if he died, how would I live without him. Yet somehow I do, and that means I’m not scared as the worst thing has happened and I’m still here. Nothing is going to be as hard as that. And so with that thought, I dug into my theology, prayed a ridiculous amount, talked it all over and over with my therapist a million times (poor woman) made my mind up and swopped churches. It wasn’t easy to leave the church John and I loved and attended but I knew if I stayed there the grief would swallow me alive. And for what was round the corner I needed to be in the church I was in…

As part of my therapy, I and my therapist have spoken about inner narratives and the voices that are inside us, I don’t mean external voices in your head that you have no control of, I mean more like your inner dialogue. So I started to listen to mine and what I found was interesting. The overwhelming dominative voice was controlling, not necessarily always bad, sometimes good controlling, like normal everyday safety stuff, but most of the time highly critical and viciously condemning. There was a smaller voice that was calmer and compassionate but it didn’t surface often at all. My therapist suggested I make a note of the times the narrative is controlling, critical and condemning and when it is compassionate. And what I found surprised me. The compassionate voice only appeared when I was totally at the end of myself and was trying to hold it all together. The critical narrative was the loudest whenever anything remotely to do with homosexuality came up. It was ridiculously loud. Surely that can’t be right I thought. So I decided to watch a programme that I knew would safely test whether this was true or not, I started watching Gentleman Jack. And it was almost like I was having a physical fight with myself to even watch the first episode the critical narrative was so loud I could barely watch it. “Vick you are stupid.” “I’m warning you, Vick, you are awful.” “Vick you are wrong.” “God hates you.” “Everyone else is gonna hate you too.” “Even I hate you.” ” You’re a weirdo.” “You are disgusting.” Then I thought… I wonder what would happen if I overrode that narrative. And so I watched the episode again and this time tried as best I could to override it. And what I found was that I was fine, and I really enjoyed the programme for what it was, good TV! What I also found about that inner narrative is that it would stop me from speaking and that it was very powerful in doing that. So many times in conversations with others or just when I was alone verballing processing it shut me down and for really no good reason, that I was astonished. It also stopped me from enjoying things I wanted to, like certain songs, or liking certain things. So I began consciously overriding it.

It was a gorgeous summers day and I was at a service at the Cathedral. We were outside afterwards and that’s when I saw her properly for the first time. And my response sent my critical narrative into overdrive. I couldn’t for the life of me take my eyes off her. She looked at me from a distance and I knew something in me was going on. I mean I couldn’t peel my eyes away. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” “You’ve gone too far now.” “You need to stop this immediately.” “How can you be like this?” “You are so wrong.” “God hates you.” “You are going to be judged for this.” “That’s it, God’s left you, the Holy Spirit has gone.” “You are so alone now”  thankfully I was stood with a load of my good friends and so I couldn’t respond to my reaction or my inner narrative so it would have to wait until I got home. And when I got home, boy did I meltdown. The next few days were awful, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, I just sat and thought about everything and what I was gonna do and I just didn’t know. How could this even be happening? A few days later I tried with all my might to tell my vicar what was going on but that inner narrative shut my words down, and for probably about an hour I started sentences and never finished them, till finally, my vicar said: “You tell me when you’re ready.” I was distraught because I knew I had to tell someone but I just couldn’t, I really couldn’t. I was beside myself. I got in my car and drove home. “This is it.” I thought to myself. “Clearly, I can handle anything but this.” “This is gonna be the thing that breaks me completely.” “I’m stuck and there’s nothing I can do about it and no one can help as I can’t tell anyone.” Later that evening I realised if I couldn’t say it, I would write it. So I wrote it out, and then I knocked on the vicarage door and handed the note over and then left. I went home, ate something for the first time in days and had a full nights sleep.  I went to therapy and seeing as I had never said it out loud it took me about 40 mins to actually get the words out, but I am so glad I wrote that note and gave it to my vicar as there is no way I could have spoken about it in therapy if I hadn’t have done that. My therapist encouraged me to be calm and cool about the situation, and together look at it from different angles and think about why it might be happening, and whether it was real or not, or just an anomaly, a distraction or something else going on internally.

And since then we have talked over a mirid of things, we have come at it from all angles, I have been as honest and true and open about everything there ever was to be about on the face of the planet. And we have found that there is definitely a part of me that is queer. (Queer meaning denoting or relating to a sexual identity that does not correspond to established ideas of sexuality, especially heterosexual norms.) I mainly am attracted to men, but there is a part of me that is attracted to women too. I was distraught about this, and said to my therapist, “I’m a weirdo. I’m 36 and this is when this all comes out?” and she said that actually if you look at the whole of my life in detail this makes total sense. Now that did shock me. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt on that one, as she has been right about everything else.

Throughout my adult life, I have had in the background a strange frustration and anger that would appear seemingly at random times and random moments and I have never been able to explain it. Even John recognised this and would enquire what it was about, and I was never able to give him an answer as I just didn’t know. What I can tell you is, since I have accepted me the way I am, I haven’t felt that anger or frustration rise up once. And I can’t feel it rumbling in the background anymore either. I don’t know what all that means but that’s the truth and one of my observations. Obviously, I have had to work through a ton of stuff to get to this point and it has not been easy, to say the least. But here we are.

So there you have it. If I’m gonna continue to wake up every morning then I’m waking up knowing I have been as integral as I can be to myself, to God and to everyone else. Take me or leave me. Your call.

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This and that.

Haven’t written for a while. Life’s been trickling on steadily. Settling into the flat ok, Alfie and Eric my Yorkies are happy. It’s a difficult week this week, it should have been Mum’s Birthday a few days ago and it should be Paula my sisters birthday on Sunday… these few days I have missed John so much, yesterday I pined for him so much I thought I was going to end up in heap sobbing unable to move but it never actually materialised. Days like that are difficult cause it appears random and yet my Therapist tells me all grief is related to each other so I guess it’s not surprising given all the grief birthdays stir up. Something that has taken me by surprise is my enthusiastic engagement with Christmas this year. Since John died I have absolutely avoided all things Christmas completely. This year I have kind of just gone with the flow. I think it helps that I am not surrounded by a house that I know John would have wanted to be decorated to the hilt the moment December hit, and me not being to able to face the enormity of him not being there. Also, something that has really helped was I have been put on the serving rota for Midnight Mass and I absolutely cannot wait for that, I love Midnight Mass and so being able to serve at that is awesome. Another thing that is helping me not dread this time of year so much is I have moved my New Year to be in line with the Liturgical New Year which begins on December 1st. Although December 1st should be Paula’s Birthday and so will be a hard day, by celebrating new year on that day it takes the anxiety and emotion right out of Dec 31st and January 1st, which is a huge weight lifted as I simply couldn’t bear thinking of going into another new year without John and Paula at the traditional times with all countdowns and events. This is a much gentler way to transition. One thing I did want to mention is how much I love being a Deputy Church Warden. I find it an incredible privilege, to see the full breadth of the life of a church with all the ins and outs, people, groups, services, baptisms, funerals, events, conversations, friendships and squabbles(!), joys and sorrows. My church in one way is just a normal Anglican church if there is such a thing, but on the other had it holds a wonderful sense of God’s presence and beautiful theology. It does do liturgy incredibly well too, I am extremely grateful that God led me to find it. So let me wish you a Happy New Year as I begin mine in the next few days 🙂

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Ruined but onward.

Yesterday, as I was in Warwickshire visiting my sister, I made a trip to Coventry Cathedral. I absolutely love that place, I always have done since I was a kid. One of the highlights of my life was working (and living) there. I know it’s true of many things in our lives that we don’t really appreciate them at the time, even though I loved working at the Cathedral I realise now I never truly appreciated many things about it. Since John passed away (and now my sister) I understand the significance of it better. The ruins of the old cathedral I can relate to because my whole life was burned down when John died. Everything I had built, carved, moulded, formed, and was immensely proud of, gone. In an instance, no longer. I always knew you could still see bits of the shattered glass in the windowsills in the ruins but I never actually paid attention to them, but yesterday I did.

I stood and wept. These windows will never be restored, never be fixed, they are broken forever. That’s exactly how parts of my life feel. And I just have to accept that. John’s death smashed and broke parts of me forever, irrevocably so. It threw everything into the air. I cannot go back and mend things. It stripped me bare, all the things that I had all neat and tidy and boxed off have been exposed, and I’m sorting through all the damages piece by piece. It has swirled all things from the past up and that’s what drew me to the Cathedral yesterday, I had wrote to someone that there was something in me that I needed to reconcile, and with Coventry Cathedral being the centre for Peace and Reconciliation (if you don’t know the story, google it) I knew that was the time and place to try. I got to this statue, that I have stood and looked at so many times through out the years…

And I forgave the people I needed to forgive. I forgave myself too, they, like myself, were only doing the best that they could with what they knew and had. Then I knew it was time to go into the new Cathedral. I stood looking from the Old ruined Cathedral through the West Screen Glass into the New Cathedral. “Is it time Lord?” I asked. “Time for the new?” No answer. I made my way down the steps and in. As I walked in the unique familiar smell of the building filled my senses, and made me feel a warmth inside. I knew where I was heading, the chapel of the garden of Gethsemane. I have always come and sat in it, at prominent times in my life. When I was made redundant from the Cathedral, when my mum died, when her house was sold and I went to pick up the inheritance. When I was getting married. When John died, when Paula died and now when I myself needed some healing and reconciliation.

I sat and told God how much I love Him and want to serve Him, and how I give everything over into His hands. I felt a comfort come. I lingered first a while and then moved on. I walked around and then stood in the nave gazing into Jesus’ eyes in the tapestry of Christ in Glory. I thought about what I needed reconciling. It irked me. Then I realised. I can not reconcile this, as there is only one reconciler. Jesus Christ. So I prayed, Lord in your mercy, here my prayer. I want to be authentic in everything I do and everything I am. Lord have mercy. Then I turned and left it all in His hands. What a beautiful God we serve. 💕💕💕.

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Ramblings of authenticity.

Firstly let me apologise for the length of this post. Please don’t read it if it’s too long for you. I know I look at some blog post and think, “ain’t got time for that”.  I totally ramble on and on, but I’m leaving it how it is, cause it shows my processing, and how I get to where I (eventually) end up.

I was aware when I became widowed that this would throw my life into the air and it was destined to lead to me inevitably pouring over and investigating every part of my shattered life that remained. I also suspected that I was being dropped in a minefield (figuratively speaking). Imagine all the things you potentially could discover when you think through the different parts and things that have happened in your life when you have gone out of your way not to do that at every stage. It’s not an easy process but it felt inevitable given everything that happened with John and my sister Paula. I was pretty scared if I’m honest, but I’ve learnt that if something causes me to fear then I should look it square in the face. That is a new development. I used to bury my head in the sand, I still do with many things but I am much better than I was, it might take me a while but I will face up to things eventually now. I have stepped on a few landmines this year or so along the way.  And yet part of me knows that the impulsion behind those mistakes came from a desire to be honest with myself and to find a real authenticity that I have always felt I don’t have. What the people I admire the most hold in common is that they are authentic, and whenever I see a certain level of authenticity in someone it’s like my heart comes alive and I yearn for it for me. I wish I could not be so ambiguous as I feel I am being and totally contradicting exactly what I am saying. On one hand, I say I want total authenticity and integrity and on the other, I write ambiguous posts on my blog and social media. Yeah still got a long way to go then. I have always maintained since the moment John passed away how conflicted I feel, about so so so many things. Clearly, that hasn’t changed. Or has it? Many things have changed for me, and in me too, not least the way I think and feel about the world and theology, but what I am realising as I type that hasn’t changed is my pride. I am prideful, I always have been. I haven’t figured out why. It was pride that held me back from God as I didn’t want to acknowledge that I had never really felt loved other than by my Gran when I was a child, and it took years of being a Christian for me to finally acknowledge that. Then my pride held me back for years from admitting that I never felt loved by God, and when my pride finally let me admit that a tangible, visible and I think measurable healing began to take place. I had and still have pride that I was married, and I’m not saying that is a bad thing necessarily, of course I love that I was married and I loved John with every ounce of my being, however, the level of my pride about my marriage is inflated beyond maybe what it should be, and that is me being totally honest. Marriage to me may have been an idol. There I said it. I can’t believe I have said that and my pride is kicking off. All I ever wanted to do was be married. From the moment I realised that marriage didn’t have to be like what I had witnessed from growing up I wanted it. I wanted to feel close to someone, to love and cherish someone, for someone to love and cherish me back. And when I became a Christian that was my prayer, week in and week out. I have witnesses to this. The only answer to my longings I believed was marriage. Do not misunderstand me, I am not saying that my marriage was a mistake, no not at all. It most definitely was one of the best things ever, truly it was and I loved it, even the really hard bits. We didn’t have the perfect marriage, is there such a thing? But we had an amazing life together and we both totally adored each other and I am not taking anything away from that. But I was proud, beyond proud that I was married and our marriage wasn’t like what I had seen growing up, proud that here I was a married woman and my marriage was strong, proud that I was married and happy, blissfully so. And this may be an overshare or a little on the edge but I know I would have done anything, anything at all to stay married. It may be unfair to say this but it also may be absolutely on the nose that I used being married as an easy route to know who I was. I was a married lady, who was gonna follow her husband wherever he went. Please know I dont think that’s necessarily a bad thing, there are people who that is right for some people and thats honourable. What is not honourable which is what I am trying to articulate is using marriage as a tool to avoid having to think about who you are and what you want to do and be. John and our marriage provided all the answers I could ever need. Who was I? John’s wife. What was I gonna do? Whatever John was doing. What was I gonna believe? Whatever John believed. What was I gonna think? Mostly what John thought. (There was the odd occasion I didn’t think like him but it was fairly rare… he would totally 100 per cent disagree with this statement! Ha!) but he was such a kind, tender generous soul, why would I not want to think like he did? I put all my identity into our marriage and I knew it and I was relieved when we got married that I had found a way to not have to know what I was about and who I was and what I wanted cause now I could have it all handed to me on a plate by someone else. So when John dies guess what? My whole identity is lost. I think you can see me realising and acknowledging this throughout my various blog posts. A question that bothers me is, how come other people seem to have this identity thing more on lockdown, why has it taken me until I’m 37 to do this? I have looked over my life and I think its not just one thing. I think maybe my childhood was too turbulent and I didn’t get the chance with all the stuff that went on with my mum and dad fighting and their alcoholism. All my focus was on just getting through one day after the next as a balanced human being. After that, I guess at every opportunity I had to work this stuff out I sidestepped. Why? Always comes down to one thing: Fear. I was (still am if I’m honest…) frightened that there is no good in me and I will never come to anything good. I am useless and have nothing to offer. I’m just weak and can do nothing right and everything I think or do is a mistake. It haunts me all the time, it wakes me in the middle of the night, it lurks throughout the day… and I worry this is false humility… wow, complicated.  What I have been learning the past year or so is in direct competition with my fears, when I have looked back honestly over my life I haven’t found someone who is weak, I also haven’t found someone who has made terribly awful decisions, yes, of course, I have made some and some absolutely massive ones, but haven’t we all? But not as many as my inner narrative wishes to tell me. And I have realised the decisions where I have had no option other than to trust my own decision have 9 times out of ten been absolutely the right and the best outcomes have happened because of them. Woah, Woah, what about the Lord? I hear you say. What about Him in the decision-making process?. Yes, of course, He was there in it, as He is with everything, right beside me in the good decisions and the bad ones. Sometimes He doesn’t say anything though, and in the times he hasn’t, looking back I still made the right call. This is somewhat of a relief, but then I skirt with not wanting to become puffed up and proud at myself…  vicious cycles all round. Where is this all heading? I think it’s fair to say I can look back on my life and recognise which were the good decisions and which were not because they were made out of fear. I am currently reevaluating a decision I made totally out of fear many many years ago and looking at what some of the consequences of that decision are. Since I have looked this thing square in the face and not been afraid it is akin to a part of me that has been silenced, bound and kept in a far distant corner being rescued and cared for. I know ambiguity is reigning again now and, to be honest, it has to as I am still processing and evaluating all that I am discovering about who I am and how I operate. So, for now, you shall just have to accept my authentic ambiguity. 

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