cooking dinner, walking outside (only to see someone photographing the house)—is contaminated with a perpetual fear of loss.
One afternoon, during another prolonged session of feeling sorry for myself, I lie on the sofa aimlessly flipping through the channels. I come across Elizabeth Gilbert, speaking about her book Eat, Pray, Love on Oprah. I’m not in the mood to hear yet another story of how wonderful life is coming from someone so far removed from my life. As I listen, I begin to feel simultaneously excited to read the book, yet sad. After a few minutes, I realize I am no longer listening to a word she’s saying, as if the television is on mute. I notice the radiance in this woman’s eyes; her spirit is beaming out from her eyes and piercing the television screen! How can it be that I am sitting thousands of miles away, yet I know this woman is completely filled with love and inner peace? This sends a disturbing wake-up call through my system. I try to recall a moment, any moment in recent times, when my eyes shone with joy of this magnitude. The truth is that there isn’t a recent memory when I display such happiness, because I am not happy. I am unrecognizable to myself; wandering aimlessly, feeling overwhelmed with work, the financial situation, the strain on my marriage, and the immense shock of it all. I feel lethargically uninspired, angry, and simply put-off with the entire deal. My mind is filled with noise, and I am changing as a result of the crisis. I let it become a part of me. It permeates every aspect of my day, interactions, and thoughts. Being faced with the issue of homelessness, not knowing where we will sleep, having so few options, thinking about our family being split apart, not knowing if we will qualify to rent an apartment, is taking a profound emotional toll on me, and on us. It takes vast amounts of effort to hold myself together, to not be depressed, and to quell complaints of victimization. When I visit family and friends, it is difficult to relax. I notice the abundance of food, household supplies, and unnecessary stuff lying around. I think, “Look at all this stuff! Look at what they can afford to buy. They are relaxed because they have money. They are not worried about losing their house.” The only person who truly knows how little money we have is my good friend, a certified tax preparer, who files our taxes. I can only talk about crisis so much, and then I stop. In my world, the crisis is all there is, but in the lives of friends and family who are doing fine, they can only do and say so much.
With the weight of all of this on my mind, I want desperately to feel relief, to feel inspired. So, I start saying aloud, “I just want to be inspired,” over and over again. Without realizing what is happening, by voicing aloud that I want to feel inspired, I proclaim I am finally ready to receive help. A few days later, after service at my mother’s spiritual center, my mother stops by our house. I have attended service with her a few times. The reverend speaks of quieting the mind, turning within through meditation and personal transformation, things I have not ever heard in a church service. I’m not sure how these recommendations can help with our current situation, but nevertheless, I’m curious. When my mother stops by late Sunday morning, she has two books she’s bought for me. She occasionally stops by on Sundays after church to visit with the kids and comes bearing gifts. Despite everything, she is absolute with unconditional love. She doesn’t bring up the argument with Matt or the mortgage. She hands me the two books, one of which is the initiator of a spiritual watershed moment. “I bought these for you.” The Power of Intention, by Dr. Wayne Dyer, boldly catches my attention.
Trusting my mother’s judgment, over the course of the next few days I read The Power of Intention. Change, intention, perception, thoughts become things, silence, meditation, energy, transformation, and clarity are not foreign to me, but then again, they are. I have not heard these words explained in a way I can relate to and apply to challenges in my life. The book is by no means the answer to my problems, but it is another unexpected miracle. It sparks curiosity. I want to know more about how perception influences our experience of life, how we attract things, situations and people into our lives that reflect our level of consciousness. I want to know more about consciousness, what it is, and the role it plays in my life. I want to know more about spirituality, how I can once again feel connected to life and have faith. And I want to know how to begin on my own because I cannot afford a therapist. The book is the beginning of inspiration—exactly what I need. I finish the book within a few days, and listen to the library audiobook three times over the next few weeks. Asking for inspiration and then starting to receive it opened me up to a new way of thinking, a new way of perceiving life, and a new approach to living it. I am ready to acknowledge I have orchestrated a mess. I am ready to understand which intentions brought me to the chaos that now encompasses every aspect of my life. From the book, I begin to understand the following:
❍If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at will change.
❍Before any action is taken, decide what it is you really want, and set the intention.
❍Be reflective and stop all judgment of yourself and others.
❍Meditate consistently to reconnect with yourself.
❍Be appreciative. Showing gratitude begins the internal shift that allows you to see love and connection to all things.
Considering these ideas, I realize I haven’t been fully honest with myself, or Dennis, in my decision to stay at home. Of course I wanted to be there for Greyson and Mckenna, but on a deeper level I also wanted to force Dennis to take care of me so I would feel loved. When I pushed so hard for something we couldn’t afford, I didn’t realize there was a subconscious emotional need underlying my decision—that a deeply wounded part of myself played a part in guiding the decision. It is very easy to blame all the problems I experienced on Dennis’ illness, my family, and my situation—all things outside of me. It is, however, extremely difficult to accept that I need to take a deeply thorough look at myself and my role in creating the ugliness.
I quietly begin to devote myself to emotional healing. I read more books related to spiritual growth, and notice a common theme throughout the books: the benefits of quieting the mind through meditation and prayer. If this many authors are saying the exact same thing, it must have merit.
When I first begin to meditate, I am desperate for someone, something, anything to save me from my problems. I actually remember thinking, “Maybe if I meditate for a few weeks, all of my problems will just go away.” Despite the initial difficulty of the mental seesaw between tiny gaps of stillness and stressful thoughts, I continue to meditate. It seems everything that bothers me during the day wants my attention during meditation. I experience brief moments of feeling quiet, safe, and at ease, then I think of something that bothers me. A rotation of duality plays out in my mind: calm/fear, ease/disease, anger/peace. Every emotion I feel, but do not completely express, comes up for review. I don’t know what this duality means, or if I’m “doing it right;” nevertheless I continue. Each night, it becomes a little easier. While simultaneously experiencing brief moments of silence, I also observe the negative patterns in my beliefs which rise up for review. The brief moments of stillness allow space to become aware of the dominant thoughts and beliefs I hold, and to see unhealthy patterns in my thoughts. I continue to meditate late at night, after the kids and Dennis are asleep. I do this for months alongside the impending arrival of the foreclosure. Meditation helps me to feel more relaxed, but it is momentary. I am under a lot of stress, we are under a lot of stress, and meditation consistently provides momentary relief to cope with the situation.
Then, one day, amidst intermittent calm throughout the day, I pull into the driveway after picking the kids up from school and notice something on the front door. There are two white pieces of paper taped to the front door, visible to everyone. We are beyond the period to reinstate the loan and stop the foreclosure process. It is the Notice of Foreclosure Trustee Sale. The house will be sold in thirty days. I am shaken with fear and the thought of having to tell Dennis, and my parents, it is officially over. There are no more delays, no more holding it off, requests for more time. It is done. The date of the sale is set. Two days later, at 7:20 a.m., as I back out of the driveway to take the kids to school, a man runs up to the car, hastily knocks on the car window and ask, “Do you live here?” I roll the window down just enough to hear him clearly.
