Three to be exact.
Two that were my night-life carousers and one who was a recovering alcoholic and drug user.
We met in dark circumstances, shared the night life and mixed up priorities of bars and men, searching for 'diamonds' in the deep, black bottom an oil slick. (Who ever found a diamond in the bottom of an oil barrel? - Not many, if any. And only if you’re real lucky.)
During those 'lost' years (which for me was between 19 and 29), I sputtered along.
I honestly have no idea how I survived.
Between 17 and 21 I shuffled in and out of a highly toxic relationship. I was 'out' of the relationship for several months when my dad died suddenly, three weeks after Christmas, leaving a gaping hole in our family. In the midst of the family's collective pain, I spun out of control, and back 'in' to that terrible relationship.
And within 10 months, I was a mother at 22. Several months later, living in that nightmare of a relationship, I found myself pregnant again. By three months into that pregnancy, although I hadn’t loved myself enough to get out permanently, I knew I absolutely could not stay. Those kids wouldn’t stand a chance.
So I took my little boy and moved a couple hours away to the city, where I lived on welfare and prepared for my role as single mom of two under two.
By the time I was 26, I was working one full and one part time job, walking (pushing a double stroller in the summer and pulling a tobaggan in the winter) to and from work, daycare and the grocery store. I was up every day at 5:30am and spent many, MANY nights in the company of 'friends' until 2 or 3 in the morning. I looked for the love of my life in all the scuzzy corners of smokey bar-rooms and made way too many mistakes.
It was easy to get 'lost'. And there were times I didn't want to be found.
But one day, after I'd made too many bad decisions; after the smokey bar-room became the circus where I was the freak show; after I'd struggled, muddled and fudged my way through a daily painful existence, by the Grace of God, I was offered a way out.
I'd reluctantly agreed to move in with my new boyfriend. He was a handsome and strapping young roughneck who was as good a catch as any in a small nowhere town. We'd moved into a trailer overlooking the golf-course. I knew in my heart of hearts, it wasn't a good move when the move was in progress, but it was too late then to stop the wheels in motion. I pushed forward, ignoring the red flags. There was big trouble a foot.
About a month after the move, I gave up. I knew I was in trouble… AGAIN. And I was tired. Every decision I made had been wrong. The choices I had made had again jeopardized my children and our home. I was mad. I was exhausted.
And I was ready for someone else to take over and take charge of my life.
After all, the way I'd been doing it was NOT working for me.
So I got down on my knees and prayed with more feeling and meaning and emotion than I had ever prayed before. I prayed, 'I need help. Please help me. I promise that I will do it YOUR way, because MY way just hasn’t been working for me.’ And that was all I said. (Mind you it was really long and drawn out and there was a lot of snot and tears and sobbing, but that's it in a nutshell.)
Within three days, me and my 4 and 3 year old kids were living in a friend's basement on the other side of town. Everything I owned (which wasn't much) was in the trailer, with a raving lunatic strung out on cocaine holding them as hostage. I even had the privilege of police escort (bullet proof vests and all) to get my stuff out of the house. What a mess!
How was this the better way?
How was this chaos the help that I’d asked for?
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t care.
I had wholeheartedly placed my life in God’s care. I totally trusted that he knew best.
A week after we moved into that dark basement, I started to read THE BOOK THAT CHANGED MY LIFE. ‘In the Meantime’ written by author Iyanla VanZant. The book’s chapters were segmented as levels of a house: basement, mainfloor, upstairs, attic – that kind of thing.
But the analogy that I clung to was called “the wrecking ball.”
She wrote that when you are in the basement of your life and you finally get to the point where you are really ready to get out of the basement that’s when the wrecking ball comes in and takes things down to ground level.
She said that when you mean it to the core of your spirit, that you are ready to be open to change; when you recognize its you who is at the root of your problem; when you totally take responsibility for where you are in your life and ask for help -- you'll get it.
But it doesn’t always come in the form you want it or expect it to.
It comes as a wrecking ball.
You can’t build a solid, healthy, strong ANYthing on a weak, cracked and broken foundation.
You need to get in there and clean it out.
Dig it down to fresh, solid ground and start to build all over again with new materials and a strong base.
So when you’re REALLY ready, and you trust in the goodness of a higher power, and you ask for help… you get what you need.
A clean start, forgiveness, healing, confidence, love and hope.
Three months in the basement (literally and figuratively) taught me more than I'd ever learned before.
Six months after I found myself in the basement I met a charming, healthy, supportive and gorgeous man who thought I was all that and a bag of chips.
We’ve been together for almost ten years.
It doesn’t mean it’s been easy. It doesn’t even mean that I like him all that much some days.
Some days, I revisit the basement.
Some days I forget to let the Good One be in charge of my life.
Those are the days when I feel like I am swimming up the stream.
When everything is hard.
Like I am missing something.
Like I have it soooo much harder than anyone else… (whine
And then slowly I come around to surrender.
And I remember that only when I ask for help and then let it go am I peaceful, happy and confident that I am going where I am meant to be.
Just cause it’s not MY plan, doesn’t mean it’s not THE plan.
Hell, my life only got good when I gave it up and said “PLEASE TAKE OVER!”
I just need to remember this more often.