The Vice

My default in life is pragmatic. I’m always seeking the reason for things, wanting to break them down to the core in order to understand the reason why. But then there are the precious moments in life when the supernatural occurs and understanding is not an option. My pragmatism is made lame in these moments, as it is clear that it is not my job to come to the conclusion of the why; I am only to trust and I must be satisfied with that alone. Of all the experiences in my life that have been left alone to be trusted, two of these are instances in which I have been spoken to in a voice that wasn’t my own.

The first time it happened I was on my way to my mother’s house, driving on the backroads at that time of the evening when it’s just turned dark. I was comfortable and in a hurry, I was alone and I was about to round a curve. In my head, the words: “Slow down and turn on your brights. There’s a deer ahead in the road.” I eased my foot off the gas, I flicked on my brights. As I rounded the bend, in the center of the road in full view stood a doe looking straight at me, her body unmoving and firm. My foot pressed fully on the brake as my car closed in, and as I came to a stop and as deer tend to do, she snapped out of the trance of my headlights and vanished off into the dark of the woods.

The second time was the night I met my husband. I had tagged along with a friend who was going to visit someone she had become interested in, and her interests’ just-home-from-the-Navy cousin happened to be there, for my entertainment I’m sure. We were introduced, I found him charming and charismatic and although I appreciated the company, the meeting was otherwise unremarkable.

A couple hours later as we stood outside talking, once again words spoken in my head, this time: “This is the man you are going to be with for the rest of your life.” A proverbial eyebrow was raised, to say the least. I was surprised but I didn’t indulge the why as to what had been spoken, and I certainly didn’t assign any sort of destiny to myself and this man. Despite the solidity of my mind, I did know that the words were not mine and that the words had come to me in this way once before and that they could be trusted, and for that reason I allowed their meaning to be known as a truth, and my mind remained open as to how the truth would unfold.

We began talking to each other daily and seeing each other almost as much, and by the following June I was pregnant. We moved into a subsidized one-bedroom apartment and youthfully furnished it with a mattress on the floor, a worn loveseat from a friend’s porch and a small dining room table that my mother had in storage. The beginning of our lives together was spent working to make ends meet, playing cards, watching movies, getting to know each other and ultimately, falling in love.

The words from the first night stayed with me and I thought that I understood why they had been told to me with so much intention. There was turmoil, but I was very young and this was my first real relationship. I cherished the man that I would be with for the rest of my life, and I was perpetually in love with the potential of us. Months turned into years and although love remained, there were too many sleepless nights to count, and I admit now that because of the words and because I was in love, I tolerated so much more than I should have.

One night while we lay in bed he confessed that he had a problem, but he assured me that everything was all right now, and that it wouldn’t happen again. His confession to me was the final step in clearing his conscience and in resolving the karma for the secret he had kept. I had been oblivious to it all, and although I respected his confession and believed his promise that it would never happen again, I warned him that if it ever did, I would leave him. After this conversation, there were hints that it had happened again, but when I asked him about it he said that everything was all right and I believed him. It was a time in my life where optimism and a naïve nature would have prevailed over any evidence, and I would have believed him many more times still, perhaps even for years, if it weren’t for that terrible night. 

I could relive every moment from the night I left him in a split second if I allowed myself to. That night I took our son and a few belongings and moved in with my mother and sister. A year and a half passed in this way. We still spoke, and we saw each other every week. He would ask if we were going to get back together and I could never give him an answer.

During this time, instead of thoughts of my marriage I filled my life by getting a second job on the weekends and by doing all the grocery shopping and baking, broiling and roasting some of the most delicious dishes I had ever made. My mother looks back on that time and romanticizes that it was the ideal situation for my unfortunate circumstance, and it may have seemed to be, but for all of the unanswered questions that I couldn’t even bring myself to ask.

My numbness was a reaction to the sins that my naïve nature had been exposed to and to the shattering of the ideologies that had made up my entire world. For nine years my original self had been fading away and by the time we reunited it had been dwindled down to nothing more than a muffled whisper, and no action was alive inside me enough to even begin to try and revive it. Instead, I embraced my fortitude as a gift that aided in the stifling of the feeling of negative emotions; I would not be taken down. The analyzation necessary for the forgiveness of my husband demanded a catalyst outside of myself, and therefore, I was stuck. A fear of any of the decisions I could have made to move forward paralyzed me into the alternative, and I instead I accepted my life as it had come to be.

I became pregnant with our second child during this time. For me, the pregnancy was the answer as to what to do, and my husband and I immediately began scouring builders with the hopes of building a house on the land adjacent to my mother’s. I remember the energetic walking through the pine trees, the smell of fresh needles, the crunch of the old ones, the breathlessness of the hiking and the excitement at finding and claiming the highest peak to provide us with the best view. We were deeded two acres of land and in that blissful moment the world moved seamlessly along, and at only 7 months pregnant we moved into our brand-new home.

With the birth of our baby girl I was finally able to settle my confusion surrounding the voice that told me I would be with this man for the rest of my life. My conscience connected all the dots and I was able to see full-circle the reason I never left. And as one year unfolded to the next more pieces of the puzzle seemed to click together. Hindsight reveals the truth, of course, but in all the moments for all those years, my faith in those words held me firm to the outcome that was promised to me so many years before.

While the outward aspect of our lives seemed to become fuller, for the entirety of my marriage my whole being was compromised as the subtle recipient of manipulations that altered my perception of reality and promoted an environment that brimmed with desolation. Once realized, I allowed myself grace for the fault of my ignorance of it and here again found myself immediately forced into a position of fortitude. I had spent 13 years of my life betting on hope, but once my eyes were opened I was in a state of adamant shock at what I had endured for my trust in those words.

A new day had come. I chose myself and I chose my daughter. Fear had held me once before but it would not hold me again. My decision was necessary, it was a knowing and it was time. But even still when I left, I heard the words from that first night stated clearly to me as a solidified truth, and this gripped me like a vice.

This was the sin that I brought with me to the water, that I relentlessly tried to break. Once again I found myself in the in-between and I could not see in front of me and I could not bring myself to revisit what was behind me. All my life experiences taught me that I should be asking for forgiveness for breaking the trust of the sanctified words spoken to me 25 years ago, but I could not bring myself to concede that forgiveness was necessary in a universe that originates from love, and so over and over again I sat, pleading for an answer to a question I was unable to beg.

There would be no catalyst this time. There was only me, and there was not much faith in that. I waited for a force to come over me, for a strength to insert itself into me like the strength I had seen in other women, but I felt too defeated and I allowed my spirit to admit that it was too weakened to speak up.

But, I showed up every day- even in the rain. And as habit was promoted to routine I found moments of extended solitude more easily interrupted by my surroundings. I observed the precariousness of the stairs leading down to the dock; crooked, but solid. I identified spiders as they changed their webs daily and for the first time in my life I was able to genuinely appreciate their beauty. The occasional egret landed, beavers became more comfortable and swam within few yards, and swirling gnats caused me to curse as I moved from spot to spot to avoid them.

One evening after I had been at the cabin for a few months I was sitting on the wooden dock, considering the words and blankly staring across the water where the tree-covered hillside met the edge. The vice was present, surrounding the top portion of my head, pressuring it, dulling thoughts. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and then I felt something inside my chest part, and the feeling that had been inside it dissipated outwards and left. At the same time that it opened, the pressure around my head loosened its grip and began to fade away until it no longer existed. My senses were at once peaceful with the air around me, light and easy. The breeze, the sunshine. I opened my eyes; a new world. I looked around and saw the moment that I was in, and I felt every part of it.

The past was gone, never to grip me again. The forgiveness that I had sought for months had never been necessary in the first place, as there was nothing I needed to be forgiven for.

I was free.

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I encourage you to take the time to experience Now We are Free, by Hanz Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard.

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