by Deborah Globus
I can see myself, sitting and crying on the beach. I am 24 years old, unemployed, married, and flailing in life. I am lost.
Thanks to my husband we have disposable income, though, and I have realized the joys of combing the self-help shelves and coming away with a stack of books.
I have discovered SARK who gives me permission to nap.
I have discovered Sarah Ban Breathnacht who feeds my desire to live a life of my own choosing.
I have discovered Jennifer Louden who has taught me the practice of retreat.
That day on the beach was my first retreat. I can’t remember the question I chose to guide me and keep me on track, but I know why I sat on the beach on that cold February day, crying. In that moment I admitted that I hated being a woman, and the admission devastated me.
I had always been more comfortable hanging out with guys. I had trouble with female friendships. They didn’t seem to stick, always breaking my heart. Even my beloved sister left the family, causing me to doubt my worth for years.
And I was lonely. My husband worked long, compulsive hours at work. I who had never spent a night alone until I was 21 years old, suddenly had hours and hours of solitude.
I longed for companionship. I longed for intimate, abiding relationships – ones that wouldn’t threaten my marriage, like the friendships with men did.
And so I cried. I sobbed on that beach, acknowledging this self-loathing and this chasm of longing inside of me – neither of which I knew how to address.
At that moment a swan appeared.
I had always been more comfortable hanging out with guys. I had trouble with female friendships. They didn’t seem to stick, always breaking my heart. Even my beloved sister left the family, causing me to doubt my worth for years.
And I was lonely. My husband worked long, compulsive hours at work. I who had never spent a night alone until I was 21 years old, suddenly had hours and hours of solitude.
I longed for companionship. I longed for intimate, abiding relationships – ones that wouldn’t threaten my marriage, like the friendships with men did.
And so I cried. I sobbed on that beach, acknowledging this self-loathing and this chasm of longing inside of me – neither of which I knew how to address.
At that moment a swan appeared.
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