It’s a year later, since Toujon and Kevin found me having a seizure. And as the anniversary arrives, I am trying to find meaning in what happened.
Grief has shifted me. So often, walking the tightrope of pain, I was afraid I would fall into the pit of bitterness. Grief is a strange world. As Antoine de Saint-Exupery writes in The Little Prince, “it is such a strange place, the land of tears.” It is painful and redemptive, but securely private. It can be the cure for people who have deemed themselves dependent on others.
I grew up the “family clown”, breaking the dense tension with ridiculous pranks and witty remarks. This skill has followed me into adulthood, and I found myself in desperate times, seeking out non-verbal cues of those around me, to see if I was doing a good enough job. When I was diagnosed with epilepsy, I became aware I was the family shame. I understood that just as my role was to lighten the load, I was also the heavy burden. I saw myself based on my reputation, as well as my secret shame. And I couldn’t break even.
In ministry, I was good when I was told I was good. And when I was attacked, I never recovered, thinking that is who I truly was. In grief, I couldn’t define myself based on the world, because I was alone in it. I traveled alone through fatigue and indifference, anger and bitterness, and finally incredibly joy. The shell of bitterness and insecurity flaked away, and I was able to believe myself and allow friends to know me genuinely. My relationships have become real, because I’m learning to love, not people-please.
In the last year, I have seen God work in a person that is free from the ropes that tie her to others. Since my seizure, I directed Epic Conference, ran a 5K, applied to grad school, moved in with amazing community and got a social work job. On top of what appears to be too many blessings, Kevin just moved down to LA for work, and we’re exploring young single life together for the first time. I am beginning to internalize self-differentiation, rather than co-dependency, and this is the first steps in a long journey toward growth. One day, I won’t have to worry about epilepsy, and I will be completely healed. I look forward to that day. Until then, I would never wish epilepsy on others. But the grief allowed me to see who I really am in Christ, as well as wash away the lens of co-dependency.
