A Mended Wolf Pack

In those final moments of marriage, my heart ached with the realization that sitting beside me was a lawyer, not my husband. We were declared divorced and for the first time in ten years, I was holding my own hand. Feeling grief for my, once upon a dream, burst one bubble of empty promises at a time. My mind raced as I wildly berated myself. What am I going to do? How could I not have seen this coming? The confession of his affair hurt like hell, but it was the unknown of my destiny that perpetuated what was beginning to feel like emotional death. I wanted to take the pain away from my children, to mend their broken hearts. Their expression of pain continuing to pull on my heart strings, continuing to remind me of a new agreement – we were a wolf-pack on the mend.

I grappled with wanting to identify myself as damaged goods, convinced that a broken marriage was my conviction of inadequacy. Our family was broken and my children were wounded warriors, fighting for what was. Our minutes were filled with a deep yearning to bring life as we knew it back. A life where my children didn’t hide from their days or the people in it. Concerns from teachers of my son’s distance and inability to keep focus had me weeping with anger- my poor boy. Holding space for tears while navigating tantrums in an attempt to release anger became a family-time regular. Learning how to work the inner chaos, their precious, courageous hearts were stretching into a new paradigm of falling, rising and daring to trust – in daring to thrive.

As my children were seeking answers, I was seeking relief. Scrambling to find my truth North, I was spiraling in and out of judgement- attaching motives to his affair, strategizing defenses for the next emotional blow, all while buying into misbeliefs that surely would bring me a sense of security. If I can predict the blow, I can keep us out of harm’s way. As though we were recycling a constant state of pain and suffering, I begun to see how scarcity and protection were serving as a means of locking ourselves in while shutting others out. This moment of a marriage undone and a newly divorced home was not an indication of failure, but rather it was our opportunity to expand.

I was not responsible for taking the pain away from my children, but I was responsible for loving them unconditionally.

I desperately wanted to protect them, to keep them blinded in their new reality. Through the protection, the fear of leaning into my own anger, confusion and resentment was broadcasted. Serving as a caretaker, I found myself working hard to minimize the impact on them, shielding, holding them closer than ever. In my moments of over-responsibility, I was consumed with guilt and shame that they, too would experience themselves as branded and broken.

Sitting in the discomfort of vulnerability, I opened myself to the knowing that just as I was holding a mirror of healing for my children, it was time for me to do my inner work. Gifting myself permission to love my aching heart- we were a healing wolf pack. They trusted me, and I was learning to trust the depths of my resourcefulness.

My new found role as single mom was never my issue, but rather it was how I was choosing to relate to myself while I was in pain that was.

The opportunity was always there- will I further judge myself for all the ways I could’ve protected the three of us, the things I could’ve said to change our circumstances, or will I support myself to move into acceptance of what is with patience, gentleness and compassion? Will I choose to keep my heart open? Will I choose to have boundaries or continue building walls? Could I ever forgive myself?

From this place of awareness, when my son struggled to find the words to express his anger, I vowed to not take it personally. I vowed to not allow my discomfort around his inner rage further perpetuate any state of misperceived inadequacy I held as a mother. I wanted to feel empowered, I wanted to stand tall- it was time for me dance with my anger.

Rising with my children, I found myself shifting from a caretaker littered with over-responsibility to a compassionate nurturer, because children too, have the right to the dignity of their process.

Learning to release my inner self-critic, I wanted my children to know they were not alone, that as hard as this was, we would persevere. I wanted to commit to myself and our family, to supporting ourselves in considering another way.

It was not the depth of pain from the divorce that changed us, it was the depth in our expression of unconditional love for each other. Applying love to the places inside that were hurting, we began healing one layer at a time. With unconditional love, we found acceptance, emotional stability, heaps of resourcefulness and the courage to rewrite our story.

Finding our own true North in the midst of pain is the work of Hero’s. Our stories of emotional death do not define us. Rather, they catapult us into an opportunity to redecorate our lives, an opportunity to remembering just how precious we are.

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