"I CAN'T DO IT": WHAT PEOPLE SAY BEFORE THEY DECIDE TO DO IT
I haven't written in a while, and in a way, that should be encouraging to any other new military spouses. I wrote a lot when processing the upcoming deployment, and working through the beginning of it. I wrote when I was distressed, confused, afraid, or needed to organize my thoughts. Sometimes I wrote when no one was available to talk to. I wrote when I learned something particularly significant, and learning thrives in difficulty. Now we are roughly 6 months into deployment, and one of the reasons I haven't written in a while is because I haven't felt a burning need to. I feel I've really hit my stride, and settled into my new normal.
Along the way, I have had a few interesting things said to me and a variety of reactions when a person learns that my husband is deployed. The vast majority of what I hear is positive, encouraging, or - even better - practical and involved, such as asking for his address so they can send a package, or an out-of-state friend sending me a card out of the blue to tell me I am loved, thought about, and prayed for. Everyone I have encountered has meant only the best, even if what came out ended up being awkward or uncomfortable things. Of the reactions I have had, by far the most common is, "I don't know how you do it! I could never do it."
I was thinking about this recently. This is meant to be a praise, that I am stronger or somehow made of different stuff than the speaker. But what do they mean when they say they could never do it? If the "it" is go through a deployment, this is of course ridiculous. Do they mean they are physically incapable of surviving? They would waste away, melt into a puddle and die? No. So, of course, the person could do it. What the person seems to mean, then, is that the person doesn't want to do it. To which I might reply that I really don't want to either.
That wouldn't be quite right, though. I do want to do it. Not because I relish being away from my spouse, but because I have choices, and I have chosen what I believe to be the best one. The easiest thing to do when we don't want to do something is to walk away. I don't want the unpleasant part, but the whole package is worth it, so I cross this off my list of final options. If I choose not to walk away, I can stay and twiddle my thumbs, or stay and be productive - and decide what being productive might look like. Sometimes people say they "can't handle" something, and the depths of this perception leads to suicidal ideation. Because suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, many suicidal people live to see life change, and still others experience the same situation as a suicidal person but do not have the same response, it is clear that the ability exists even when we feel it does not. Here, coping mechanisms tragically fail and the person feels hopeless and helpless even when hope is apparent to others looking on.
Perhaps what we mean is that we feel as if we would emotionally collapse. We see a wave coming that is overwhelming. We do not question our survival but rather our ability to thrive. We look up at the towering, frothing wall of power threatening our peace and joy and scream at the sky, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" Yet, if we were honest, what we would say is, "I don't believe I can experience this and be the same. I am afraid. I do not know what this will be like. This looks like it is going to hurt, and I am not sure it is going to be worth it." Our mental health hinges on our ability to utilize effective coping mechanisms. These can take tremendous effort at times, and as humans we are naturally lazy. I know I am.
I might say to a mother of a special needs child, "I could never do that." And I would truly marvel at the woman and think about how devastated and at a loss I would be, how inadequate and ill-equipped I would feel, and how desperately I might want to prevent my children from having challenges well beyond our control. In doing so, I might see into the mother's past and maybe even present. Perhaps she was like me, and then she had the child that brought so much joy, so many tears, so much exhaustion, and she chose to fight because it was worth it.
What I have discovered is that "I can't do it" is something people say before they decide they want to. What the person means is that they do not believe they could be happy in the situation, have peace in it, rest in it. At this point, the question transitions to where happiness and peace come from.
Some people say God will never give you something you can't handle. This is a lie. God never promised that. The verse people cite is 1 Corinthians 10:13. In reality, it promises that the Lord will always provide a way out - that one of our choices in any given moment will be a pure one, a righteous one, and we will never be tempted to sin so heavily that our ability to resist is utterly absent. What God does promise in relation to suffering is that we will experience it (John 16:33). That might not be the rainbows and butterflies we want to hear, but in Philippians 4 Paul says he learned to be content in every circumstance, and his perception of the wave was not based on its size, speed, or depth, but in God's presence. In verse 13 he says "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
Psalm 88 is written by a man at the end of his rope, feeling so distant and cut off from God that it is like he is dead. He says in verses 3-4, "I am overwhelmed with troubles and my life draws near to death. I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I am like one without strength." Yet in Psalm 84, the man who finds strength in God is called blessed, and those who receive their energy from God rather than relying on themselves go "from strength to strength."
"I can't do it" is something people say before they decide they want to.
I thought "normal" would be the next stage right after being discombobulated from the initial separation and adjustment phase and whatever that was like would pretty much carry me through til homecoming. As it turns out, that has not been the case. I had a middle phase, sort of a pre-normal, that lasted 1-2 months. During this time I was doing well overall, and at the same time had rough nights crawling into bed alone and breaking down, or seeing something online and melting into tears...I might have small things hit me at other times but the big waves usually came in the evening. This was an important learning curve, as I took the opportunity to set up the expectation for myself of what those times would look like and what kind of permissions I would allow myself. I learned to let myself be sad, to utilize multiple coping strategies, delving deeper into areas I thought had been explored before. Next, there came a more "normal" normal. I don't think I expected the new "normal" I'd heard about to actually feel regular. I'm not sure what else I thought the word could mean. I still have tough moments, and at the same time they are generally less intense and less often. Not only that, but I have both begun and completed a practicum at an addictions recovery center, have a job, am in grad school full time finishing up my last classes, and have met and maintained relationships with people for months that have never met my husband. This is a strange thing to consider, that these people don't know him, but it is evidence of life that moves forward. I go to holidays, I visit people, I work, I rest, I take cars to get inspected, get parts replaced, oil changed, and apartment issues solved. I've had game nights and corn mazes with friends, taught someone to shoot, attended weddings, gone on vacation. I've had days where there is a horrible smell coming from under the sink that I don't have time to deal with, and I've had days where Pandora plays all the right songs in a row when I'm singing in the car.
There is nothing that could happen to our cars, possessions, or lives stateside that I would be unable to handle. I might not know much about it at first, and it might not be perfect or freak-out free, but I would find out what to do and then do it. I am fully capable and independent in this regard. And to be honest, I have a lot of resources at my disposal, and there are far more devastating difficulties I could be juggling. Do I have sucky days sometimes? Absolutely. Has it been worth it? Definitely. End of the world? Please. My "I can't" has turned into, "I can, I want to, and I will."
I am confident of my ability to get through whatever comes my way not because I think I am awesome, but because I know God is awesome. I am doing this not because I am made of different stuff than anyone else, but because I am fully committed to it. I want it. That commitment does not waver. And my man totally rocks. Some days my strength is sapped, and I am tired. These are good reminders to evaluate where my strength is coming from and return to my Refuge. I am also confident of and encouraged by my continued and consistent failure. I will faithfully fail over and over again, guaranteed. And Jesus will faithfully sit with me, over and over again, guaranteed.