Thankful for the Terrible

Awakened Hollow

I always enjoyed Thanksgiving.

Yes, there are many parts of it that are problematic. I know that it is a holiday that is steeped in a lie and wrapped with a pretty food coma bow. It’s a holiday that is all too closely tied to blatant consumerism with Black Friday stampedes or Cyber Monday coupons.

But despite all of that, to me, Thanksgiving was a welcome pause in the year to reflect. It often meant being grateful for all the blessings that I have in my life, even though I know that gratitude can’t really be something we only do once a year. After all, there are countless studies that show how gratitude is good for the brain and the soul. And I do recognize, and am forever grateful, for the abundance of privilege that I’ve had in my life.

Every year, I would think about all the good in my life. But this year, I started to think about the terrible things. I took a visit to the specters that still linger in the library stacks of my brain. Sometimes I wish it weren’t such a well worn path to past heartaches and heartbreaks.

I thought about the searing pain of failure that flowed through me last year when I realized that I would very likely be fired from a supposed dream job. At that time I believed I had reached the pinnacle of what most people in marketing wanted to do. I had cracked the door open to one of the most prestigious public companies.

And yet I was told that I had basic communication issues. I had to "fix myself." My manager, quite literally, said to me: “you really need to think about what’s wrong with you.” I obsessed over those words and let the sour criticism soak into my skin.

I thought about the relentless ache of grief last year when I found out that one of the pillars of my life - a woman that helped care for my child since she was a year old - died in a car crash. I thought about the funeral when I sat amid the children, grandchildren, and countless relatives and loved ones that mourned her life being taken far too soon. I missed her hugs, her smile every morning when she came through the door, the squeal of joy when my daughter would clamber into her arms.

I thought about the poisonous words that a family member spat at me at the death of my grandfather. A reminder that I wasn’t family, and I never would be family. The familiar childhood agony welled up inside, the desperate desire to be accepted. It rattled me to my core.

I thought about the angry words I’ve shouted at my husband, the countless times I lost my temper at my daughter. I thought about broken friendships and friendships that slowly dissipated away like mist into the open air. I thought about all the times I felt alone, and sometimes I still do feel alone.

I thought about all the terribleness that was happening in the world. A pandemic ripping through the country while the leadership at the highest level is rampant with corruption. Fellow Americans are being killed because of the color of their skin. It felt like, all too often, evil was scoring points and winning. And even worse? To quote Taylor Swift: the wrong ones think they’re right.

Sometimes, all of these terrible things weigh on me and pull me down and send me down a deep spiral of suffering. Because of the terrible words of a manager, my confidence was broken. But I started to find footing toward a new career that I had always dreamed of since I was a little girl.

Because of the terrible loss of someone dear to my heart and my daughter, I grieved and felt immense pain. But I realize that I wouldn’t feel this pain if I didn’t feel the bounty of her love. I never knew I could love the love someone else had for my daughter so much.

Because of the terrible words from that family member, I felt unworthy. But I realize that whether familial or not, I am not obligated to anybody. And while I’m still learning, I know that I am worthy. And in a way, I have started to break free.

I’ve shouted angry words, but each time I learn to say I’m sorry and I receive forgiveness. I’ve lost my temper, but it makes me even more empathetic when my daughter has her own stormy moments.
The pandemic is raging, but I know I’m not alone in staying alone with just my family this holiday. I know that countless others are doing the best they can. Nurses, doctors, emergency service people are on the front lines.

There is social injustice in our world and especially in our country. Far too many people have been traumatized, too many people are missing from meals today because of the deep-rooted racism. But people of all backgrounds marched and protested, shouting Black Lives Matter because they do. While there is still far to go, I know that when I talk to my daughter, she'll know that all men and women are equal and that her generation will be so much better than the ones before.

And while I don’t think our country will immediately be healed and there is still so much far we have to trod, 6 million people showed up and voted for a new administration. And we will have that sliver, that glimmer of a chance to progress forward.

Even the tiniest bit.

In the midst of terribleness, the air can feel like it has been sucked out of the room. But it makes the next breath of fresh air even sweeter.

More than anything, I’m thankful that I had loved ones help me get out of the terrible. I’m thankful every day that I’ve been able to get out of the terrible, when there are many that have fallen to it because it can be so overpowering.

But with the shadows, comes the light. With the darkness, there is depth. Without the terrible, there wouldn’t be the terrific.

This Thanksgiving, I’m going to face and be thankful for the terrible.