Maria sat up at 3 a.m. this morning and cried a bit, a not unusual thing in our home. She had been home for about 10 hours and was veering in between excitement and exhaustion.
Her emotions are always on the surface, and she cries like I talk, it is just a part of the conversation. It is why the animals love her so much, they read emotions.
Some of our most amazing conversations have occurred in the dark of night, when she sits up, has a revelation, sometimes shows some emotion and often cries, and then, worn out, falls back to sleep. I stay awake for hours thinking about what she said. This morning, she said something very important.
She said she understood the lesson of her trip to India.
“A home should be safe and loving,” she said, in tears. “It’s because our home is safe and loving that I could go to India. This was the backdrop, the grounding that make it possible.”
It was a powerful statement for both of us, and deeply gratifying for me. I knew exactly what she meant.
Maria and I did not come from a safe and loving home, and so much of our relationship has been devoted to helping one another heal, to feel safe and strong, to learn to like ourselves. We know what it is like to be afraid and confused and diminished.
Maria did not feel strong, did not feel heard, did not feel confident. Her fear had taken her voice away and her willingness to do her art or take risks.
I was in no better shape, ashamed of my mental illness and unable to cope with some of the most basic tasks of life. All my life, I ran from myself, and from others, only when I met Maria did I believe I was worth saving, or that it was worth it to try.
Before that, the only thing that saved me was my writing, I could always write and earn a living writing. Around that, there was havoc and chaos and fear. I had given up on hope and love.
Maria could not, she said this morning, have gone to India and been strong enough to overcome those challenges and risks for much of her life. And nothing about the trip was easy for her, from beginning to end. There was not a part of it she did not handle beautifully, from the blizzard on the first day to her initial disappointment about teaching there, to the grueling nature of the trip, to the strangeness of India, to her car troubles on the way back.
She could go, she said, and deal with it all, because she had been granted the time to heal and grow stronger. Because she felt loved and safe, and that, she said, was the platform on which she was able to build and change. She knows now that she can handle surprise and adversity. So she does handle it, even when it frightens her.
She has found a way to do her art, find her voice, make lasting friendships, find her strength and to be encouraged and supported. This is not something I did for her, it is something we did and do for one another.
For my part, I felt truly accepted and safe. An ugly man in many ways, Maria thought I was beautiful. A disturbed man, she thought I was wonderful. A confused man, she thought I was wise. I felt like such a bad and damaged person, she saw me as good and kind. She even loved me in the recovery room of the hospital where I had my open heart surgery, and if she loved me then, it was for real.
I felt the same way about her. I always thought she was brilliant, creative, intelligent, so alive and honest. She has the biggest heart in the world. I still do think that, she inspires me to be better. I am just amazed at what she does, day after day. There was, after all, a lesson in the India trip, and I think she figured out this morning just what it was.
It is important to love people and help them to feel safe. This changed my life and it changed hers, and we were not little kids when it happened. Think what it could do for them.
When I met Maria, I was lost and broken. I always had the strength to write, but not to write openly and authentically. I was destructive, to myself and others. I lived in terror and confusion. I had lost perspective, and was enmeshed in a life of co-dependence. I was terrified of money, and couldn’t look at a bank balance statement.
I gave all of my money away, deluded to think I was Christ like. I left my family and fled to a new life.
Maria gave me the time and support to put the pieces back together, to heal and learn and grow. We both faces up to ourselves and committed ourselves to growing and learning and to accept and support one another. In this atmosphere, we both grew stronger. I am managing money well, taking responsibility for myself, finding ways to live meaningfully and hopefully, thoughtfully. To do good.
Talking in the night, we both came to see that this was one of the lessons of the India journey. We had become a home and family of love and safety. And in so doing, had opened up so many wonderful and important doors in our loves. India was, in a very literal sense, a metaphor for what we did not have but know is so important. We have built it into our lives, it is what we are about.
And it can open up the world for us both. She’s still sleeping, but I had to get up. I couldn’t wait to write about it. (I think I may have scooped her, heh-heh).