Adrift in an Empty Nest

My mother always told me, “I raised you to be independent and have your own life.” I loved that about her! I left the nest relatively confident – and thankful that she was only a phone call away when I realized how painful “adulting” was.

I raised my children the same way – then was mortified when they actually moved out! The first crypt in the Meh Cavern the Holy Spirit addressed was losing my children to adulthood. Ever since I held my favorite baby doll in my arms at age seven, I pictured my life with babies and imagined we would all live within close to one another. Sunday dinners, spontaneous shopping trips with my daughter, etc. filled my childhood fantasies.

I thought I was handling it well until my daughter moved to another state and got married. Suddenly, I was adrift in an empty nest. To avoid the pain, I became distracted navigating my own “adulting”, at least until the grave cloths started to stink. I never thought I needed to grieve their adulthood. I mean, the fact they were still alive and thriving is quite the accomplishment as a parent! But the deep loneliness that filtered up from my soul could not be quenched. I suddenly felt like my anchor for this world was gone and my feet were trying to touch bottom so I could catch my breath.

The grief worked its way up one Friday morning, and I had flashbacks to being a 7-year-old holding her favorite baby doll. Mom and Dad were fighting downstairs. This was a bad one with ultimatums, yelling, and the hint of some kind of betrayal. I remember whispering to my baby doll, “Shhhh, shhh, it will be ok. I won’t leave you.” I felt paralyzed and afraid to leave my room.

I never knew where this memory came from – out of some deep, dark cavity, but the Holy Spirit knew. He knew my fear of abandonment - created in the moment of hearing that fight - connected me in some way to want to hold my children near and never be away from them.

This grieving went all the way back to a little girl holding her baby doll and fearing abandonment. While in therapy, I learned a technique of addressing the wounded child within. It was time to comfort that 7-year-old and tell her that Jesus was her ever present anchor. She never need fear being abandoned for He will never leave me nor forsake me.

I think I got through to her cause that deep, dark cavernous hole is filled with light.

And this was only the beginning…

Psalms 21:7

“For the King (or 7-year-old little girl) trusts in the Lord,

And through the mercy of the Most High,

he (or she) shall not be moved (be anchored).”

Caverns, Grave Clothes and the Land of Meh

At the beginning of 2017, I told the Lord I was ready for a catalytic change that would take me from the wilderness and caverns to being joyful again. I was finally ready to see what lurked beneath this “Meh” season I’d been in for 10+ years. What is “Meh” you ask? Meh is the place between, “I’m doing good!” and “I am so depressed I can hardly move.” It has no real definition in Webster’s. It’s just there. It is that nagging pull deep within that we can’t define or really see in our mind’s eye. The symptoms you exhibit when you have been in the Land of Meh are no passion, no life, and almost a cynical irritation that lingers behind what used to be dreams and hopes. Anyone that has been to the Land of Meh knows exactly what I mean.

How everyone gets there is a little different.

If Meh goes on long enough, and traumas do not get dealt with, caverns develop. These are deep recesses in the soul that hold on to hurt, trauma and the like. We can’t always see them or feel them; but we can sure smell the decay of stale pain when it stays there long enough. How does this happen?

We are all familiar with the stages of grief. Some psychologists say there are 4, 5, or even 7 stages. No matter how many roads in the cycle, if any of those are not walked to the fullest or have their complete work and release in our soul, things will linger and go stale.

For much of my life, I experienced traumas or pain and I never fully grieved the changes they brought. I went thru the denial, anger (camped out on this one a LONG time), bargaining, depression, but never quite made it to acceptance before another trauma burst onto the scene. Thus a new cycle of grief, forgiveness, death, etc would begin.

My therapist explained this was the perfect material for cavern-building.

So Holy Spirit and I went to work. Starting January 27th, every Friday and Saturday was spent in concentrated fasting and prayer to climb through the dark caverns to pull out grave cloths left there to rot. Holy Spirit didn’t give me a road map or a sign from heaven. He just brought tears. Lakes and floods of tears as He would remind me of a forgotten heartache. Some were from childhood. Some from my marriage. Others were from my own imperfections as a wife or mother.

No matter the cause or the age, we spent the next four months unpacking stinking, rotting, stale grief.