Sacred
By Jen
I'm going to split in half and die.
The teachings of my eighth grade biology instructor begged to differ of course.
Most animals, particularly human females, do not split up the middle during
childbirth. Common sense dictated that no such fate would be visited upon me
either. I was not tied to a medieval torture device nor was I an extra in the
latest slasher film. I was going to be fine. It was no big deal. I was just
giving birth. I kept reassuring myself that women do it all the time without any
sort of painkillers. If they could do it, so could I. Some women give birth
alone, in huts, in the middle of nowhere. I was in a state-of-the-art hospital
surrounded by nurses, doctors, my husband and family. I was eighteen, healthy
and with a high pain tolerance, or so I thought. I am not going to lie.
Truthfully, the pain was excruciating. However, in the end, it was well worth
it. I will not lie and say that as I soon as I held that baby in my arms the
pain was forgotten. However, it was put into perspective. The pain I endured had
purpose and meaning.
Most meaningful things of value are forged with pain. That is what makes them
special and sacred. Like the pain of tattoos results in a permanent mark on the
skin, sacred moments leave a permanent mark on the soul. Sacredness is, of
course, subjective. In The Sacred Arts of Life, Thomas Moore insists that even
the most seemingly mundane household chores are sacred to him (Moore 269).
Although I abhor all household chores, I understand his train of thought. What
is sacred to one might be meaningless to another. It is a matter of perspective.
Personally, I have three moments in my life that I hold as sacred. They are the
day I got married, the births of my children, and the day I got divorced. They
are sacred to me because they elicited profound change in myself and how I
viewed the world.
My wedding is sacred because I could not be found until I was lost. Despite
having the best intentions, my wedding was the beginning of a dark chapter in my
life. Being a naïve and pregnant teenager, I thought that my wedding would be
the starting point of a fairy tale life. I witnessed my parent's marriage
disintegrate into an ugly and hateful war. They had stayed married and miserable
to each other for years. There were many nights I fell asleep to their fighting.
I prayed that they would stop; that one would give up. Both needed to engage for
it to be a fight.
To me, it seemed such a simple solution. All it took to end the argument was for
one to relent. They both did not need to be right. As my bridesmaids helped me
into my wedding gown, I swore I would never let my marriage be like that. I
would never fight and try to always compromise. I told myself I did not need to
be right. I convinced myself that love conquers all. I just needed my new
husband and I to be happy, whatever the cost.
The first payment was collected right after the wedding on our honeymoon. Since
my husband's father lived in San Francisco, CA, we decided to honeymoon there. I
had never traveled out of Idaho until that time. I was excited to see the city
and all the landmarks in the area. However, my husband had lived in that area
for years and had already seen those sites. He insisted that they were boring
and unnecessary. I wanted to ride the trolley cars. He said they were bone
jarring and uncomfortable and refused to take me. I did not want to argue with
my spouse on our honeymoon, so I relented. I wanted to walk with my bare feet in
the surf, but my husband forbade me. The jellyfish were coming in and I might
get stung. No need to fight about it, he was just looking out for me. Having
been a crime buff, I desperately wanted to visit Alcatraz. My husband insisted
that it was a dump not worthy of our time. I convinced myself that it was all
right. Like the women in Mary Field Belenky's Silence, I assumed that satisfying
my husband needs would satisfy my own in the process (Belenky 109).
After the honeymoon, my emotional deference to my husband continued. I accepted
the prevalent attitudes that men were supposed to be dominant and smart while
women were dependent on their male counterparts (Belenky 109). He went out to
the bars with his friends while I stayed home with the children. When his wages
were garnished for his other children, I went to work to make up the difference.
By continually denying my own needs for the sake of my husband, I ceased being
Jennifer and became just my husband's wife. On the few occasions when I would
speak up, he would instantly become belligerent. He would yell and throw
whatever was in easy reach. Most times, it would be a coffee mug or ashtray.
Once it was a rocker recliner. Over time, I gave up and spiraled into apathy. I
had lost a "dialogue with the self" (Belenky 106). The spiral continued until I
hit rock bottom.
Bottom arrived when my husband was arrested. He had his friend take his debit
card to an ATM and bail him out. It would have been all right if it had not been
our rent money. When he arrived home and explained what he had done, I was
furious. There was no way I could come up with the money. He asked which was
more important, the rent getting paid or him being out of jail? For the first
time, I realized that he did not care whether the kids and I had a roof over our
heads. Only his needs were important to him. He was narcissistic and cruel. When
I informed him that I felt the rent was more important, he flew into a rage and
pinned me against the kitchen wall. My daughter, who was in the dining room,
howled in fear. At that moment, I had an epiphany. All my thoughts and feelings
crystallized into one previously unspoken truth. Like the people in Plato's The
Allegory of the Cave, I stood and painfully saw things more clearly than I had
in years (Plato 4). By staying in this one-sided relationship, I was wreaking
more damage on my children than was handed to me in my childhood. I threw his
keys at him and told him to get out. I was on the precipice of my next sacred
moment.
After borrowing eight hundred dollars from my mother, I filed for divorce. My
husband was staying on the couches of various friends, so I had him served at
his part time job. He was livid. He called me at work and reduced me to tears
with his tirade. A few weeks later he scaled up the side of my apartment
building and broke in through the sliding glass door. When I arrived from work,
demolished furniture and dishes awaited me. Luckily, I arrived home before my
children and was able to restore most things to normal so as not to add anymore
trauma to their lives. Despite all his intimidation, I knew I could not go back.
I refused to give up my newfound freedom and exist as I did before (Plato 5).
When my ex-husband relented for the first time in our twelve-year relationship,
it was in the form of signing the divorce papers. It took over a year for him to
see I was never coming back. Besides, he had found a pliable young woman who
allowed him to maintain his status quo. He needed the divorce so he could marry
her before she was any the wiser. The first time I met her I saw all the
compliance I had at the beginning of my marriage. I knew the road that lay ahead
for her and felt sad. I hoped that she would find the strength I had discovered
within the last year.
Over that year I had evolved into a completely different person. In Belenky's
Silence, a women states that "the only reason I did not kick him out a long time
ago was 'cause I was afraid I just wouldn't live"(Belenky 109). I related to
this statement. When I first separated from my ex-husband, I was terrified that
I would not be able to handle it. I had spent the last twelve years unable to
define myself without using him as a reference. I did not know if I was a
complete person without him. I had trouble sleeping because my bed seemed to be
measured in acres without his body in it. I saw him in my children's faces and
cried myself to sleep. I thought I would never feel happy again. However, as
time went on, my sleepless nights got fewer and fewer, and I realized that I was
quite adept at handling all that life could throw at me. I was set up on several
blind dates by friends and family and discovered that men found me desirable.
More importantly, I realized that I would rather be alone and healthy than with
someone and sick. I rose and fell under my own power without anyone there to
impede my progress.
On the day I picked up my divorce decree from my attorney's office, I cried. The
tears were not mournful for the death of my marriage. Instead, they were joyful
because it was over. I was in control of my destiny for the first time in years.
I was free, and most importantly, whole. Only then was I able to realize and
embrace the most sacred moment of my life.
The most sacred moments in my life are the births of my children. No moment in
my life changed me as profoundly as their births did. Matt Ridley states in
Human Nature that "…reproduction is the sole goal for which human beings are
designed" (Ridley 192). While not as clinical as Mr. Ridley, I do agree that it
was the most important goal I ever met.
The birth of my children, particularly the birth of my eldest child, was a
defining moment in my life. When I gave birth to my daughter, it was a week
before my 19th birthday. In the eyes of the law, I was an adult. However, when
the doctor laid her in my arms, I was gripped by two strong, but vastly
different, emotions. One emotion was pure joy. My husband stood next to me
crying. In that moment, we personified a Norman Rockwell painting. I had that
perfect family I had yearned for as a child.
The other emotion was fear. She had my nose and lips. At that moment, I realized
that I was this child's mother. I thought of the dirty dishes still piled up in
my sink of our apartment. What had I done? I could not even keep the dishes
washed. How I would ever be able to take care of her? Dread washed over me. This
precious baby girl had only been on earth for a few short minutes and was
already doomed.
Ignoring my protests, the doctors, nurses, my husband and family made me take
her home from the hospital. They all assured me that I would be fine. They
insisted that motherhood was natural and I would master it shortly. When I gave
birth to my son a few years later, I was unable to convince them that I had
already doomed my daughter to a life of therapy bills, and to sentence this
perfect baby boy to the same fate would be cruel. Not only did the hospital
staff, my husband and family insist I bring him home, my daughter insisted as
well. She never stated it was because I was a good mom to her. Rather, she had
grown tired of her dolls and wanted to hone her skills on something less
plastic. Everyone said if I could handle one, I could handle two. It has been
over twelve years and I still have not mastered it.
Although I have never mastered the art of parenthood, I have muddled through the
best I can. I think, in the end, that is all any parent can do. I am positive I
have made some mistakes. However, I have invested an immense amount of time,
energy and money into this endeavor trying desperately not to ruin the beautiful
children I've been blessed with. The dividends have been immeasurable.
In the end, I think I have gotten more out of being a mother than I ever put in.
Thomas Moore states in The Sacred Arts of Life that "…art arrests the attention"
(Moore 269). By this definition, my children are art because they arrest all my
attention. Sometimes, I just watch them. They are not doing anything amazing,
except being children. I will go in and shut my daughter's television off after
she falls asleep just to watch her. I can still see her newborn face hiding
within her twelve-year old one. I will sneak into my son's room to replace the
covers he habitually kicks off and listen to his soft snoring. Moore also states
that "…where the work is most intense, is the source for the soul" (Moore 271).
To me, this statement sums my feelings up. There is nothing I put more effort
into, and my children are the spring that nourishes my soul.
Sacredness is anything that nourishes the soul. Experience and perspective make
it different for each person. What I find sacred are moments that taught me
invaluable lessons. All of those moments involved pain and heartache, but none
of that was in vain. My wedding and subsequent marriage taught me two things.
The first was I learned that there is a difference between picking a fight and
not being a door mat. The second was that learning what you do not want is just
as valuable as knowing what you do. My divorce gave me my spine back and put me
in charge of my own destiny. It gave me perspective and an unquenchable desire
to never slide back again. My children gave me purpose when I had none. When I
wanted to give up, I thought of them. To give up and let myself sink to the
bottom was easy enough, but if I sank so did the kids. Despite all my
self-loathing, I had no choice. I could not do that to them, so I pushed on. I
have many less significant sacred moments in my life. They were all important,
but those three are the ones that changed me at the core. Without those moments,
I would not be the person I am today, and I like the person I see in the mirror.
Despite all the physical and emotional turmoil each one elicited, I would not
change a thing. On second thought, perhaps I would ask for some painkillers or
an epidural.
Works Cited
Belenky, Mary Field. "Silence." The Human Experience: Who Am I? GNED 102 2nd.
Ed.
Comp. and eds. Jeffery Sinn, et. al. Rock Hill Tapestry Press, 2005.
Moore, Thomas. "The Sacred Arts of Life." The Human Experience: Who Am I? GNED
102
2nd.Ed. Comp. and eds. Jeffery Sinn, et. al. Rock Hill Tapestry Press, 2005.
Plato. "The Allegory of the Cave." The Human Experience: Who Am
I? GNED 102 2nd. Ed. Comp. and eds. Jeffery Sinn, et. al. Rock Hill Tapestry
Press, 2005.
Ridley, Matt. "Human Nature." Plato. "The Allegory of the Cave." The Human
Experience: Who
Am I? GNED 102 2nd. Ed. Comp. and eds. Jeffery Sinn, et. al. Rock Hill Tapestry
Press,
2005.
copyright Jen 2005