that which doesn't kill me can only make me stronger...and other stuff that's not as neat as it sounds

First of all, let me start by saying that I do, actually, believe that we are made stronger by our trials. I have even learned to have gratitude for mine--and not just the ones I've gone through and made it out of, but the ones I'm in right now. I can't say though that I've ever been comfortable or (heaven forbid!) ENJOYED being tested.

Some trials have made me stronger--even completely changed me for the better.

For example, after having Rheumatic Fever--I will never complain about being sick or sore or injured again. Well, I am human, so let's change that to "hardly ever" complain :). Compared to that trial, nothing I've experienced since has felt as bad. I now know what my body is capable of enduring.

Losing so many members of my family and even a few close friends to death has made me stronger by teaching me to live every day to its fullest. To deeply love those around me and never let those feelings go unsaid.

But this divorce and all that has occurred after it--well, I can't say that it's made me stronger. I think a better description for it would be increasingly more emotionally numb. It doesn't mean that I don't feel--I do--deeply, in fact. But only to an extent. There is something in my mind, a switch to shut down the emotions, that I am learning to activate more quickly and more frequently. People like me--those that live in blissful innocence with bucket loads full of dreams; those who would never hurt anyone intentionally and don't understand why others act so selfishly and cruelly--well, we just can't have our hearts pressed down upon again and again and again without breaking. So, at least in my case--I somehow found that "off" switch. And when I need to--- I use it. Is that a good thing? I don't know.

Last week I went to dinner with a friend of mine. He's actually someone who grew up with my ex-husband and who knew us as a married couple as well. We went to a fondue restaurant. The same one Brad and I used to go to for each of our anniversaries. I hadn't been back there for two and a half years--but I was happy to go again. The food is amazing. I told him about the letter in a bottle "program" the restaurant had. How each year Brad and I would write a letter to each other and they would seal it up in a bottle for us to read when we came in the next year. It was always a tradition I looked forward to. I obviously never got the ones we wrote in 2008 meant to be read in 2009.

"Do you think they still have the bottle?" my friend asked, "you should see if they do."

And they did.

Compared to the level of emotion in my letter to Brad, his to me sounded strained and distant. But still, reading his words. Seeing that familiar handwriting spelling out "I love you". For a moment it felt like I'd swallowed a stomach of salt water. I thought for sure the tears were coming. Then, click. On came the emotional shut off switch and I felt....nothing. I folded the letters up and put them in my purse.

Being divorced means existing in SURVIVAL MODE--financially, physically, and yes--even emotionally. What I've had to learn from this trial, this quick shut down mode, is beneficial to me for now. It's necessary. But I hope one day to be able to stop clicking off, stop protecting myself....and just feel. Really, really feel again. Feel restored. Trust.

Yeah. That sounds pretty nice :)