Transforming Identity After Chronic Crisis

I exist in the space between life and death.

I am in between summer and winter.

Light and darkness.

Fire and water.

I embody the space that is

neither here nor there.

For I am a soul,

placed in this abyss between,

longing for something more.

I exist in the space

between joy and grief.

Grace and wrath.

Peace and violence.

God and man.

I am.

Ever changing.

Ever seeking.

Ever healing.

My "I am"

meaningless and fluid

as my soul is shaped

moment by moment.

A river

constantly being reshaped

by the weather and the world.

“After a walk in the woods,  11/1/2023”

My mom asked me something along the lines of... "What changed?" 

My response: "Gosh, who really knows? I feel like I’m in such an unusual place now, because I’m coming down from constant crisis… It’s wild how easily crisis can become your identity. It’s a lot of crap to work through. Lol. Like, the crisis gave me a purpose, and I always knew what I needed to do because I had to do it. But now we’re not in constant crisis and there’s all the space to be filled and it’s very difficult to know how to fill it. I would assume this is a very similar feeling that empty-nesters have." 

My mom texted back saying, "Crisis shoots adrenaline and cortisol into your system. Empty nesters not so much lol"

My body is a system that is intricately and supernaturally connected with my heart, my soul/spirit, and my mind. My body holds these entities physically and spiritually. And for far too long my body, including my heart, spirit, and mind, have been induced with high doses of adrenaline and cortisol. The chronic stress that has been woven and embedded in my daily life for the past 6 years has changed me.

My body has become familiar with that rush of stress. When I get a phone call from my mom I immediately assume someone has died. When we go into the backyard of our old house I immediately think of our neighbors dead, purple body laying just over the fence. When one of our kiddos makes a certain angry face I immediately begin to plan how to get everyone to safety in case they become violent. I immediately consider if there are knives that haven't been put away, if their nails are long, if I have a hair tie to pull back my hair or earrings on that I need to take off, if I have sweatshirt string around my neck or clothing that is easy to grab and rip... This list of my immediate responses could go on and on...

This immediate response has lived within me for years and it's only gotten worse with time and more instances of trauma. This shoot of adrenaline and cortisol now means I feel that physical shock in most of my relationships, primarily the closest ones to me. I am severely hyper-vigilant. I am skeptical. I interact with those around me with a level of distrust and expectation of betrayal. My body gets hot and clammy in many situations. My breath gets shorter. My chest gets achy at best, painful at worst. My shoulder and neck muscles tighten. All my muscles tighten. My peripheral vision becomes blurred. I have even had times where the things around me change colors.

That's the stress screaming at me from inside my body. Deep within me. Most of which I have not had margin for or the care I needed to deal with that, let alone acknowledge its presence and the detriment it was causing me. Because I was in chronic crisis. I had to respond with immediacy. I wasn't dealing with a child having lots of temper tantrums or experiencing general anxiety (side note, it's sad that it's a general thing nowadays). I wasn't dealing with a sick neighbor who I could help. I wasn't dealing with a father who wanted to change. I was dealing with a traumatized child, a sudden death, followed by a second sudden death. All experiences I've written in depth about in my other blogs. And not to forget all my childhood experiences that impacted the way I experienced these events. The immediacy, the emergency, the crisis, the lack of control or even ability to make a positive impact... it slowly and painfully has shaped the body that my heart, mind, and spirit live within.

It's been a little over two months since we've had a major crisis. We've still dealt with ceramics and plants being chucked and a door being stabbed with a knife... but nothing, and I mean, nothing of what it's been like. On Sunday as I sat outside with our 4 kids while Justin was playing basketball with friends, I just sat in the reality that things were calm. I felt safe. I felt joy. I felt alive. It was an experience I had not felt or been aware of for a long time. Certainly not to the depth that I did in that moment. A moment filled with assurance and goodness. The kids were pretending to be witches and filling up buckets with water, dirt and leaves, stirring them as if they were cauldron's filled with potions. It was imaginative. It was “normal”. It was sweet. It was calm. I came to this awareness- and immediately an emptiness followed. Besides navigating a few disagreements that were all developmentally appropriate, without a crisis existing or on the horizon, I did not know how to engage in that moment. It felt unfamiliar. Strange. It did not feel natural, organic, or authentic. It felt like I stepped into someone elses' life. It felt like I was watching someone elses' kids. I was not needed in order to maintain safety. I was not needed for protection or peacemaking. My role felt different in that moment. And I felt empty and uncomfortable.

I had an awareness and perspective into myself. I have lost so much because of the demand and crisis I was living in for so long. Yet, being forced into that place- I became that place. My identity was crisis. I knew how to act in the midst of a "be hurt or stay safe" scenario, in the midst of scenarios that sometimes felt as if they could turn into life or death scenarios if I didn't make the perfect decision right then and there. My body became locked into crisis mode. In many ways, I am still in that place. I am not out of the weeds, yet. I acknowledge my awareness of this and also acknowledge my awareness of this alone will not transform me. Though, it's a step in a direction I think I would like to have the courage to take.

There is now a space within me that is empty. And praise God for that. A space that was filled by necessity to be prepared for the worst, prepared to battle, prepared to sacrifice myself in order to keep others safe. For two and a half months, no one has been seriously hurt. We have not needed to call the cops or go to the ER. Knives and scissors are being used appropriately. Feelings are being talked about instead of acted on. No one has died in close proximity to us. That space that was filled with crisis, adrenaline, and cortisol is being set free. Just a little bit. Along with my awareness of this space being emptied, I am also aware of the choice I have. Things could get bad again. In fact, honestly, I suspect and assume they will. I wish I didn't feel that way but that is what I am used to, things getting better and then things getting worse again. Holding onto hope amidst that seems ignorant. So, with awareness comes choice. With wisdom, comes responsibility. Do I hold onto that piece of me just in case it gets bad again? Do I keep that part of myself close by or deep within me so that I am prepared for crisis if it comes again? Or do I lovingly acknowledge that was a version of myself that may have been necessary for the past few years but I can lovingly honor her and let her go? Can I separate the crisis from my identity?

Sunday night, my husband and I were chatting in the hot tub while unwinding from the week and preparing for the next. I shared with him my revelation that I was holding onto crisis as a part of my identity. That it was a part of the way my body was naturally and automatically experiencing life. And in good news, I felt I had an awareness that I could let that piece of me go, that I don't want it to be an identity or an automatic response. And yet, I wasn't sure what would fill that space. And I wanted to be careful of how it gets transformed and filled. He listened and processed with me. He reminded me of a quote we have heard from Clif several times, "the best presence you can give someone is your transformed and transforming presence." At church that morning there was a call to love God and love neighbor and I admittedly didn't feel I had been loving God and loving the people within my own home well. For me it's sometimes easier to love a neighbor- help to rake their leaves, or listen to them as they share their heartache. Loving the people within my own home has been, ashamedly, the hardest. Loving someone who hurts you is hard. I want to fill and transform that empty part of me with love and into love. Love for God and love for my family, the neighbors directly in my own home. That sounds cringey and corny. But hang with me.

How ironic... but for me, moments of revelation and awareness into myself usually go as follows: I have a deep emotion. That emotion is usually followed by several other deep emotions. Those emotions generally contradict one another. And in the space between peace and emptiness, that's where the Spirit shows up and works His magic. The day after this awareness showed up, I read my Bible and a free book we received. It was early in the morning (way to go me- haven't connected with God on my own in a long time) and the passage I read was James 1: 1-18. Oof. There's so much there to unpack. And unpacking is exactly what I need to do. Years of experiences have been packed up and tucked away and they are much too heavy to carry together. As quickly as I was forced into crisis, the awareness I now have feels like I'm being forced right out of it. My faith being broken open. And let me tell you, it's so damn raw, and fragile, and shaky, and unsure.

The book I read after this awareness of my internal emptiness was about desiring God's will. In the first chapter the author references someone he knows that explains that this guy's need for control and rigid willfulness was a defense mechanism. Likely, stemmed from a childhood wound. That he wanted to experience intimacy and dependence and give up perfect competency so he could need someone and not be needed. I'm just summarizing but this section of the first chapter wrecked me. I could relate so deeply. I was currently experiencing so much of that.

Silly me picked up the book because I was curious if it would talk about discerning God's will for a big decision I am trying to make. Hah. I am very quickly realizing this book will likely do some much needed soul work and not necessarily help me with decision making skills at all. Coincidentally, the timing of reading this small part of this book has opened up an internal dialogue with myself pertaining to that space that is empty and how I could transform it with love and into love, towards God and towards his will.

I'm like less than 50 pages into this book but the first chapter alone is enough for me to process for the next year. The author is chewing over the concept of willfulness vs willingness. In my own therapy work I could also look at this as control vs acceptance. Willfulness is us willing things into being. Hard-ass and badass workers (my words not his). Disciplined. Get it done type of people. With that also tends to come stubbornness, rigidity, and pride. Whereas, willingness is an open hand, heart, and mindset; a surrender.

So here's me, born into this world and lived it free and wild for many, many years. Then my life was transformed by Jesus and I was transformed. The old was gone and the new me came alive, in Christ. And as I walked out faith in my infancy, I was encouraged by and benefitted from routine, schedules, and disciplines. In between that and where I am now I was faced with crisis after crisis and I believe my routine, schedules, and disciplines became intense and precisely what I was hiding behind and trying to create more of in order to have some resemblance of control, consistency, and predictability in my life. (As a side note, the routine and predictability was needed for my child who was and is healing from trauma, too. Plus routine is good for little kids…) Now I'm coming down from that place. Coming down from my need to hold it all together because I am not needed to do so anymore. My physical body feels safe, and with that, it's more present and more aware of when I am having out-of-body experiences. My spirit does not feel like it's being shocked over and over again. My mind feels less hyper-active and panicked. My heart feels a little more full of good things and healing relationships. I feel there is space for me. I feel I have time to respond and exist and have my own feelings.

With that space to feel and exist... I am finding myself facing a lot of anger. Anger that is hard to get rid of, to redirect, or to squelch. Anger that needs a home and a place at the table to process what it's been through. If I close my eyes and picture a large dinner table and place each of my feelings at a seat and allow those feelings to have a non-judgmental conversation with one another, something really cool happens. I begin to understand each of my feelings make a lot of sense. They each have stories and journeys that have been playing out for 30 years. They each have baggage and triggers and have had seasons of being hyperactive or completely neglected. Some of them aren't developed because they were repressed or taught out of me.

When I am able to separate myself into feelings and give them each a fair place at the table, I am able to have an internal dialogue and honor each feeling. It’s like Inside Out but applying it to my own internal landscape. To give voice and story to each feeling, each version of myself that I have lived and the versions that have just survived. The act of separating, for me, brings me understanding and acceptance. Equally as important, though, is bringing it back together, as one whole. I have spent a lot of time contemplating how a weaving can metaphorically represent community, but I am brought back to the visual of a weaving even within the context of self. I am and have been many varieties, many roles, and I have felt many feelings, many pains, many joys. Each of those things are their own and yet are a part of a whole. Each of those moments, roles, feelings, etc is its own thread- own color, texture, strength, and size- each thread is woven in its own way- patterns, knots, breaks, funky, straight, uneven- each thread connected to another. I am the warp and the weft is the thread that fills me. 

Can you tell I am processing a lot? My mind is connecting dots left and right. I am trying to make sense of it all. What I know, as of now, is that we are currently and actively not in crisis. We feel our family is turning a corner and headed in a much safer, softer, and joyful season. We are laughing more, breathing more, and resting more. I am still weary of what the future holds but I want to be aware of this moment where there is some space for my identity to be transformed into a holier and healthier place. A place of willingness. A place of acceptance internally and externally. A place of flexibility. A place of love. 

I know I will need extra care in this next season. I know the little girl in me needs care, and so does the adult woman. I know it's okay to need to be cared for by others. I know that I desire to trust that the work the Spirit is doing in me will transform my understanding of my identity into a deeper assurance of my place as a dearly loved daughter of God and deeply loved soul longing for more.

Submitted by: Lizz Rodak