Embrace the pain and rise. Always move forward.
I’m an analytical and logical creature, almost fucking robot-like. I’m pretty linear, because a yes is a yes and a no is a goddamn no to me. The grey areas and nuances sometimes bounce completely off my shiny forehead, and I know when this happens when I see the eye rolls or the infamous silent stare shouting WHAT A BLOCKHEAD.
I’m as creative as a door nail. Squarer than a square can ever be. Those are my perceptions, unchanged for most of my life, secure in knowing that I’ve zero interest in getting out of my comfort zone. Predictability is comforting and reassuring, especially in the world that we currently live in. Leave the chaos outside my door.
Then the Universe whispers your name.
I knew it the moment it happened. When the wind gently shifted.
By day, I work a 9–5 job. By night, I’m a caregiver to elderly parents, especially a father who’s also a stroke survivor. In between the daily and sometimes harsh grind of just trying to keep my head above water, I didn’t realize what had quietly happened to me.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I’ve become my father’s caregiver since his stroke in 2016. I also keep an eye on my elderly mother who has a penchant of falling asleep while the stove is lit.
Aside from the community at work, I’ve nothing else save my parents, who run me ragged from the moment I step through the front door after work. Someone had suggested a caregiver support group but I brushed it off because I don’t need it.
Truthfully I don’t want it. Because I’m my father’s daughter and I eat nails for breakfast. I’m a private person and this is my own business and nobody else’s.
The realization that something wasn’t right.
It began with a particular nasty clash of ideas on a project that I was leading at work. After the meeting was over, I walked away from my desk and straight into the corporate health center and melted down horribly.
I needed help.
It was only after multiple sessions with the therapist did I finally began to understand.
I never faced what happened to my father. A virile and vibrant man who had always been the pillar in my life. Whose steady and strong footsteps I always followed.
Who now needed me to physically help him bathe every night.
But the most jarring realization of all was that I had forgotten that I was a Zen Buddhist.
My father is my Zen Master and I’ve always been his grasshopper.
I had been adrift since his stroke and didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror.
Buddha teaches that only with an open heart and mind will I ever be able to hear the messages from the Universe.
Then one night, in the darkness of my bedroom, in the quiet of my home, I settled into myself and closed my eyes. Felt the air moving in and out my nose. Felt the even rise and fall of my chest. Heard the steady beat of my own heart.
Time stopped. Everything fell away. The sorrow. The ache.
I let all of it go.
And finally opened my mind and heart to the Universe. And cried.
Beginning anew.
My father always reminds me that life is about being present in the moments. And he’s my biggest advocate for this next chapter of my life as I finally step out from the background and into light.
I’m writing again.
I enjoy writing, but can I honestly say that I love it?
No, I’m don’t.
But I’m falling in love with it.
My dormant blog is getting a makeover. And I’m reinventing myself with the spoken word, launching a podcast soon. I figured now is the time for me to speak. Even if no one listens to me or reads my stories, I know certainly that the Universe is.
When it’s your turn and the Universe calls on you, I find that having a few things in your arsenal will help you rise up to meet its challenges:
- An acute sense of awareness that you’ll never be defeated by life’s challenges when you stare them down with eyes wide open.
- Unwavering courage to know when you need help, get it.
- A strong community that has your back. If you don’t have one, build or find one.
- Failure is an option but non-action is not. Rise up and move forward.
And grow.
I heard the Universe call me — reminding me to remember who and what I am, calling me to speak to it and be heard.
Is it scary? Yup.
Stretching yourself usually is.
Am I afraid that I’ll absolutely sound like a fool? Yup.
Am I answering the Universe — trying to change from that stupid stone that you can’t squeeze blood out of?
Because that’s what I’ve always thought of myself — can’t create anything worth shit. Never truly believed that I had anything worthy to say.
Now it’s like a running faucet, the ideas, this incredible yearning to open my mouth and speak.
I don’t know why this is happening but my journey to find the answer has just started.
For the published story on Medium.com, click here.
