Hope
Have you ever experienced such intense sadness you couldn’t imagine ever feeling hopeful about ANYTHING again?
Maybe, like me, you once stood in the corner, gulping your champagne, at a New Year’s Eve party you wished you had skipped. As you watched your friends laugh at a shared joke, you held the corner of a Santa Claus cocktail napkin up to your eye to catch a pregnant tear before it escaped and ruined your perfectly made-up (fake it until you make it) face.
I don’t know about you, but I have had my fair share of dark, bottomless pit kind of days and all too often, I have looked for the lever to the secret trap door that would drop me down through the levels of despair and into the place where the future finally had more light than dark.
Unfortunately, as my therapist has told me, on more than one occasion, the only way past the pain is to walk right through the white hot centre of it.
But, before this post makes you want to reach for the dull switchblade on your 25 year old Swiss Army knife, here is a simple but powerful quote that has helped me through some of my toughest days:
“Extreme hopes are born from extreme misery. ~ Bertrand Russell
In the last year, I have become a cultivator of hope. Yes I know what you’re thinking. Hope doesn’t make the misery go away or instantly transport you into a mythical utopia where unicorns frolic and vibrant rainbows ignite the sky. But, for me, hope is like holding onto a thick rope while walking through a dark cave. You can’t yet see anything, but you know that if you keep walking and keep holding the rope, you will eventually emerge out of the cold dampness of the cave and into the warmth of the afternoon sun.
For me, a tiny speck of hope has led me on an incredible journey from a NYE party when I pretended I wasn’t crying into my napkin to Africa to right here where I sit in a bustling coffee shop overlooking a busy New York street.
Less than a year ago, I was so deep in the cave of despair, I couldn’t see a way out. My boyfriend had broken up with me three weeks before Christmas, everyone kept asking me if I was “excited” about my upcoming final surgery, my best friend and I had a falling out because she couldn’t figure out why I was so negative and sad all of the time, and I was terrified of telling my boss that I didn’t want to go back to my old job as a Recruitment Consultant at a leading technology agency. I felt completely lost and alone.
Then, on a cold New Year’s Day walk, I got to thinking about the word “inspired” and how I wanted more inspiration in my life. In that exact moment, I felt the spark of hope ignite.What if I could do something so big that cancer would no longer be the most recent story in my life? I thought.
This question led me to an impulsive decision to travel and volunteer in Africa for 10 weeks. My experience included caring for a beautiful group of 1-3 year olds at an underfunded daycare in the Townships of Cape Town and then having the chance to traverse through the sand dunes of Namibia, the rivers of Botswana, and the waterfalls of Zambia. Those ten weeks filled me with more joy and hope than I could have imagined possible. Now, I’m on an even crazier journey of hope. But, that is another story…
For now, I won’t oversimplify it by saying I’m grateful for the misery in my life because loss is painful and some of us have had to endure far more than our fair share. But, what I am grateful for is that rope of hope (pardon the rhyme) that helped me put one foot in front of the other, when I didn’t know how I would make it. I’m grateful for the people in my life who held the rope from outside the cave. The people who didn’t try to fix me, or minimize my feelings, or placate me, or even rush me through the experience, but who just stood there. Holding the rope and reminding me ever so gently that someday, somehow, I would make it back out into the light.
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Guest Post by Terri Wingham.
Read more of Terri’s writings at http://www.afreshchapter.com
This is so beautiful and has truly given me much hope today
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Wonderfully inspiring
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This was something I really needed to read today – thank you Terri!
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Loved this!!!
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Thank you Terri for standing in the gap with this moving and beautiful post. I am clinging onto your rope of hope tightly today xxx
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Terri:
Beautiful post and wonderful metaphor. We all need to find that rope of hope and hold on tight.
Survival > Existence,
Debbie
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Terri! I love this! And I needed to read this today. I’m not quite crying into a Santa napkin but definitely feeling the hint of despair & sadness that are such a big part of recovery and survival after BC. Thank you for being the one to hold the rope outside of the cave and remind me to gravitate back toward the light. xo
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Dear Terri,
I really love your beautiful writing. Though a truth, it’s hard to believe sometimes that hope is born of suffering. Your words inspire. Thank you for sharing them!
Michele
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Terri…..
Your writing amazes me more and more each time I read what you so eloquently capture. Yes, You Inspire Me. You inspire SO many of us….. This is beautiful. You provided a great visual with the rope and the cave and those who stand unconditionally on the other side making sure we don’t drag the rope down. And yet, those on the other end of the rope aren’t pulling us either. They are allowing us the ability to move at our own pace.
My world is enriched because you are a part of it….. I send love to you and I hope to catch up with you during some point of your journey. Our visit in New York was not nearly long enough!
Love to you!
AnneMarie
ps-Marie……. thinking of you every day…… hang on to the rope. We are all holding the other side.
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WOW!
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Oh how wonderful to go to Africa and have that opportunity to serve! I would love to do that sometime. Maybe my son WILL go into full-time missions and end up there. And then I can join him.
I do grasp for ropes of hope when I am in the pits. These days I go through the light and then into the depths of an incredible darkness, and then into the light again. I’ve been where you described: at some celebration where I felt out of place, licking my wounds, having my private pity party in the midst of a public gathering. It’s so good to know I am not alone in those thoughts and ruminations.
Praying always for you, Marie,
Jan
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LOVE LOVE LOVE this post and so needed this in my life right now. Thank you Terri, what a great post.
Lauren
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Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments. It was my honour to write this post for Marie and for all of us who need a little hope in our lives. I am grateful to have so many of you who hold that rope for me. Big hugs from rainy Vancouver.
Terri
xo
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Terri,
Thank you for such an inspiring posting. I can tell you’ve been through your share of life’s bumps and bruises. I agree with the Bertrand Russell quote. Thank you for your insight and eloquence.
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Thanks for this Terri…Thanks to you, I think I am finally starting to see my rope!…Good luck on your journey and look forward to continuing to hear your wonderful insights.
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Big big hugs to you. So happy that we will continue to hold a rope for each other. T xo
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All of us need ropes to cling to from time to time. “Extreme hopes are born from extreme misery.” I think that’s quite true. I also agree with your therapist in that we must face the pain and walk right through it. But there’s nothing wrong with clinging to a rope for a little guidance along the way.
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Beautiful post!! I love your line, “The people who didn’t try to fix me, or minimize my feelings, or placate me, or even rush me through the experience, but who just stood there. Holding the rope and reminding me ever so gently that someday, somehow, I would make it back out into the light.”
I don’t have enough of that in my life — a realization I came to this afternoon while speaking to some women at my local cancer center. And then I came home and read this post, echoing exactly what I was already feeling. Thank you.
-Renn
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Extreme hopes are born from extreme misery. I like it! Kinda reminds me of that to know unhappiness you first have to know happiness in order to recognize the sadness. Hope Ur days get better soon. I know it’s still just sinking in about my dad, which as I said, I lost to cancer the same day you lost your mom to this wicked disease. I know you’ll come back to your happy outlook when you’re ready Marie, cause that’s who you are. Time to grieve now.
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Nice post, Terri. You are a great writer. Rachel
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