Shall I quit?
Quitting is not an easy thing to do. Quitting means admitting to have lost. I don’t like to think of myself as a loser. Even worse, I don’t like the idea of others thinking I have little determination or I’m not smart enough to solve my own problems.
The fact is no matter what I have tried I am unsuccessful. No matter who I have consulted with, success evades me. Frustration builds. It is like you are stuck in snow. Spinning your wheels gets you nowhere accept deeper in trouble.
Once again quitting seems like the wisest choice. At least there will be some peace. Not complete peace, but more peace, a state of mind better than the present one. Living with the reality that you aren’t in control of your own life is a bitter pill to swallow, but what is harder is facing others who know that too. The only additional solution is to remove yourself from your friends and/or family.
This is situation faced by Jill when she chooses to run away from home. This is the circumstances faced by Joseph when he decides his marriage is over. Because the decision is so painful to make, there is nochance of reconsidering.Once done, it’s done. These are the stories of Jill and Joseph in Baggage burdens. The missing stories is the grief suffered by those who have been left hanging. Such stories are seen in the lives of Jill’s mother and grandmother, and Joseph’s wife. They are hard stories, but there is recovery, recovery that is different and open to a better life.
Jill’s Story in Part
“Okay, Jill,” begins Robin in a low voice. “Now tell me everything that happened at home.” She leans over the little table to catch every word.
Jill looks around to see if it’s safe to reveal her burden.
“Between the two of us?”
Robin raises her hand as if she’s swearing an oath in court. “Promise.”
“It’s my father. I can’t stay in the same house with him anymore. I have to leave. But I really don’t want to get into any details.”
Reaching across the table and holding Jill’s hand, Robin persists. “Did he hit you?”
Jill is silent.
“Once you were absent for three weeks. I didn’t call you. I should have. When you came back, you avoided your friends. You even avoided me. I felt like you didn’t want me for a friend, because I wasn’t there for you. I don’t want that to happen again. I’d like to respect your privacy, but this sounds too serious. Now come on, fess up.”
Jill’s eyes water. She looks down and tries to muffle her crying. Within seconds, Robin is out of her chair and sliding beside her friend. She lightly wraps her arm around Jill’s shoulders and draws her close. Jill momentarily tenses.
“Did you call the police?”
Jill pauses. “Last night, he was so mean. You can’t call the police for that.” Jill considers what to tell her friend.
“Jill?”
Jill nods. “Before. We called a couple of months ago,” she whispers. Jill wipes the tears away with tissue that Robin pulls out of her little clutch purse.
“And?”
Still afraid her voice is going to break into a more audible cry, she shakes her head. “It did no good.”
“What happened last night?”
Feeling uncomfortable with Robin’s persistence, Jill edges away slightly. How can I tell Robin my father beats my mother because of me? How can I tell her I’m the reason my mother doesn’t like me? She shakes her head.
“Jill, there are counselors at school, at church, in …”
Robin cuts off her words when Jill takes a huge breath. Before Jill can burst out crying, Robin sits back. Jill relaxes a little. In a slow, deliberate voice just loud enough for Robin to hear, Jill says, “I’m not going back … ever.”
Haiku capsule:
No more. I give up.
Loser label forces rethink
No easy option
Next Blog:
Building a Trust
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