Life, The Cheese Grater

Source- Tumblr- Artist Unknown

I sat in a dark blue plastic chair, set in a small hallway manually reminding myself to breathe slowly to possibly calm the anxiety that was boiling over inside me. It was the kind of setting that took you back to sitting outside the principal’s office in middle school. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.” I repeated internally. I quickly gave up trying to smooth out my blue button up shirt with the wrinkles then claiming victory. The long cardigan I threw on over it was supposed to deter attention and make my appearance look more professional than lazy. I tried to go for the “I didn’t sleep and get ready in my car this morning” look. Pretty much nailed that one. I was now surrounded by three guys who looked like they knew what they were doing and what was happening, which by the way was very annoying. They should have done that somewhere else, somewhere far far away from my insecure self. I sat up as straight as I could and put on my most convincing face of “I know what the hell I’m doing”. A short, smiley woman with wavy blonde hair came out to give me a paper to fill out while I waited. I filled it out and hoped the guy standing next to me wouldn’t choke on the strong anxiety I was now polluting the air with. The guys got called in which made me feel better to be alone but also nervous because my “I got this” face was fading quickly. A tall guy with blue eyes and messy curls atop his head came and asked me to sit inside. I found a seat away from people because at this point I was positive I had sweated through my deodorant. There was a group of people watching a video while an older woman lectured them about how important their jobs were. I steered my focus onto my breathing again and hoped the uncomfortable, awkward feelings weren’t oozing out through my face too much. The fake smile on my face was beginning to hurt. The older woman dismissed them all and suddenly there was fast paced movement everywhere. The room was still and quiet after they’d gone. It turns out the older woman was the one who was supposed to interview me and she stepped right out the door along with the group. When I discovered this I felt so ridiculous that I felt like getting up and running out of the room without looking back. After a couple minutes the blonde haired woman came in short of breath and let me know she’d be conducting the interview herself. We stepped into a smaller room with two desks that were much too big for the space. I sat down and nervously straightened out my shirt. She acted kind and began asking me questions. Then after a few minutes she asked “Tell me more about yourself? What are some important things I should know about you?” I looked at her and stayed quiet for a moment too long and laughed to myself because the first thing that popped into my mind to answer her question was that I was homeless. I could think of nothing else about my entire identity other than the fact that I was homeless.

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That was an exclusive interview I had weeks ago with the Save The Children Organization which I did not get a call back from. Maybe it was my wrinkly shirt or maybe it was because I could not answer the last question she asked me. My identity had completely lost itself to my situation. or Maybe I just sucked. Maybe people just don’t hire homeless people. I did end up admitting that I was homeless at the end of the interview which was a big mistake. My intentions and efforts were surely snubbed by fate for the umpteenth time. Oh well.

Its so easy to lose yourself in something painful and hard. I hadn’t realized I was so far gone until that day and that question. I had put my whole identity into what was happening to me instead of the things that actually make me well me. I am homeless. Homeless is not me. I have experienced trauma. Trauma is not me. There are so many things that we can attach ourselves to. I've stripped homeless from my identity since then and its left me feeling really confused.

After I desperately tried to answer the blonde ladies question she told me she would talk to the boss lady and that I should expect a call between 4-6 in the afternoon the very same day. I got up and thanked her for her time and that I looked forward to hearing from them later. I got out of the small office and the office outside of that one and took a deep breath once I got back to that suffocated hallway from earlier. I raced down the stairs and opened the door to freshly polluted air and people walking briskly to wherever they needed to be. The noise of it all brought me back to a calmer state and I was able to smile without hurting myself. I did something brave I told myself. Holy SHIT I did something really brave. I went to an interview and I got dressed up to the best of my ability and I worked through my anxiety even though I was shaking so much I had to put both feet on the floor to find some form of balance. I tried, oh hell yes, I tried. I didn't know it then but I was holding the pieces of my identity in that moment. That very moment explained more of who I am than homeless ever could. 

Coming on our second summer in this same situation my heart is beyond broken and heavy. I feel like this whole time my heart has lay in a pile of quick sand and the more I move to get out the deeper I sink. My ability to feel is now beyond anything to be described. My hope faces extinction on the daily but thankfully each time has overcome. I have a grand fear though for the day when my hope dies and my ability to see beautiful possibilities goes along with it. I push and fight to stay in a space where I allow myself and my life healing Now more than ever do I understand how fascinating and frustrating healing can actually be. It never uses the timeline we lay out in front of us.  I have come to understand that healing happens slowly, terribly, and completely out of order. 

"Never discourage anyone who continually makes progress, no matter how small." -Plato

Yeah, that. My life has become a consistent murmur of small progress. Of small, slow, fascinating, frustrating progress. Buuut to be a bit more blunt it is complete shit. My identities co-dependency with my situation is not a healthy place to be but the longer we stay here the more fighting I seem to have to be doing. Life can sometimes be the cheese grater against our skin shaving off layer by layer the good things that we're made of. I'm here to tell you that although difficult and painful you can heal and work towards wholeness. We can be forever working towards wholeness. Forever trying and yes, oh my god, YES, its really shitty and you will get tired of people saying over and over that gods got a plan so you'll scream out BULLSHIT and you still won't feel any better but listen...healing is real and it happens. It happens. It happens. It happens. I'm trying not to bullshit myself here but I do believe that. I do believe that healing happens. Its all shitty. It really is but its also creative and in a weird way quite magnificently beautiful.

'Til next time. Soon I hope.
Love. Love. Love your people hard for me, please.
Hug them too. Hugs and laughter are healing for just about everyone.
Life is hard.

“Life turns me into a ghost 

but then hope happens and 

I am human again.”

-VàZaki Nada