The Undertow

 

Visiting Anna Maria Island on the Gulf Coast of Florida as a child, my mother who spent her high school years in the area warned Kelly and me of the dangers of an undertow.

As a regular at that beach, she was used to the beach’s secret dangers.  Yet, she found herself surprised by the undertow that can suddenly overwhelm.

One day on a raft in her late teens, she was relaxing, and she raised her head a short while later and found herself far from shore and moving farther and farther away as the seconds passed.  Mom was headed out to sea.  After much desperate paddling, she and the raft got back to the sandbar and she was able to swim to shore.

Needless to say, her horror story was terrifying for us.  

For those unfamiliar with undertow, it is a current that flows under the surface of the ocean, often going in the opposite direction of anything else.

It is subtle.
It is unseen.  
It is also dangerous for these reasons.

You only know of an undertow if you are warned.
And even if you know of the undertow, until you feel the pull on your ankle or
Suddenly find yourself a football field down the beach from your spot on the shore,
Or lift your head and find the shore in the distance,
You honestly don’t believe it truly exists---or has the power it does.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Depression is much like the undertow.
Depression is not visible externally much of the time—it does not morph someone’s appearance so it is easily visible.
Depression might manifest in tears, but for many skilled at battling depression,  it also might manifest itself in a smile and laughter.
Depression is a current below the surface, drawing, grabbing, dragging one under.

Depression grabs and claws during sleep,
Its power is strongest in the quiet and in the dark.
It crawls from beneath the bed and whispers in the ears of anyone prone to hearing these sounds.
It suggests all the worst-case scenarios,
It highlights all the possible fears,
It isolates and exaggerates and makes the listeners believe the worst about themselves.

Depression draws and pulls from the moment the feet hit the floor in the morning.
Its continual whispers,
Its constant suggestions—
All are meant to darken the world,
To darken the sun, to silence the sounds of birds, to muffle the laughter of friends.
All senses are dulled.

Depression means that the songs you hear only remind you of your hurt,
Depression means that you desire to be left alone only to desire to be loved and surrounded by people who love you.
Depression means that you believe all the worst things ever said to you.
Depression means that you focus on the worst moments of your life and believe this reflects who you are.
Depression means that the very things that make your heart beat harder and faster and happier are the same things you cannot even make yourself  want to participate in.
Depression means that the very people who make your heart beat harder and faster and happier are the same people who you sometimes pull away from.
Depression means that you doubt their love and their acceptance.

Depression means that you don’t share your feelings because
You are so afraid of seeing their faces when the truth is shared.
You are so afraid of seeing them turn and run off, seeing the backs of their heads as they escape you—the true horror of you.
You are so afraid that you keep silent . . . .
You are so afraid that you wear the mask of a smile.
You convince yourself that you will be fine.
Or not.
But even if you aren’t, there is no one who will understand.

Like the undertow, depression is subtle.
It is unseen.  
It is also dangerous for these reasons.
It is not understood until you realize how far from the safety of the shore you are.

Depression means doggy paddling all day, every day, every month, and every year.
It means pulling against the current dragging you down,
The current grabbing at your ankles,
Nibbling at your toes,
Raiding your heart and spirit,
Silently wearing you down until you quit doggy paddling and just give in.

For those who don’t know depression,
It is exhausting.
It is the hardest battle there is.

 * * * * * * * * * * *

The only solution for this battle I know of . . . .
(And I am one who has complained to myself recently of the weariness of the doggy paddle),
Is to find a raft, a safety float, a rescue boat, or a fellow swimmer.

No one may be able to rescue you completely from the undertow,
But if you find the right safe person, perhaps someone who knows the secrets of the undertow from doggy paddling themselves,
Or perhaps a professional who can provide a solid surface for a few minutes,
You might find a respite from the pull, from the grab—
A respite that might allow you to quit paddling and pushing and moving
And allow you to find rest.

Have Tent, Will Travel---A New Tailgating Experience

 

In 2009, just after our marriage began,  Anthony said he wanted to support the local team and buy season football tickets.  He also wanted to tailgate.  I absolutely love college football, but in Texas heat in the early fall, I had never considered why in the world I would possibly want to spend extra hours in the heat rather than watching the game in my air-conditioned living room.

However, he wanted to, and I joined in.  We bought the food, set up the tent, and sweated.  At first, it was just the two of us tailgating, or when the boys were with us, the four of us tailgating.  The boys played in the creek behind our spot, and Jonathan fell in at least twice.  Look at how little they were in our very first year!  

As the years progressed, however, the tailgating crew grew.  We met people from the neighboring sites.  We invited people from our lives to join us.  Those from an additional 5 groups/sites joined us.  We even made open invitations to people passing by, and we made a point to welcome people who were from the opposing team.  Our crew ran an average of 30-40 each game and sometimes closer to 60.

* * * * * * * * * *

This once-reluctant tailgater grew to love tailgating,
not because of the heat and cold,
not because of the football team or the game of football,
not because of the food and the cold drinks,
but only because of the people.  
 

Our spot became hallowed ground for me.
Our tent became a place that taught me what I wanted to be—-what I was meant to be to others and to myself.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
 

This year marks the first year in 14 years that I am not going to be tailgating outside of the stadium.  
The story is complicated and multi-faceted.   And much too much to share here.

The tailgate trailer Anthony and I bought, along with tables, chairs, televisions, coolers, grills, and much more have been sold or given away.  I will once again be watching football in the air conditioning at home this coming Saturday when it is 101 degrees outside.
 

Regardless that I will not be in that spot—-and under that tent—-I am carrying the figurative tent with me.
Have tent, will travel.

I am so thankful for the past 13 years—and for all of you who joined me under that white fabric.
I am so thankful for Anthony who exposed me to the secret of the tent.

 

These are some of the secrets of the tent I learned about myself:

• I need a chance to just sit.  I never learned this growing up.  My parents were always busy multi-tasking.  I finally learned to set aside a whole day just to be Kim, to socialize, to eat and drink, and to just be.

• I love to be around people.  As someone who heard most of her early adult life that I was impossible to be around and that people couldn’t stand me, what a joy and a surprise to discover I could talk to anyone.  I could become friends with lots of people.  I didn’t have to agree with their beliefs, but I could laugh and talk and share life stories.

• I would give my right arm—or left—for a whole lot of people.  I loved big.  I loved the people who were under that tent.  Loving big means losing big when they disappear from your life.  However, even that loss does not mean that I regret any of my moments.

• I want to live with my arms wide open.  I have lost 3 tailgating family members in the past 10 months—Kerry, Anthony, and Jill.  They were the life of the party.  Each of them exposed me to life with arms wide open.  They experienced every moment that life gave them—and all three were taken too soon.  I want to be like them.

• I want to be a safe space for others.  There is nothing more brutal than a full day of exposure in the Texas weather some days—brutally hot, frigidly cold, or torrentially rainy or windy.  The tent provided some safety from the heat, the cold, and the rain.  The tent sheltered us from the elements.  The tent also was a space where life stories could be shared without judgment.  

        I want to be that same type of space where everyone knows they are welcome.  

        Where everyone is loved.  

        Where the feast is set out for others.  

My new tent will be like the old tent.

• I will share with anyone in need.
• I will ask for help from others when the winds of life threaten to blow down my tent.
• My table and grill are always open.
• Appearances and team jersey colors and personal beliefs and lifestyle choices—-none of them matter.
• I will invite others to join my table.  And add tables if I need to.  And chairs.
• I will wave my flag high to let others know there is a place they can call “home.”
• I will love others like Kerry, Anthony, and Jill spent their lives doing.
• I will be a huge cheerleader, whooping and hollering for my people. 

* * * * * * * * * *
 

So, tomorrow, I will sit in front of several screens, pull out some snacks, load up a cooler, and tailgate by myself.  
 

What I now know is that I will continue to tailgate.  But now my motto will be:  “have tent, will travel.”  
I can tailgate wherever I go.
I can pull out the figurative tent in my classroom, in the store, in my office at work.
I can be that tent to those who work beside me, to those I encounter, to my students, to my family and friends.
 

So, as the invitation has been wide open for 13 years,
And as I have posted in previous blog posts,

Join me under the tent.  The grill is heated up, and the table is always full of food.
You have a standing invitation—and a seat ready for you!