A Word Eater

Because I was taught to be a sweet little girl,
Obedient and loving, putting others first,
Because I was taught “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” and the familiar rhyme “sugar and spice and everything nice,”

Because of that, I learned early on to eat my words.

My baby teeth were still in, and I was learning the skill so many little girls are taught—
I learned to eat my words one word at a time. 
Noisily crunching, snapping, and chomping.
I was advised to be polite and “never talk with your mouth full,” but even with my mouth closed, my chewing sounds were so loud others could hear my eating.

Over the years I learned to break the words of pain and disappointment and outrage more slowly,
More carefully, so few noticed.
I deliberately ground those words into tiny pieces easy to swallow and digest,
So slowly and deliberately I felt like I was opening a peppermint wrapper in a quiet church service.

Later, as my molars came in, and as my wisdom teeth started making their way to the surface,
I learned how to eat my words less noticeably, more noiselessly,
Scissoring, grinding, and using my tongue to loosen lost bits of hurt and anger from my molars.
Few knew I was chewing—

I was even capable of smiling while I felt the words present between my cheek and teeth, moved aside for future examination because the words were too much,
Like a too-big acorn pocketed away in a chipmunk’s cheek.

In addition, I learned that the most dangerous words, the most gristly of all, were words of anger.
Sweet girls didn’t voice these weapons.
These words were quickly swallowed,  despite my pediatrician’s advice to chew 30 times to aid in digestion.
These words could not be liquefied, they could not lose their texture and gristle.
These words of anger had to be swallowed whole, and I felt them slowly move down my throat, down my esophagus, and further inside.

No wonder women gain weight in middle age.
Too many words swallowed.
Too many words gnawed on, chewed on, swallowed.
Whole minutes and months and years, perhaps, spent gumming words into a shapeless, tasteless mass,
A smushed denial of existence.
Swallowed and sitting in the stomach, in the blood flowing through our veins, and in our very being.
Filling us up,
Undigested,
Weighing us down,
Gurgling and bubbling from below,
Breaking down and burning, acidic, erosive,
With a great desire to expel them all . . . 

But knowing all too well that no one (including myself) is prepared to see just how many words we have eaten.

Finding the Burden Stones

 

“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship 

can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.”  

Orson Welles

I was in early elementary school when I had one of the worst cases of the flu  I can recall.  I was running a high fever, was nauseous, had burning eyes, and could barely move.  I can remember Mom hovering over me while I lay with my eyes shut on the sofa, saying to me, “I would do anything to take this from you.  I wish it were me who was sick instead of you.” 

Although I was surrounded by loving family members, I alone had to suffer.  No one else could take it away from me, and no one else could feel that pain in that moment.  

Like Mom, over the years, I have offered a similar sentiment to my sick sons or to others going through difficult times, but I know that no words I provide to friends and family can take away the pain or transfer the heaviness to me.  As Orson Welles wrote, “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone.”

In 2020, as Mom lay on her hospital bed dying, she was not alone.  My sister, my niece, and I held her hands.  She was surrounded by love, but she alone went through that experience that all of us one day will encounter.  I couldn’t experience it with her or feel what she was feeling.

* * * * * * * * *

Fast forward to 2024.  I was in my car doing my usual—-dealing with semi-trucks on I-35 on the way to work and listening to an audiobook.  The book that day, The Covenant of Water, is a novel with a  setting of 1900 in south India, and within the first five minutes, my breath stopped.  I had to hit pause after hearing the narrator read, “A burden stone [was] a horizontal slab of rock at shoulder height held up by two vertical stone pillars sunk into the ground, a place for a traveler to set down a head load and catch their breath” (Ch. 2).  

It is true that this novel by Verghese has many motifs and symbols that perhaps only an English teacher would appreciate.  However, this sentence was not one that stood out to me because of my job.  I paused the audiobook because the need for a burden stone  seemed so relevant even outside of 1900 south India.  The need is true for all of us repeatedly in life.  The need is even more so in our current national and worldwide turbulence.

Verghese wrote that in this land “where most everything is transported [on their heads] along well-traveled footpaths, a rest station [like the burden stone was] a blessing” (Ch. 4).

* * * * * * * *

At least twelve months have passed since I listened to this audiobook, but the concept of a burden stone has rested in my soul.

So many of us carry heavy loads, burdens, guilt, shame, and unfulfilled longings.  The journey of life along footpaths that are only wide enough for one person at a time can be hard.  These burdens weigh on our souls, our hearts, our bodies, and definitely in our minds.  How fitting it is that Verghese was discussing a source of relief from the head load these travelers were carrying.

We all have a head load that needs to be offloaded for a short while.  We also probably have a heart load, a soul load, and a physical load that needs to be eased on heavy stones while we temporarily rest.

I found it significant as well that in the novel no one else comes along and carries that load after the characters have eased it onto the horizontal slab.  Instead, the traveler, once rested, picks up that load again and continues on.  That load is ours-–and ours alone.

* * * * * * * * * *

Life recently seems to be full of turmoil.  The news headlines daily add to my soul load, as my heart hurts for those whose lives are turned upside down.  It is hard to find a space to breathe between the “breaking news” alerts, the threat of war, and the stories of heartbreak.   For those of us with an abundance of empathy, our minds and hearts go to those frightened by changes in policies and by natural disasters.

While it is true that the load is ours alone, the trick in life is to find these rest spots, these burden stones that can ease the heaviness of the journey.  The trick is to ask how each of us can find an activity, a space, or a practice that allows us to temporarily ease the weight to find some peace.  For me at least, it is a temporary rest, and I must pick up the load again.  However, a temporary rest is a blessing, as Verghese wrote.

Perhaps faith is the answer for you.  Perhaps not.  However, regardless of faith, there are many practices that can provide a small moment of respite.  

Here are some of mine that I have discovered in the past few years:

• Creating small spots of joy in my house to serve as a focal point.  It may involve live plants, comfortable furniture and blankets, small lights, burning candles, or small items that help you relive a special moment or person.
• It may be sitting beside the lake, going for a drive with my dogs, walking a trail, or even going to a thrift store for a few minutes.
• It can be sitting in the sun in my baby pool, watching the squirrels hang upside down on my new bird feeder, seeing a female cardinal swoop in for a quick bite, or sitting in awe as I see a rabbit munch on a weed in my yard.
• Talking to friends briefly, or finding the comfort that only Kraft Macaroni and Cheese can sometimes provide.
• Dancing in my kitchen to music that makes my heart soar.
• Reading or writing or enjoying a favorite TV show.

Your burden stones may be very different than mine.  That is how it should be.

Much has happened in my life in the past 8 years, and much of what I have undergone has been experienced alone.  

But, oh, I know I am not alone.  I am so thankful for the small moments of respite—-for an email from a student thanking me, for kind comments from colleagues in an end-of-year evaluation, for the unexpected phone call from a dear friend of mine, or for the moments spent sitting near friends (usually with food or a drink) and laughing.  

These moments of rest do not take away the burden, but these moments ease the load and help me keep walking the well-traveled footpaths of life.

* * * * * * * * *

Many times I write to share my journey, hoping that perhaps a few words will provide a burden stone for someone reading.

However, many times I write to reassure myself that I can keep going.  I write with an assurance that I sometimes don’t have.  I write with the hope that perhaps the positive spin at the end can provide a respite from not-so-positive thoughts that race through my head.  I write to provide a small burden stone for my head load.

I am reminded as I write this that I cannot carry the burden of the world on my shoulders.  I cannot fix problems or make everything in our country and world the way I would like it to run.

I also cannot take anyone’s burden away from them.  However, what I CAN do is walk beside others on their paths, pointing out possible burden stones along the way in case they didn’t see them.  Then, I can stand beside them silently while they catch their breath.  

So, for those traveling along with me, perhaps I can be like a Buc-ee’s billboard that appears mile after mile after mile along the interstate (or for my Florida friends who travel to NC—I can be a King Frog billboard).  Like these signs, I can remind you that a burden stone is a mile ahead, a rest is available, (and the bathrooms are clean)!   You can let down your burden and stretch your weary legs for just a short rest stop.

Keep your eyes out for the burden stones.  They are there.  You don’t have to carry this burden forever without respite.

And, as always, I am here.