The Whole Can of Worms

We all own a can of worms. You know the one—the misshapen container that holds our deepest fears, secrets, shame and sins. When faced with the ugliest aspects of ourselves, who could blame us for taking that can and shoving it into the darkest, deepest corner of our subconscious, never to see the light again. But, no matter how well we believe we’ve hidden the unsightly can, the darn thing always seems to pop up again at the most inopportune moments. After all, we cannot escape ourselves.

The main ingredient in my can, my deepest shame so to speak, is failing at marriage—epically failing. My divorce was finalized about a year and a half ago. If I were to chart a graph of the days I felt like an out of control dumpster fire to the days where I felt okay, it might look a bit like one those bar graphs of the stock market. I’ve had a lot of highs, a few lows, and even a crash or two. A few weeks ago, I took a moment to congratulate myself for finally feeling okay. I’d gone several months without feeling deep pangs of sadness. I’m alright, I realized. In fact, I was actually feeling rather blessed, perhaps just a little superior. The world was once again becoming a place of opportunity rather than simply an environment to survive. But then…the dream, or should I say, the nightmare happened, a literal nightmare.

I woke up abruptly a few nights ago shaking. My eyes were wet with tears and I was in terror. I tried to reconstruct the dream and couldn’t quite grasp all of the moving parts, but I recognized the feeling of despair. I felt like I was choking and the world was shifting beneath my feet. At the core of the nightmare was the feeling of rejection, a voice that said, I know everything about you, every secret. You’ve made yourself vulnerable and you know what? I don’t want you. I want someone else, not you, anyone but you. It was the voice of my deepest injury speaking directly into my ear and even in a dream, I was leveled by it.

I don’t usually have dreams. I work hard and when my head hits the pillow, I can fall asleep in two seconds flat. My friends who’ve seen me fall asleep mid-sentence think it’s pretty comedic, but I have always been grateful for the gift of sleep and usually I sleep well and rarely have nightmares. When I do get one, I pay attention. This nightmare was one that led me to my own place of suffering. For an instant I had revisited my moment of deepest pain, a gaping wound I still carry.

The sin in our lives leads to destruction, pain, and death. The apostle Paul is very clear on this subject in Romans 6:23 “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Jesus’ teachings tell us that the way to abundant life is through the cross. Jesus paid the ultimate price, but sin still prevails in the world, and as long as sin is in the world, death and suffering will surround our earthly existence. Christians often speak in romantic terms about being led to the cross or carrying their cross. This seems a very strange concept to an unbeliever. Who would want to be taken to the scene of suffering, the place of pain? In theory, Christians do just this. Our savior was one who died savagely on a cross, but that cross was also the vehicle to victory over death. The torturous Roman cross was reserved for the most severe, hardened criminals and traitors, yet Jesus, who was without sin paid the price. On the other side of the cross, however, was life in its eternal form, peace, joy, and unbelievable love. On the other side of the cross was hope not just for God himself, but for everyone.

This may seem like madness, but as a writer, this kind of symbolism speaks to me. My path towards peace and joy also brought me through the tunnel of suffering, and there was no sidestepping around the realities of betrayal. Most of us spend our whole lives running away from suffering with very little success. Might we find, if we face our deepest struggles with faith, that something beautiful beyond our imagination may just lie on the other side?

Recovery for some means never revisiting the past trauma. I have friends and family who do not enjoy my blog and certainly don’t want to hear my story. Some feel ill at ease broaching the subject of infidelity or with people who openly share their most private secrets. I’m okay with that and I understand that talking about infidelity is uncomfortable for many people. They believe that to move forward you have to bury the past. You can’t spend your future staring behind you. I agree with them in part. Life is certainly a journey forward, but we are shaped by our experiences. We carry them with us even as we step forward. As I heal and face the future, I am burdened with a bit more brokenness inside of me. There are events and circumstances that are bound to happen tomorrow or the next day that will trigger the deep hurt that lies there and I may act irrationally or erupt with anger without even knowing why. I’ve already done this a few times and reacted with shock at my own behavior. I was trying to move forward while burying my can of worms and it left me disconnected and surprised by the overwhelming power of my own emotions.

All of us carry brokenness in different shapes and sizes and we may not be worse for for the wear. Sure, some of us collapse under the weight of what we carry, but many of us find that there are other ways to carry our burdens, ways that shape us into creations more complete and beautiful. Under God’s grace and through faith, I’m finding I kind of like the broken me. The new person who has more sensitivity to the pain of others. The broken me, who is thoughtful, reflective, and more cautious about jumping into new relationships. The broken me who is humble enough to ask for help and seek friendships and the counsel of wise friends. When I finally do jump into a new friendship, I am much more aware of my own vulnerability and that yes, I might get hurt. I move forward with my eyes open. I am broken. On this earth in its current form, I will always be broken and that’s okay. I do not have to carry my burdens alone.

As you read this, you may have an overwhelming desire to hide your can of worms on the back shelf or bury it in a six foot hole in the backyard. What you do with your can is your business, but as the voice of one broken person to another, I hope you will be open to take a small piece of advice. If your misshapen can of worms reminds you to be humble and to seek God, consider displaying it proudly on the front shelf. Maybe that ugly old can is really your most priceless treasure.