When Your Life Doesn’t Fit in a Category

There’s a lot of loneliness going around right now.

The physical isolation makes us feel distant, and the distance breeds insecurity. We are not only dealing with the question of “Who is still in my pack right now?” but also “Am I still seen? Am I still enough? What if the distance revealed weakness or shallowness that cannot support who I am?”

For me, fewer friend encounters means there’s so much more internalizing and processing, but I seem to be getting lost in myself rather than finding answers. And everyone is struggling- which makes me feel like my struggling is normal… but it has also kept me from seeking help. I’m unsure of who is strong enough to lean on, or who will accept this part of me that seems to be taking so long to fix. I vacillate between the belief that my problems are “too small” compared to other people’s or that I’m “too much a mess” to ever clean up.

But I finally got to a point where I thought I should reach out for some counseling, especially with the uncertainty of fostering and the growing snowball of emotions from mothering (and humaning) in close quarters with little breathing space.

But that initial phone call, my next step to being healthier, was an odd reminder of why I feel I need help to begin with.

As I chatted with the counseling receptionist, she asked me about certain issues that I might want to discuss in counseling. Divorce? No. Anxiety? Yes. Grief? Yes.

She paused to clarify- is his grief related to the death of someone close?

No. Suddenly I felt awkward and a bit defensive. I babbled on, wishing I didn’t have to try to explain the sometimes grief of fostering.

And I realized, my grief didn’t fit neatly into the category listed. And that is partly why I have been feeling crazy.

There’s no loneliness so great as when you feel misunderstood, without a tribe, or without a place to define your loss.

It’s the kind of grief that sometimes feels like joy for someone else- that sometimes feels like loving harder and tighter and other times feels like pulling back and self-protecting- it’s the kind of grief that is layered and open-ended- a grief that I pursued yet still resent at times.

And it isn’t worse than grieving death, but it isn’t as visible and there don’t seem to be many who know how to hold that grief too.

And I wonder if we all feel that right now, somewhat. Maybe we all feel that there is a piece of our life that doesn’t fit into the “normal” categories. You feel unseen in a marriage and feel that no one in your circle understands the fear of leaving and the fear of staying. You have a child with special needs that you love to pieces but Covid has left you without breathing room or supports. Maybe you’ve dealt with anxiety or depression but you can’t pinpoint why, so you feel like your feelings aren’t valid somehow and you can’t share them. You have a job that is sucking the life out of you but you think you’re so lucky to have a job- who could understand your frustration or desire to seek something new? You are a gender, race, belief, etc. minority in your work, church or circles- and you’re weary of not feeling like the categories are broad enough to include who YOU are. You used to be so active as a volunteer or in a group/organization, and now there seems to literally be no place for you- and you can’t seem to find a place where you belong.

I don’t know your story (although I’m happy to hear it)- but I understand just an ounce of your weariness.

And I’m almost hesitant to have a conclusion, because my own soul is a little tired of “one-size-fits-all” verses or fixes that are “supposed” to work sooner than later.

But I’ve been thinking lately of how God is a God who notices and affirms the exception- the ones who don’t fit into the neat physical or emotional category. The female leader Deborah in a patriarchal society; the eunuch who is given a name BETTER than a son or daughter; the youngest son, David, who breaks the category rules for future King; the unseen foreigner, Hagar, who hears directly from the Angel of the Lord; the lonely and depressed prophet, Elijah, who is ready to give up.

I believe God always has room for us, even if we can’t place ourselves in the categories that seem to exist. God makes space where there isn’t- He sees us when we feel invisible. The oddly shaped depths of our uncertainty and emotions are perhaps precisely the valleys where God longs to fill us as only He can.

And here is my prayer for you, and my prayer for myself as you carry on today:

God, give us the freedom to be honest about our grief and our loss, our hurts and our fears. May you give us eyes to see the unseen in others, and bravery to share our uncategorized grief and emotions with those who who can help us. Please give us whispers in our soul that you see and you care, that you are the God of even the exceptions. Please help us to KNOW YOU uniquely, believing that we are FULLY KNOWN and also FULLY LOVED by you, as-is. Please be our hope, our anchor, our rock in the midst of the waves. May you grant us light on whatever our darkest paths are- and may we find courage to say, as Deborah, ‘March on, my soul, be strong!'”

-Amen