A Knight In Shining Armor?
I think every female has a "rescue" fantasy. Even those who insist that they are "independent" have moments where they are overwhelmed and "Calgon, take me away" comes to mind.
As a child, I begged God to rescue me from my life, my family, my self. I believed I was totally unworthy of love and incapable of doing anything but make mistakes. My rescue came not in the form of angels or death as I'd envisioned, but in school. My teachers and the knowledge they possessed became my "great escape".
As a teenager, when my eating disorder was dominating my life and my health tenuous at best, I believed in my heart that getting sicker was the answer. My father was long gone, and I believed that if I grew sick enough, near death enough, he would somehow find out and come rushing back to make my family and my heart, whole again.
It never happened.
Instead, my rescue came through a guidance counselor and an English teacher. These individuals saved my life-literally. If it were not for them and their intervention, I would have died.
As a newlywed, I believed I'd found my "knight in shining armor". He was the one I looked to for answers, for support, for inspiration.
But this was an unfair act on my part.
The answers I sought I possessed. The rescue I longed for never came. The emotional repair I believed I would find if I ran far enough away from my past never seemed to take place.
And so, as a woman in my 30's, I continued to wait for a rescue.
It sounds funny that someone with an education and more accolades than I can count would want to be rescued, but I did. Perhaps part of me still does.
But I remember with great clarity the moment, not so long ago, when I realized the calvary wasn't coming.
In a last ditch effort to show my ex-husband how much I needed him, I threw myself back into my eating disorder. This was familiar and comfortable territory, and without him to "save" me, my disorder went unchecked for months. He saw me wasting away before his eyes and did nothing. Before I knew it, I was alone. My rescue, if there was one, was me.
For what seemed like the millionth time in my life I lay on the floor of my closet and cried. I was too tired and weak to do much of anything else. I considered the real possibility of closing my eyes in sleep and being that way forever. Of someone finding me, too late, and pining away for a young life lost. Or perhaps it wouldn't be too late. Maybe I would be found, just in time, and taken away from the ruinous life I'd created for myself.
In the end, I ran out of tears. My strength had left me and I had to go the bathroom, so I pulled myself up and out of the closet.
I realized there would be no rescue. No dramatic "ah ha" moment from anyone in my life. No "what can I do" from anyone who knew me.
I was stuck. Alone. Desperately wanting to be rescued with no one in sight.
The next day was like someone had flipped a switch in my head. I was my only source of rescue. I was the one who was ultimately accountable for what my life had become and I was the only one who could change it.
In an ironic twist of fate, the moment I decided I didn't need to be rescued, people around me bombarded me with offers of assistance.
"Can I help you?", "Do you need anything?", "What can I do?"
Amazingly, with a strength I didn't know I had, I replied, "nothing".
I have learned that the idea of someone coming in and sweeping me off my feet and away from the baggage of my life is a fantasy. If there is a knight is shining armor, he hasn't found me yet. But that's okay. By the time he gets here, I should be astride my own horse, blazing a trail into a future that's bright and filled with possibilities.
As a child, I begged God to rescue me from my life, my family, my self. I believed I was totally unworthy of love and incapable of doing anything but make mistakes. My rescue came not in the form of angels or death as I'd envisioned, but in school. My teachers and the knowledge they possessed became my "great escape".
As a teenager, when my eating disorder was dominating my life and my health tenuous at best, I believed in my heart that getting sicker was the answer. My father was long gone, and I believed that if I grew sick enough, near death enough, he would somehow find out and come rushing back to make my family and my heart, whole again.
It never happened.
Instead, my rescue came through a guidance counselor and an English teacher. These individuals saved my life-literally. If it were not for them and their intervention, I would have died.
As a newlywed, I believed I'd found my "knight in shining armor". He was the one I looked to for answers, for support, for inspiration.
But this was an unfair act on my part.
The answers I sought I possessed. The rescue I longed for never came. The emotional repair I believed I would find if I ran far enough away from my past never seemed to take place.
And so, as a woman in my 30's, I continued to wait for a rescue.
It sounds funny that someone with an education and more accolades than I can count would want to be rescued, but I did. Perhaps part of me still does.
But I remember with great clarity the moment, not so long ago, when I realized the calvary wasn't coming.
In a last ditch effort to show my ex-husband how much I needed him, I threw myself back into my eating disorder. This was familiar and comfortable territory, and without him to "save" me, my disorder went unchecked for months. He saw me wasting away before his eyes and did nothing. Before I knew it, I was alone. My rescue, if there was one, was me.
For what seemed like the millionth time in my life I lay on the floor of my closet and cried. I was too tired and weak to do much of anything else. I considered the real possibility of closing my eyes in sleep and being that way forever. Of someone finding me, too late, and pining away for a young life lost. Or perhaps it wouldn't be too late. Maybe I would be found, just in time, and taken away from the ruinous life I'd created for myself.
In the end, I ran out of tears. My strength had left me and I had to go the bathroom, so I pulled myself up and out of the closet.
I realized there would be no rescue. No dramatic "ah ha" moment from anyone in my life. No "what can I do" from anyone who knew me.
I was stuck. Alone. Desperately wanting to be rescued with no one in sight.
The next day was like someone had flipped a switch in my head. I was my only source of rescue. I was the one who was ultimately accountable for what my life had become and I was the only one who could change it.
In an ironic twist of fate, the moment I decided I didn't need to be rescued, people around me bombarded me with offers of assistance.
"Can I help you?", "Do you need anything?", "What can I do?"
Amazingly, with a strength I didn't know I had, I replied, "nothing".
I have learned that the idea of someone coming in and sweeping me off my feet and away from the baggage of my life is a fantasy. If there is a knight is shining armor, he hasn't found me yet. But that's okay. By the time he gets here, I should be astride my own horse, blazing a trail into a future that's bright and filled with possibilities.