My Newly Found Peace
I want to take another look at the blog I wrote last Wednesday, which as you know was to get things off my chest—to alleviate some pressure and pain.
The downside of sharing these things in a blog is that people take every word you say to be valid and true and lasting. I’m saying this is a disadvantage because if I change my mind, everyone can look back and say, “But Janae, you said this, you felt that, you did this, remember?” Yes, yes I remember.
I remember I said that nothing, from dating to picking our bed set, felt right. I remember saying that we are too opposite to make things work. I remember saying I could not obtain peace from prayer about our marriage. I remember saying I felt like something was missing, that I felt angry and anxious. I remember saying our happy days were fewer than bad days. I remember our non-matching cores, our opposite passions and approaches to life. I remember saying that no matter how hard Tanner has tried, I have been impossible to please. I remember saying that when I am affected by Tanner’s way of doing things, I am unhappy.
I also remember that on Monday when Tanner and I had first talked, that I asked for time. I should have taken that impression seriously and taken the opportunity to step back and look at things. Tuesday we saw each other again, Wednesday again, and I was not taking the time I needed to think about everything. I remember on Wednesday after talking to his parents, that we hadn’t officially made any statement as to us ending our relationship—it was just “decided.”
And do you remember?
Do you remember when I said three times that I am having a constant inner battle? Or when I said, “I've felt so horrible for being the way that I am?” Do you remember me saying that I love everything about him? Do you remember me saying I cannot ask him to change any more? Do you remember when I said that a week later I was still struggling really badly? What about this: “I keep wondering if this happened to give me a chance to change immensely enough to appreciate and work with Tanner better”? Remember when I said that I had never had my faith so challenged, and never had I been so confused by and bitter at Heavenly Father, or struggled so badly with His will? Remember when I was feeling sorry for myself?
Remember on Thursday how I kept thinking we could work things out? Remember on Friday how I didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere? Or how on Saturday I was still crying on my bed with Rachel, telling her how back and forth I was about my decision? No, you don’t remember those things, because I didn’t tell you about them. EVERY day I have struggled with my decision, with trust in Heavenly Father. At no point have I had any desire to move forward in life without Tanner.
Remember how every time I’ve needed some space from Tanner, we’re always unable to carry it out because we always miss each other too much? Is it possible that the only way for me to realize and understand some extremely important things was to officially break things off and experience the hurt? Is it possible that I needed the time and space to clear my mind and hand it over to Heavenly Father after all?
On Saturday, I got down on my knees. I prayed for my heartache to stop. I asked for comfort. I asked for help to move on if that’s what I should do, or to be led some other way. I was washed over with a feeling of peace that everything would be OK between Tanner and me. For the first time in almost two weeks, I no longer felt confusion.
At stake conference that night there was a talk on hope—there were so many talks that could have applied to me because of the pain I had been feeling, but I didn’t feel their comfort because I no longer needed it. I had gained hope. I was thinking positively. I had images in my head of us happy and successful in our relationship. I suddenly was feeling excited for planning a wedding and picking a dress and living in that basement apartment, excitement that I had not felt before. I was excited at the thought that I was going to get married, and especially to Tanner. I thought all day about how my focus on everything before had been wrong. I thought about the Dr. Lund tapes that Tanner and I had listened to, about the mother who changes her entire way of loving and will not go to the place in her heart that made her critical and angry. If she can change so drastically by simply not accessing the negative parts of herself, then I certainly could. I thought of Sister Lund setting aside her frustrations and anger to talk about them in a “red hour” later on. If she can let things go and not be angry and talk about them later, then I certainly could.
On Sunday I was fasting and praying about the same thing. I had a continual feeling of peace and assurance and faith that everything would be all right. My head was clear and not a back and forth mess, not an internal battle like before. Elder Holland gave an amazing talk on difficult times. I was touched at his reminder that the Lord had been there all along while I was suffering; I just hadn’t called on him. When I finally did, all of these reassuring thoughts and images and resolutions came.
I remember though, that I told you my parents were unsupportive because my mom told me she had the feeling that everything would be OK between us—that it would work out, and I didn’t want to listen to her. I remember that all morning on Saturday I had dreams about Tanner and myself, happy and steady, and dreamt of myself asking him for another chance. I remember that on Monday in class, when I was still praying intently about all of this, my religion professor said that we could change parts of our behavior, that we could, like God, be slow to anger. I remember that sometimes the Lord teaches us what we have by taking it away. I remember that in order to see the change that needs to happen, we have to feel the deep hurt.
In response to that third paragraph: I think I had not fully forgiven Tanner for the rough start to our relationship. I think I need to learn the ways that the dynamic of the differences between Tanner and I’s approaches could really work in interesting ways in the future. I think that we had not given ourselves enough time to thoroughly pray and think out our future, and my lack of confirmation made me uneasy about everything. I think we don’t talk as much because we know so much about each other, and that the things we enjoy talking about are often different, and I’ve mistaken this as a “missing” component. I think I need to manage my feelings and be slow to anger. I think our bad days were only bad because I had not learned to just let things go. I think our non-matching cores are what I have always loved about us and that I just hadn’t yet learned to work with them. I think I need to learn to relax about the things that do not matter, and I will be easier to please and much happier.
I think I’ve re-read every negative thing I said and seen it all compile into one drastic effort and change that I need to make.
As another note, it would be silly to accuse me of changing my mind because I miss Tanner. It is true, I do miss Tanner. But I have made difficult decisions and dealt with heartache before, and I still have never gone back on a decision. I’ve always known my answer clearly, been confident in my decision, and dealt with the pain accordingly. I know the difference between going back to somebody for comfort because I miss them and a true change of decision through prayer. In this case, I am largely responsible for my happiness, and it took heartache to know that and for Heavenly Father to OK my real decision.
The downside of sharing these things in a blog is that people take every word you say to be valid and true and lasting. I’m saying this is a disadvantage because if I change my mind, everyone can look back and say, “But Janae, you said this, you felt that, you did this, remember?” Yes, yes I remember.
I remember I said that nothing, from dating to picking our bed set, felt right. I remember saying that we are too opposite to make things work. I remember saying I could not obtain peace from prayer about our marriage. I remember saying I felt like something was missing, that I felt angry and anxious. I remember saying our happy days were fewer than bad days. I remember our non-matching cores, our opposite passions and approaches to life. I remember saying that no matter how hard Tanner has tried, I have been impossible to please. I remember saying that when I am affected by Tanner’s way of doing things, I am unhappy.
I also remember that on Monday when Tanner and I had first talked, that I asked for time. I should have taken that impression seriously and taken the opportunity to step back and look at things. Tuesday we saw each other again, Wednesday again, and I was not taking the time I needed to think about everything. I remember on Wednesday after talking to his parents, that we hadn’t officially made any statement as to us ending our relationship—it was just “decided.”
And do you remember?
Do you remember when I said three times that I am having a constant inner battle? Or when I said, “I've felt so horrible for being the way that I am?” Do you remember me saying that I love everything about him? Do you remember me saying I cannot ask him to change any more? Do you remember when I said that a week later I was still struggling really badly? What about this: “I keep wondering if this happened to give me a chance to change immensely enough to appreciate and work with Tanner better”? Remember when I said that I had never had my faith so challenged, and never had I been so confused by and bitter at Heavenly Father, or struggled so badly with His will? Remember when I was feeling sorry for myself?
Remember on Thursday how I kept thinking we could work things out? Remember on Friday how I didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere? Or how on Saturday I was still crying on my bed with Rachel, telling her how back and forth I was about my decision? No, you don’t remember those things, because I didn’t tell you about them. EVERY day I have struggled with my decision, with trust in Heavenly Father. At no point have I had any desire to move forward in life without Tanner.
Remember how every time I’ve needed some space from Tanner, we’re always unable to carry it out because we always miss each other too much? Is it possible that the only way for me to realize and understand some extremely important things was to officially break things off and experience the hurt? Is it possible that I needed the time and space to clear my mind and hand it over to Heavenly Father after all?
On Saturday, I got down on my knees. I prayed for my heartache to stop. I asked for comfort. I asked for help to move on if that’s what I should do, or to be led some other way. I was washed over with a feeling of peace that everything would be OK between Tanner and me. For the first time in almost two weeks, I no longer felt confusion.
At stake conference that night there was a talk on hope—there were so many talks that could have applied to me because of the pain I had been feeling, but I didn’t feel their comfort because I no longer needed it. I had gained hope. I was thinking positively. I had images in my head of us happy and successful in our relationship. I suddenly was feeling excited for planning a wedding and picking a dress and living in that basement apartment, excitement that I had not felt before. I was excited at the thought that I was going to get married, and especially to Tanner. I thought all day about how my focus on everything before had been wrong. I thought about the Dr. Lund tapes that Tanner and I had listened to, about the mother who changes her entire way of loving and will not go to the place in her heart that made her critical and angry. If she can change so drastically by simply not accessing the negative parts of herself, then I certainly could. I thought of Sister Lund setting aside her frustrations and anger to talk about them in a “red hour” later on. If she can let things go and not be angry and talk about them later, then I certainly could.
On Sunday I was fasting and praying about the same thing. I had a continual feeling of peace and assurance and faith that everything would be all right. My head was clear and not a back and forth mess, not an internal battle like before. Elder Holland gave an amazing talk on difficult times. I was touched at his reminder that the Lord had been there all along while I was suffering; I just hadn’t called on him. When I finally did, all of these reassuring thoughts and images and resolutions came.
I remember though, that I told you my parents were unsupportive because my mom told me she had the feeling that everything would be OK between us—that it would work out, and I didn’t want to listen to her. I remember that all morning on Saturday I had dreams about Tanner and myself, happy and steady, and dreamt of myself asking him for another chance. I remember that on Monday in class, when I was still praying intently about all of this, my religion professor said that we could change parts of our behavior, that we could, like God, be slow to anger. I remember that sometimes the Lord teaches us what we have by taking it away. I remember that in order to see the change that needs to happen, we have to feel the deep hurt.
In response to that third paragraph: I think I had not fully forgiven Tanner for the rough start to our relationship. I think I need to learn the ways that the dynamic of the differences between Tanner and I’s approaches could really work in interesting ways in the future. I think that we had not given ourselves enough time to thoroughly pray and think out our future, and my lack of confirmation made me uneasy about everything. I think we don’t talk as much because we know so much about each other, and that the things we enjoy talking about are often different, and I’ve mistaken this as a “missing” component. I think I need to manage my feelings and be slow to anger. I think our bad days were only bad because I had not learned to just let things go. I think our non-matching cores are what I have always loved about us and that I just hadn’t yet learned to work with them. I think I need to learn to relax about the things that do not matter, and I will be easier to please and much happier.
I think I’ve re-read every negative thing I said and seen it all compile into one drastic effort and change that I need to make.
As another note, it would be silly to accuse me of changing my mind because I miss Tanner. It is true, I do miss Tanner. But I have made difficult decisions and dealt with heartache before, and I still have never gone back on a decision. I’ve always known my answer clearly, been confident in my decision, and dealt with the pain accordingly. I know the difference between going back to somebody for comfort because I miss them and a true change of decision through prayer. In this case, I am largely responsible for my happiness, and it took heartache to know that and for Heavenly Father to OK my real decision.
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