We spent the weekend at the lake enjoying sun-filled skies and warm sandy beaches with long stretches of complete relaxation—batteries fully recharged. When it was time to head back home the skies had clouded over and the winds began to blow, whipping up white-capped waves blasting chilly sprays of water over the boat hull. We made our way slowly to the boat ramp, cautiously picking our way over the waves where I dropped the men off and was left with my two youngest children in the boat to wait. With the kids safely packed in the cuddy cabin of the boat, oblivious to the storm outside while they watched a movie, I executed a holding pattern waiting for my ride to arrive, not knowing that it would be a long wait.
While I was thrashed about the lake, I had to keep a diligent watch. There were lots of boats waiting to be pulled from the foamy mass, and some operators were obviously more experienced than others. One boat seemed completely out of control like a pin-ball bouncing off the houseboats that were riding out the storm attached to mooring buoys, while others expertly controlled their vessels, weaving in and out of the masses. I’ve been driving a boat for as long as I can remember and I consider myself to be quite competent, but the storm was introducing me to new challenges. Knowing I was about to load the boat on the trailer, I practiced maneuvering in the relentless headwind and was very anxious when I discovered that I had absolutely no steering control when running at a very slow speed. Since you don’t trailer a boat at any speed except ultra-slow, I was terrified. How was I going to safely dock the boat while being tossed about helplessly by the wind?
While I dwelt on my upcoming dilemma, the waves pummeled all of us who were watching boat after boat approach the loading ramp only to be blown into the dock or other boats. Tempers were high while they struggled to get control. Husbands and wives screamed at each other, drivers threw up their hands in defeat and watched their boats smack the dock, and meanwhile I was left to drift.
I learned something that day. The storm exhausted me. The waves rolled, pitching the boat all directions. After a while my back hurt and my stomach turned. The wind burned my eyes and made my head hurt. By the time my trailer arrived and it was my turn, I was tired and my nerves were fried. I had two little kids tucked in the cabin of the boat who had no idea that I was fighting the wind like a shadowy samurai and scared that I was going to hurt my husband who looked tiny as he fought to pull us in. I made it. It only took two attempts, but it took everything I had in that moment to keep everyone and everything safe. And I was lucky. Boats were overturned and damaged that day. I honestly believe that the only reason I fared so well was because, at the moment I was pulling in, my husband remained calm and steadfast. He never lost his cool—even when the boat blew completely asunder and we had to start all over again. It’s like he knew that I was exhausted and he wasn’t going to let me go through it alone.
I had a friend, who had been through a difficult divorce, tell me that when you’re constantly under attack there comes a time when you’re too exhausted to fight and you give up. You accept child support that wouldn’t sustain your cat—let alone three young children, and you cash him out of the house in the middle of a recession. You are so tired from the constant hits that you finally accept your roll as punching bag, then you spend the next fifteen years fuming over the injustices that you accepted because you were too tired to do anything else. She said that she wished that just one friend would have fought for her during that year—a single person, emotionally separate from he divorce that would have said, “I know you’re exhausted, but I’m not letting you take that ridiculous child support offer.” Someone to be her second in the duel against the person she used to love more than anything, who was now trying to take her down. I’ve heard the same sentiment from women fighting cancer, and women struggling with depression. We may look strong, we may even be strong, but spend enough time in the center of a hurricane….
I have always been blessed to be surrounded by strong, capable women, but I think we’ve become blinded by our abilities and we believe that we can and should handle everything on our own. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories from women I consider to be my close friends where I have found out that they have had a breast cancer scare, battled depression for more than a year, and have been too exhausted to get out of bed for months. Maybe I’m just a really bad listener, but I don’t think so. I think that we don’t want to ask for help with our problems and we don’t want to step in for someone else without being asked, so we’ve created a Catch 22 where women are the losers every time. Routinely, when I ask a friend why they didn’t tell me about it sooner, I’m told that I’m busy enough for three women and they didn’t want to burden me with their problems. But busy is not the same thing as exhausted and terrified and, let’s face it, when you’re dog-tired you don’t know what to ask for anyway.
I’m going to make a better effort to keep an eye on my friends, recognizing that we are all very good at hiding things we don’t want others to know. And I’m sure that if I spot a friend in crisis I’ll have absolutely no idea what to do to help, but I’m going to try anyway. I love men and their complete willingness to fix things, but there are things in the world of women that can’t be fixed. That’s where we need to step up and remember the storm and vow that we aren’t going to let our friend fight the fury alone—even it the only thing we can think to do is to take their kids off their hands for a few hours.
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