My beautiful partner in crime of 14 years went missing, her name... KittyFace. She is my original ride or die, by my side through kids, divorce, remarriage, and more kids. Thankfully, she was found safe only a couple of blocks from my house, but in those two weeks she was gone, I discovered my relationship to hope was a strange one.
While some part of me hoped she would come back, I was surprised to find a much louder voice telling me that hoping was stupid and useless. "You're a fool to hope. You will only be setting yourself up to be let down." While the therapist in me understood this voice was a trauma response, I was still shocked. Why was I so scared to hope? Why was I so critical of myself for holding onto hope?
The more questions I asked, the more I began to unpack this trauma response. I realized that not only was I scared to hope (because I felt it would ultimately lead to disappointment), but I went to bed almost every night thinking of the worst-case scenarios that could happen in my life. I'm talking, like, people coming to hurt my children and my partner dying type of stuff. As I explored why I did this, I discovered it was because I somehow thought it would better prepare me by the small chance that it might happen. Then I had a thought, "weren't outrageously good things just as likely to happen as these very thought-out worst-case scenarios?"
I decided in that moment that anytime I got stuck thinking of the worst things that could happen, I would switch and think about all the ridiculously wonderful things that could happen. This was harder than one would think. I honestly felt stupid, but I figured if my rationale for focusing on the worst was also true for the best, then by my own logic, I should, at the very least, be giving as much time to the good.
I've been doing this for a week. It is fucking hard! My body physically responds, making my stomach knot and my chest tight. But in persevering, it has been liberating. I didn't realize how much I stifled and pushed down hopes, wishes, and dreams. Letting my imagination run wild with all the things I want more than anything is honestly the most radical act of joy I can imagine. And, as my good friend says, "Joy is the ultimate act of rebellion in our messed-up world."
Two weeks after she went missing, I got a call at 2 in the morning that someone had found KittyFace. My instinct was cynicism, "it's not her." But it was her! Hope is a beautiful thing. She's snuggled next to me, purring as I write this.