Asking Why

A long time ago, as a young adult—maybe not even in my twenties yet—I decided I wasn’t going to ask why anymore. Why me? Why them? Why is this happening? Instead I decided to ask what and how. As in, What can I learn from this and how can I use it to help me become a better person or use it to help others? For the past 20 or so years I have been good at doing this. It has helped stave off self-pity and has instead helped me to learn, grow and become more.

Then another bomb hit. Sometimes it feels like that’s all my life has been this past year. Explosion after explosion after explosion. Every time I feel like I’m clearing the rubble and can live a calamity-free life again, another bomb drops, another explosion goes off, and I’m left dealing with the fallout, trying to put all the pieces back together again.

The other day, as I was speaking with my husband, I told him I was having a hard time not asking, “Why?” this time. Most of the bombs dropped this past year have been the result of someone else’s choices. (Which is a great side-note: Our choices can have incredibly deep and long-lasting effects on others.) It’s hard not to ask why this has to be happening to me and my kids who are innocent in all of it. I immediately felt bad for the self-pity, then told my husband that if I were a better person I wouldn’t be feeling this way. “Christ didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “He was perfect, but he never asked ‘why?’”

“Yes, he did,” my husband responded, then reminded me of when Christ, on the cross, cried out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Christ did ask, “Why?”

Now, I’m not going to use this to start questioning any time something difficult or bad happens, even when it’s the result of someone else’s choices. I have found a lot of peace and happiness in staying away from the self-pitying question. But I did find comfort, yet again, in seeing that Christ understands. He has felt everything we have—not just through His suffering in Gethsemane.

The truth is that life is hard. I think it’s hard for everyone. Some people may have more reprieve between the explosions. Some people may deal better with them. It doesn’t mean we’re wrong for struggling—ever. There are so many lessons to learn and so much growth to take place—even when we take a moment to feel sad and ask, “Why?”

Life

Someone recently posed a question in a Facebook group I’m in. “What’s something people don’t understand until they experience it themselves?” Answers ranged from things like skydiving and total solar eclipse to parenthood and giving birth and more serious things like depression, homelessness and abuse. The answer I liked best was simple. One word. Life.

The truth is that we never truly understand anything in life until we experience it. I spent months preparing to give natural childbirth to my firstborn. I read books, spoke with my Certified Nurse Midwife, trained and did exercises in breathing and pain management. By the time I started having contractions I was ready! While I was absolutely prepared, I didn’t truly understand what it meant to give natural childbirth until the twelve hours of labor and half hour of pushing was on me. It was hard, it was painful, and it was even more amazing and beautiful than I could have imagined!

You may say it’s an obvious statement—that we can’t understand something until we’ve gone through it. Yet, how often do we make snap judgments and assumptions of people as if we have gone through it? As if we somehow understand something better than the person actually living it? I know I have. I’ve looked at others and thought, “They are so stupid,” for doing this or that, making this choice or not making another one. I may not have told people to their face, but I’ve thought it or said it to others—that someone is just downright wrong—about something I’ve never experienced. Yet somehow, I was just sure I knew what was best. I look back now and feel ashamed for being so judgmental and condemning.

On the other hand, have you ever eventually gone through something you judged someone else for and realized you were the one who was wrong? I have. In doing so, I came to understand that not everyone experiences things the same way. My depression and anxiety may look different than someone else’s. Someone else may be able to manage their mental illness without medication, but maybe I need it. Just because natural childbirth was the most amazing experience of my life doesn’t mean it was or will be for everyone who goes through it. My experience doesn’t invalidate the woman who hated it and decides on an epidural the next time she has a baby. And her experience doesn’t invalidate mine or mean I’m wrong for loving it so much that I decided to do it natural with my next one.

I have sometimes wondered how the world might be different if there was more understanding that we simply can’t truly understand something we’ve never been through. We can learn about it, hear about it—even prepare for it—but we can’t understand until we’ve stood at the gates and walked through. I also wonder how the world might be different if there was more acceptance that our experiences vary, which means the choices we make or beliefs we develop may also be different. I know this is something I am still coming to understand and am learning to be okay with. As I do, I find it easier to be compassionate and forgiving—the way I hope others would be with me in my imperfect state.