“Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction.”

— Rumi

When we were in the hospital. During the first days following the accident. I created a bubble. I used all of my energy. Everything at my disposal. To keep the outside world at bay. To help him feel safe. To create positive energy around him. To keep the stresses of the ‘real world’ at bay. I did not allow any of the anxiety I felt, the fear and the uncertainty, to show. He felt none of it. I was always upbeat. I would not let even the smallest hint of how scared I was to come through me. I held it inside. As I stood beside him. I acted confident. Almost carefree. I wanted him to feel that no matter what, he was going to be okay. We were going to be okay.

I guarded his bedside. I told people, no. More than once. Crying in front of him was not allowed. I expected a negative free zone around him. A bubble. He was the only one who mattered. His body needed all of its energy to heal. Our emotions were secondary. I did not care if I offended. My only care was Chris getting better. That he would walk out of the hospital with me. As soon as possible. There were things I wanted to talk to him about. Things I would usually have shared with him. He was my person. My husband. The one I would talk to at the beginning and the ending of each day. I would tell him about the adventures the kids and I had each day. He would tell me about his. Our children got sick when Chris was in the hospital. My son was taken to Emergency more than once. He and my daughter were throwing up constantly. The stress of worrying about the three of them felt like it would break me. I cried in the hallway, not far from his room. But he would never know. I wiped my eyes. Pulled back my shoulders and sat beside his bed. There as much as I could be.

I believe that bubble helped him to heal. Too often, we think of ourselves. I am thankful that in that moment I did not. All of my energy went into him. Into helping him heal in the only way I could. I was not a doctor or a nurse. Instead, I was his protector. His advocate. Leaving him each night was terrifying for me. If I could have, I would have slept each night in his room. But, that was not possible. So I left the nights up to the nurses. And the nurses who cared for him were amazing. Beyond amazing. They were a godsend. My role as his wife. As the woman who loves him. Was to create the best environment I could. In that hospital. In those first few days. In the time that mattered most.

Without realizing it. I got really good at building bubbles. Big bubbles. Strong bubbles. Ones that would keep our family safe. Ones that would protect us from the evils of the world. I think I must have taken the protective energy I built in the hospital. I took it and wrapped it around the four of us. Creating a place in which we could heal. In which we could grow stronger. A place where we would feel as safe as one can feel. On this planet we call earth. Such a dangerous place to exist. So much danger. So much grief. So much sadness. And anger. And fear. So, without even being really aware of it. I made the bubble bigger and stronger. Trying to protect us. From the harm that seemed to lurk behind every corner.

I cannot say whether this bubble was a good thing or a bad thing. To be honest. I believe it was both. In so many ways it was necessary. And in so many ways it made things more difficult. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to always be watching. Waiting. Protecting. To be on guard. At every moment, ready to react. I suppose it meant living in ‘fight or flight’. Alert became the new normal. Relaxing had a different meaning. Because truly, I don’t think I ever really did. It took a lot to maintain. So much. The pressure was tremendous. I felt I could not falter. Because if I did, I might fail. And failing to me meant danger. It meant letting in the darkness.

So, I became terribly efficient when it came to protecting. Protecting Chris. Protecting me. Protecting the kids. I made them feel safe in the walls behind our fortress. So safe that the outside world does not scare them. I hid panic and fear behind corners. I cried in other rooms. Just like in the hospital, I kept the scary bits to myself as best I could. Creating a safe place to live became my full time job. My reason for being. My energy surrounded us. As I pushed back against the storms that raged outside our doors. I still do. It has become second nature. A piece of who I am.

It is only upon looking back that I can really see. The world I created. The walls I built. The weapons I stored. And the armour I readied. I was ready for battle. A warrior of sorts. It became normal. But, as the days pass, and the years grow. I begin to see things a little differently. The world, though still scary, seems slightly less so. Maybe it is time to ease up just a little. To trust a little more. To let in the nourishment that comes from being open.  I am still a mother. So I will always be there for my children when they need me. I will be ferocious, like mothers can be. When necessary. But not every day. Because children cannot live forever in a bubble. They need to test their own legs. To spread their own wings. I have to give them the freedom to fly. And, Chris. Well, he can take care of himself now. He has grown as I have grown. He has gotten stronger. He is not the same man I sat beside in that hospital almost five years ago. He is not fragile. I do not need to soften the world for him. I do not need to protect him. He can protect himself now. He has been for a long time already anyways. Its time for me to let go. To lower the walls. To lessen the load.

Still, I am thankful for those bubbles. That I know how to build them. There will always be a part of me wrapped around the people I love. And the world we created within our bubbles was cozy and warm. We felt safe, because in many ways we were. We worked to keep out the negativity. We tried to always focus on the positive. Even through all of our struggles. It was hope that mattered. Love that mattered. We watched our children grow into confident, secure little beings. We healed, as we lived on our own little island. Staying there until we were ready. To step out into the world again. Still holding hands. Shoulder to shoulder. Protecting one another. But with room to grow.