Awake: A Memoir

by Jen Hatmaker

So this is what it looks like when a life unravels in real time. It is quieter than I expected.

We will get married in the godly-ish order so we can shag with impunity. This, we are told, is the right thing to do. It doesn’t occur to us to just date, or be free young kids, or live together, or grow up, or discover who we are, or get more than two years away from prom before matrimony.

while we both unravel, me from humiliation and Mom from the brutal heartbreak of parenting.

The whole truth is a real mindfuck for most of us, because it doesn’t have any hidden corners, and I personally love hidden corners. They are perfect places to tuck hard things away from scrutiny, away from requiring any attention at all. Hidden corners offered me a mechanism to lie to my own self, because I didn’t want the whole truth. I didn’t want it. I wanted what I wanted, what I’d hoped, what I’d crafted. I wanted the story of our marriage, not our actual marriage.

I decide to trust my body for the first time in my living life.

I’ve lost my institutional memory partner, and that loss cannot be quantified. No one else will ever remember the fake pothole. They weren’t there.

It is long johns and freshly showered hair and hot chocolate in front of the fireplace at night, faces windburned, boots dripping melted snow all over the front hallway, counting the hours until the ski lifts open again in the morning.

I’m not a lawyer, but I don’t believe we are legally allowed to disobey Brené Brown.

codependency overpromises and underdelivers. In an attempt to “save,” it is getting too close to someone drowning after they slashed their own life jacket. They are flailing and dangerous, and they will drown you trying to keep their head above water.

The premise of ending codependency is simple: Each person is responsible for him- or herself plus all the consequences.

IT DOESN’T MATTER, DOESN’T MATTER, DOESN’T MATTER, DOESN’T MATTER. And that’s the truth. It’s too bad. It’s sometimes hard to accept, especially if someone you love is hurting him- or herself and you. But that’s the way it is. The only person you can now or ever change is yourself. The only person that it is your business to control is yourself.

Though the men appear to be winning, they are not. Patriarchy robs the whole earth of flourishing.

I reject the patriarchal narrative that says this is how men should be, this is how women should be, and this is how power dynamics should be. I condemn it everywhere it reigns. It does not harm just the women but also the men, not just the girls but also the boys. It is the ruination of freedom. It robs us of autonomy and forces us into caricatures. Patriarchy is a villain, and I grieve what it stole from both of us.

It is saying: “We didn’t choose that, but we can choose this. We didn’t want that, but there is no reason we can’t have this.” Life may steal some happiness but it can’t confiscate joy, or at least not all of it.

Experiencing a high day doesn’t mean the pain is over. Experiencing a low day doesn’t mean the recovery is doomed.

“The trauma someone else created is not your fault, but dealing with it is your responsibility.”

People get to live like this. Yes, I would like to live like this.

What if Mary Oliver is right and this is our one wild and precious life? What if we really don’t get any days back, and this whole life is ours to either grind our way through or throw our arms open for delight, for wonder, for joy and beauty and connection? What if we keep putting off happiness until later and later never comes?

Look, America is awful and the earth is too hot and the truth of the matter is we’re all up against the clock. It makes everything simple and urgent: there’s only time to turn toward what you truly love. There’s only time to leap.

but she says to then ask my body: “What do you need me to know?” And just like that, my body becomes a professor and I pull up a chair to find out what she wants to teach me.

There is something important to learn right now, and her immediate physical response grabs my attention.

Physical triggers are a clue that something is unresolved emotionally. I always thought they were about the person triggering me; my body is overreacting because that person is an asshole.

“A codependent person is one who has let another person’s behavior affect him or her, and who is obsessed with controlling that person’s behavior.… But, the heart of the definition and recovery lies not in the other person—no matter how much we believe it does. It lies in ourselves, in the ways we have let other people’s behavior affect us.”I

The absolute worst is how all of this is my problem. Full stop. This is not his problem, and he won’t be the solution.

“Learn to recognize when you’re reacting, when you are allowing someone or something to yank your strings. Usually when you start to feel anxious, afraid, indignant, outraged, rejected, sorry for yourself, ashamed, worried, or confused, something in your environment has snagged you.”II

“Make yourself comfortable. When you recognize that you’re in the midst of a chaotic reaction, say or do as little as possible until you can restore your level of serenity and peace.”

“Examine what happened. Feel whatever feeling you have. Nobody made you feel. Someone might have helped you feel a particular way, but you did your feeling all by yourself. Deal with it. Then, tell yourself the truth about what happened. How serious is the problem or issue? Are you taking someone’s behavior too personally? Did someone push your insecurity or guilt buttons? Is it truly the end of the world, or is it merely sad and disappointing?”II

“Figure out what you need to do to take care of yourself. Make your decisions based on reality, and make them from a peaceful state. You are not responsible for making other people ‘see the light,’ and you do not need to ‘set them straight.’ You are responsible for helping yourself see the light and for setting yourself straight.”III

detachment isn’t about loving him. It is loving peace and freedom more than chaos and anxiety. Honey, it is loving yourself.”

Wouldn’t it feel good to end the war with our own bodies? We have the right to honor them, the responsibility, even. As Dr. McBride teaches us, our bodies are not an “it” but a “she” and “her” because they are not simply the container; our bodies are who we are. She experiences desires and perceptions and trustworthy instincts, and these are to be heeded, not hated.

We must stop saying the cruelest things on earth to her. We simply must. Some entire institution wants you to berate her and benefits when you do. She doesn’t deserve that hatred. She isn’t your enemy; she is your best friend. Let the ship sink. It was never going to keep you afloat, darlings.

I am learning new ways of relationship-ing, which includes transparent conversations, saying when something feels bad, listening without defensiveness, and conflict resolution prioritizing connection.

Organizing God is so vulnerable to human corruption, it should be the most terrifying venture on earth to attempt.

I am still finding God. Just not where I used to think he lived.

Outside the structures, I’ve discovered Jesus is way less fragile than I was told. He isn’t rattled by geography or denominations or the f-word. He’s not easily bruised. He doesn’t scare. He isn’t American or Baptist or Catholic or Republican. He’s not mad or mean.