Get Up Off That Nail

I'm a janitor at Boston Pizza. Several days a week, I get up before the sun, walk the dark streets to work, and spend the entire morning sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, spraying, wiping my way from the kitchen, through the scullery, around the restaurant, and finally the washrooms. I love my work, it's very peaceful, and I have lots of time to think.

In each of the washrooms is a bulletin board where a sheet with "thoughts for the day" is replaced with a new one each morning. I always pause in my work, to stand with mop in hand, and read what is written there. Monday's 'thought for the day' was very timely for me. It told about a man sitting on a bench while his dog sat on the ground at his feet and howled. Another man came up and asked the first man why the dog was so upset. The man replied "The dog is sitting on a nail."

"Why don't you help him off?" the second man exclaimed. The first man simply shook his head.

"When he hurts badly enough, he will get up on his own."

So often, people choose to remain in an unhappy, even abusive situation, for various reasons, some excellent, others completely silly. They spend a lot of time in loud complaint, deriving a kind of vindication from telling others about their pain. If they are told to stop and be quiet, they will fight tooth and nail to retain their right to speak out about what they are enduring.

It's true - it is their right to complain. But I think they are shortchanging themselves. Their energy is misdirected toward all that howling, when they would be much better served using it to gather up their most precious belongings and walk away.

I howled for a long time before I moved out of the house I shared with my ex. During the bad times, my life there was horrible, and often frightening. Yet I found every excuse to stay. It wasn't because I wanted to go on living there, but I was afraid to start the ball rolling towards my departure. I was afraid to spark the flame of my ex's rage. I was afraid I would lose too much - the pets I couldn't take, the house I half own, and foolishly never signed my name for.... I believe these excuses were valid, but never-the-less, they were excuses. I needed to decide - did I want to be free or remain in this prison? Did I want to be available as his dart board, or did I want to enjoy the one life I have been so generously given? And so I made the move. It was traumatic, even terrifying, but it's done, and now I am safe. That is my reward for getting up off the nail.

When I was twenty-eight, I left the streets with my (then) boyfriend. The next seven years were spent in deep introspection as I sorted through my memories from childhood. As I came to understand that I was not "a bad child who deserved all the pain", I became aware that here was another nail in need of removal. I wrote down my memories in detail, forcing myself to look at everything with wide open eyes, and deal with it for better or worse.

This is another lesson I have come to learn - the act of getting up off that nail does not necessarily mean life will be easier. In fact it might mean that everything will be tougher then before. Everything except the one thing - the wrong that was being done, is no longer being done. I have stood up and declared that I do not deserve to be wounded. I have proven my capability to decide for myself. This is what it means to be adult. We are responsible to ourselves, to do the best for ourselves.

I view my Self as my own child, I must do my best for her. I must protect her, and never allow her to stay in harm's way.