Many people are struggling this year, often in ways that aren’t visible to anyone else. For countless reasons, the holidays can be especially difficult, especially in the face of loss, and when grief and long-held pain rise uninvited to the surface.

Keep in mind that most people will never let on. Often plastering on their happy face or retreating into silence – especially if something painful happens. Pain doesn’t just include things that occurred recently, but can be layered over time, like a cake or an onion. And sometimes all it takes is one harsh word, or too many memories, to pull you back to that awful place.

I hope you’re not among those battling sadness or despair this holiday season. But if you are, I’ve written this article of encouragement particularly for you. That said, it applies to everyone, because we’re all human and after all, this is the holidays! Trust me – this ends on a postive note. But first, I need to explain.

When I was young, my environment was bathed in “can’t”.

You’re too young…

You’re a female, so you can’t…

Ladies don’t…

We’re not going to waste a perfectly good advanced-placement (college prep) seat on a girl…

You’re too fat, skinny… (or fill in the blank)

You can’t…

We don’t hire…

So glad you’re a female, so we can pay you less… (Yes, this really happened more than once.)

You’re not <something> enough! (Says it all!)

The voices, if there were any, saying I was good enough, smart enough, talented enough, or even simply welcome, were drowned out by the others, and the toxic culture I was steeped in, where all of this was “normal.” If any encouraging voices were there, I couldn’t hear them in the cacophony of both direct and implied criticism.

Every single one landed like a blow, bruising my heart.

People either don’t understand, or don’t care that words can cut deeper than any knife ever could. Directly into your soul. Inflicting wounds that don’t heal and instead fester over time.

Words you hear again and again when the next person says something similar. No matter how many years later.

One Voice

But there was one voice. The man who fate sent to become the wind beneath my wings. The man who secured his forever legacy through his encouragement and kindness when no one else was there.

When he uttered those life-altering words to me, I was a young, single mother, having escaped a horrifically abusive marriage and was battling my way through college by working two jobs. I was both incredibly tired and unbelievably discouraged.

I repeatedly heard “can’t”, “shouldn’t”, and saw the disapproving glances everywhere. People were incredulous that I even considered the possibility that I could or should. What was wrong with me anyway?

They were all perfectly willing to explain what I “should” be doing, “shouldn’t” be doing, or best case, treating me like I was invisible. Silence still conveys a message, but it’s one notch better than continuing to be beaten with a hammer.

I heard a lot of “If you would just…” or “You should…”

Not one person encouraged me or asked if they could help.

Except him.

God bless that man for changing my life.

The Decision

I was visiting my folks one hot August day when I was trying to make what I knew would be a life-changing decision.

No female was ever encouraged to make something better of her life, let alone move away to do so. If you absolutely HAD TO go to college, you should be a teacher or nurse, a traditional female career. Certainly NOT an engineer, scientist, or something similar. Even applying for admission to those schools earned you a battle that required a warrior to win.

I worked very hard, maintaining stellar grades despite numerous challenges, and received an offer for a professional position as a systems engineer. My dream job. That was exactly what I had worked towards. The catch was that I’d have to move out of state.

Me, and my two young children.

Alone.

I was terrified. Not that there was much support where I lived, but my folks were there, and I knew my way around. The devil you know versus one far away. In a new place, I’d literally be starting over again.

In the echo chamber of my mind, all those negative words and criticisms that I had been peppered with all of my life were bouncing around.

“You’ll never make anything of yourself.” (Teacher)

“Girls don’t become scientists. <snicker> Pick something else.” (Different teacher)

“Why would you do that to your children?” (To give them a better life, so they don’t have to deal with this.)

“Why don’t you just settle down and get married?” (Hello, I did that once already.)

“Just do what your husband says.” (Neighbor, after the police were called when the former husband beat me.)

“Why can’t you just behave?” (Family member)

“Girls like you are the reason there’s unemployment. You’re taking all the jobs that belong to men.” (Quote from my brother’s mouth. I can’t even. And no, he was not kidding.)

My Dad

The most unlikely person you’d ever expect to be an advocate in these circumstances would be an old Hoosier farmer – but there he was.

My stepfather, Dean Long.

A man of very few words. The local prankster who graduated from high school, married, and stayed on the farm. He never set foot out of Indiana until he came to visit me, button-busting proud, a year or so later – in that distant state.

That fateful day is forever burned into my mind.

I was sitting on the blue and white metal lawn furniture in the yard outside the back door on the farm, “snapping beans.” The beans were in a towel in my lap. The bucket on one side was for the ends and strings that would be fed to the hogs, and the other bucket was for the beans that would be snapped into bite-sized pieces and cooked.

Mom was inside, probably cooking.

Dad had been at the barn, doing something.

My oldest child was playing on a tree swing nearby, and the youngest was inside napping.

It was beastly hot. No AC in that farmhouse.

I was rolling the various options around in my head, like a worry stone, wrapped in my fear, uncertainty, and insecurity. I kept hearing all of those things I had been told forever, over and over again. I was terrified.

What should I do?

What if I failed?

What if something bad happened to my children?

Of course, I had a logical “answer” for each of these things, and I fully realized that the only way “out” of systemic and generational poverty was through applied education.

However, logic and emotion are two entirely different animals, and I didn’t know how much was fear. Was I being foolish? Or wise? I had no idea.

This was truly the fork in the road, and I knew it.

Based on all of those voices, it seemed like heresy to even try, but then again, how could I NOT try?

I knew that my mother did not want me to move. No one wants their child to move away. She wanted me to be happy and safe, but there, where I could snap beans on Sunday afternoon and she could watch her grandchildren play outside the window, not someplace else.

But I wasn’t safe, by any definition of the word, and neither were my children.

An entire audience of people would love to see me fail and get my “comeuppance”, being one of those “liberated women,” and all.

If I didn’t take advantage of the opportunity, fighting so hard and against nearly insurmountable odds for my education would have been for naught. All those late nights. Multiple jobs. I wasn’t fighting only for myself, but for opportunities for my children in some place where opportunity existed – which was not where I lived. I didn’t want my daughter to endure what I had – and be expected to just shut up and take it.

Haven’t our ancestors been seeking better opportunities for generations?

I certainly wasn’t the only one, but I was very alone as I sat there, mulling the options and possibilities, both positive and negative.

I had talked to my parents about my looming decision and its ramifications, but I still had no idea what to do. I knew deciding either way would change my life – my children’s lives – and probably the lives of my parents too.

Dad was walking up from the barn towards the house. The small, uneven, sidewalk had a slight incline, so he moved slowly. He always wore overalls in the barn and took them off in the mudroom, between the back step and the kitchen. There was a sink there too for washing up.

Dad walked up beside me. I looked up and smiled at him, that smile that says, “I’m smiling externally, but I’m really very torn inside.”

My eyes were probably puffy. That decision-making process was agony.

Dad stopped and said:

Bobbi, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. You can do anything you set your mind to. You’re going to change the world.

I just looked at him, incredulous and truly speechless.

In an affectionate gesture, he thunked me gently on the shoulder with his thumb in passing, then just shuffled on into the house. The screen door clacking shut behind him.

Not another word was said.

He didn’t need to say any more.

He said it all.

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, dripping onto the beans. I didn’t know why then, but I do now.

That may well have been the first time I had ever received direct, outright encouragement from anyone. Not only that, but he had complete faith in me. Far, far more faith than I had in myself.

My Dad saved me that day.

He is directly responsible for me taking that terrifying leap into the unknown future… a journey that, step by step, year by year, led me here.

He became the wind beneath my wings and sealed his legacy that day.

So, when you have the opportunity, choose words of kindness and encouragement.

Be that wind, lifting others up.

Soar

You don’t need permission to fly.

Ignore the naysayers.

Fill your life with those who are the wind beneath your wings.

Listen for that one uplifting voice in the darkness.

That clarion call.

Everyone has wings.

A majestic eagle,

A raven carrying light into the world,

A sparrow battered by the storm,

Or a graceful butterfly.

The wings are yours.

The sky belongs to no one.

It beckons you to take flight

Even when the wind is faint

And the night feels long.

Believe you can.

Because you can

Soar!