Raising The White Flag

It happens. We’ve all encountered situations and scenarios in which the time comes when we can take no more. We’ve given all we have to give. We’ve taken until we couldn’t take anymore. We’ve hit a wall, and we know…this is it.

We’ve been knocked down one too many times and bear the markings of a doormat that’s been repeatedly trampled upon.

We’ve been to therapy. We’ve sought the help that’s supposed to lead to healing. We’ve done the work. We’ve done our part. We’ve taken responsibility. We’ve set boundaries. We’ve drawn lines in the sand. Then we’ve crossed over our own lines.

We’ve forgiven. We’ve offered grace. Over and over. And every invitation and offer has been met with rejection. And while seventy times seven echoes in our minds, the silence screams louder. And we finally admit with defeat that no, we are not Jesus…that if we keep turning the other cheek, we soon won’t have any cheeks left to turn. We realize the suffering to be like him is just too damn hard.

So we raise our white flags of surrender. We surrender to the hurt and the anger. We surrender ourselves to the idea that this particular fight is no longer worth  fighting. We surrender to focusing our energies on preserving what’s left of ourselves.

It’s a last resort…raising this white flag…when your deepest-held beliefs include the red letters and self-denial. But sometimes we have to raise the white flag because we’ve denied ourselves for so long at so high a price that we no longer even know who we are. We’ve numbed the pain in our cheeks so we could keep turning them long after we should’ve stopped.

We’ve hit the wall. And if the wall didn’t crumble, we did. And we know…this is it.