This happened on Friday.
My husband was alone. And I knew that he was okay before I even saw the car. The trip from our house to the flower-filled median beside Pier One was filled with the frantic prayer.
Nothing can be ill if he is well.
Thank You for keeping my husband in the palm of Your hand.
We did all of the accident stuff. I listened to my sweet husband recount the accident over and over and over. (For the love of all that is holy, people. Put your phones down in the car. It only takes a second to total two vehicles.) He was so calm and so polite and everything I hope I would be in the situation.
But as soon as the car was on the tow truck and my husband was safe with me, I immediately went into panic.
We’ve never had a second car payment.
Can we afford this?
What will we have to give up to buy a second car?
What if we can’t make this work?
How dare that distracted driver take our beloved paid-off Altima from us? (This is a little embarrassing, but this is the post where we bought the car in 2007!)
And each time I went into this panic mode, I felt guilty. I should be thankful that Nathan is okay. My gratitude should be overshadowing all of my fear and my anger and my loss.
But it wasn’t. I am nervous. I am angry. I wonder how it will work.
That is the truth. And I finally realized that I needed to give myself permission to practice what I preach.
I can be thankful that my husband is okay and angry that someone destroyed my car.
I can be fearful of adding a second car payment into our budget and excited to get a new(to us) car.
I can be both trusting that we will figure it out and disappointed that we have to figure it out.
Allowing myself that space to hold both of those feelings at the same time made it all more manageable. I don’t have to worry about balancing them against each other if I just accept that they are both there.
I don’t have to feel either/or. I can feel and.
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