After the Rain

Summary

The article reflects on the personal journey of perseverance through metaphorical storms, the hope for light, and the struggle with survivor's guilt, while emphasizing the importance of faith and the desire to break generational cycles of trauma.

Abstract

The author of the article "After the Rain" muses on the resilience of hope amidst life's challenges, comparing these to rainstorms that obscure the ever-present light of the sun. Despite doubts about reaching the age of thirty, the author now finds themselves planning for a future they once thought unattainable, a testament to the enduring nature of hope and light. The narrative touches on the author's Christian faith, the concept of survivor's guilt felt towards loved ones still enduring hardships, and the fear of passing down generational trauma. The article concludes with the author's commitment to nurturing their children with faith and resilience, hoping to shield them from the burdens of their ancestors' experiences.

Opinions

The author holds a strong belief in an enduring hope and light, symbolized by the sun, which persists even during difficult times.
There is a sense of disbelief and gratitude in having surpassed personal expectations of survival and reaching significant life milestones.
The author expresses a deep, faith-based gratitude for the grace of God in their life, acknowledging it as a form of salvation.
Survivor's guilt is a significant theme, as the author grapples with the contrast between their own improved circumstances and the ongoing struggles of close relatives.
The author ponders the nature of trauma, questioning whether it is hereditary and expressing a desire to protect future generations from inheriting the weight of past traumas.
The article conveys a commitment to teaching children resilience and faith as tools for coping with life's challenges, without burdening them with the unspoken difficulties of the past.
The author is vigilant and concerned about the well-being of loved ones, actively monitoring their situations and feeling a sense of responsibility for their happiness.

After the Rain

How long does a rainstorm have to last for us to forget that the sun is a star that shines? I hold onto a kind of hope that’s stronger than I am: there was, there is, there has to be a light. That’s what I tell myself every night.

People ask me questions about the future. Tell me, tell me who you want me to be. I didn’t think that I’d make it this far. A couple of years ago, I doubted that I’d live to be thirty. Now I’m planning for something I never thought I’d see. It’s overwhelming to me.

But the sun is a star in the sky that shines: it always did, even when I forgot that there was light. The girl with the yellow umbrella on the salt canister believes it, and I know she’s right. When it rains, it pours, but even twenty years of rain can’t burn out the star that gives us sunlight.

I’ve lived to see the sunshine that comes after the rain, and it’s worth every second I waited. Worth every ounce of anticipation. I wanted to be a superhero but it turns out that I was the one who needed saving. The grace of God is nothing short of amazing.

But just because I’m out doesn’t mean that it’s over. There are people in my life whose skies are still clouded over. I spend a lot of time trying not to feel guilty because I’m okay and her storm’s still raging. The wind’s still howling. It’s far from over.

Survivor’s guilt, I guess, but we’re both living. Each going through the same thing as the other sibling. I’m just praying that I don’t pass this down to my children. Too many women in my family have the same story.

Is trauma hereditary? Lord knows I hope not. Nature versus nurture, but that’s just a thought experiment. I need answers, it’s not ethical to experiment on children. I want to teach them the lessons without shifting the weight of what’s unspoken onto the shoulders of children born unbroken. I want to teach them to lean on Jesus, take it to the cross. We reaped what our parents sowed, but heaven knows that I don’t want my kids to harvest my losses.

The sun is shining in the skies above, but I’m refreshing pages, checking on forecasts for people I love. The weight of guilt fits me too well, like hand in glove. I’m not sure I can rest until she sees the sun. Until her very own “after the rain” comes.