The Number Seven

Want to know what I've figured out? It doesn't help to complain. This is actually the second time J has left me. The first time was fifteen years ago. He was gone for 6 months, and then he came home. That first time I was devastated, and the only way I could figure out how to get through the day was to talk about it to anyone and everyone who would listen. It was an addiction. I would spend hours on the phone or hold whispered and constantly interrupted conferences with my friend in the kitchen where we both waited tables. Between picking up orders I would dish out the latest outrage--and she would eat it up. If I was deprived of a confidant, I was merely treading water, waiting for the next time I could rehash the whole story. And it didn't help at all. Not one bit.


I think complaining can help if we don't realize what we're angry about. It can help us figure it out through vocalizing--but then shut up and move on--or do something about it. I think complaining might help if we complain respectfully to the person who can do something about it--and then ask for change--as long as we recognize that it's out of our hands now, and move on.

This time I'm much more careful about what I share and who I share it with. I'm much more protective of my time, my heart, the history of my marriage. Complaining helped me feel righteous, even when I wasn't right. Complaining stopped me from confronting my own problems.

Here is a blog post I stumbled upon: Count Backwards. This actually describes my method for fighting insomnia. I thought I invented it--sevens and all. I never thought of using sevens to fight my complaint addiction. What is it about the number seven?