Aftershock

Is there anyone out there? Will anyone stay? I pick up the phone to just put it down. It was easier two weeks ago. But life goes on for everyone.  My life remains still. 

I'll say what I want on this.  A piece of media that no one knows exists. I barely exist as it is.  I'm certainly not the same person I was 21 days ago. I'm a shell of that person but I have been robbed of everything I once loved.

Auggie had just been born.  My precious son that gave me such joy.

We didn't mean anything to him. 

He said he felt like we had lost something.  But he didn't tell me anything.  He didn't communicate with me.  All he had to was talk to me.  He admitted all the porn didn't help.  But what did I do that chased him into another woman's arms?

Nothing. I did nothing. 

But he went anyway. 

How do I get over this? How do I get over the fact that he had me leave our home with two kids on a trip to see my family? Convinced me he couldn't go with me all so he could sleep with another woman in our first home? How do I get over that he kept it from me for four years? And that he kept secrets after secrets for nearly 10 years? How do I believe he ever loved me? How do I believe that if I continued on the lies wouldn't just continue?

Why after everything do I still love him? Why do I miss him? Why do I feel like I need him? What's so broken in me that these are my feelings?

I know I deserve better. 

I really wish everything could end. 

Stumbling through Darkness

"There is so much contradiction in my soul. Such deep longing for God, so deep that it is painful, a suffering continual, and yet not wanted by God, repulsed, empty, no faith, no love no zeal". -St. Teresa of Calcutta

Mother Teresa wrote the above in one of her letters in her book "Come Be My light" that I just adore. I have friends that mention to me that they're going through a dark season and essentially waiting out the storm. They know things will get better.  But what if that's not the case for me? What if my season of darkness is just the life God gave me? My disposition has never been sunny and it took me years to accept that about myself.  I don't feel joy as others feel joy. But despair? I only hope others don't feel it as intense as me.

You may call me dramatic but I have never really seen it that way. Oh sure, I can be as dramatic as they come but its more than that.  My life has never been easy.  I've suffered in countless ways and I'm honestly not even complaining right now.  I'm just reflecting and trying to find a way to draw strength.

I received a promotion on Tuesday. Then Tuesday night I could've sworn I was going to die. My vision was like there was sand in my eyes.  My head spun out of control and I couldn't stop my hands and body from trembling violently, yet in slow motion.  Then my legs lost feeling except this dull tingling sensation.  Everything happened so fast yet so slow. My face was frozen and not cooperating. At one point I lost the ability to speak. But my mind! My mind was all there.  It was screaming.  It was crying.  It was in total fear.  It was thinking and analyzing but no one could understand.  Frustration welled in my heart as doctors, nurses,  paramedics,  and family all made assumptions and projections and I couldn't do a thing.  I just slipped in and out of consciousness and finally gave in to sleep.

Nearly a week later and my body is frail.  My muscle weakness terrifies me. I'm tired.  So very tired.

The goals I set for myself are fading further away.  I begin to panic if I think too much about it.  I was working hard.  I was going to work harder.  But now....

I am incredibly blessed.  I've dodged death multiple times.  My children are beautiful.  My husband fights his own demons heroically and the potential of our marriage has yet to be reached.  I owe God everything.

Yet here I am,  walking in the darkness. The torment in my soul in unparalleled. But I'll still stumble praying one day on this side of Heaven, I'll see some light.

Sleepless Nights

I wish I could sleep.  I'm caught up in the desire for morning to come so I can just busy myself in my work and drown out the noise.  But I also want time to stop moving so I can get some much needed rest. I'm so tired. I'm so very tired.

What do we do when we stop pointing fingers and take a good long look in the mirror? Does truth make a habit of hiding? Or are we all just naturally terrible at finding it?

When do you give in and realize you can't stop the bleeding? When do you stop, take a deep breath and call it? When is it too late?

Take deep breaths.  In and out. When you ask me to count to 10, who are you really asking for?

Good Enough

I'm really good at pushing through the darkness. Until I'm not.

I'm great at putting my head down and getting the job done.  Until I'm not.

I'm incredible at ignoring my demons and fighting past everything they say. Until I'm not.

That is the repetition of my life.  Read my previous blogs and you'll see it.  Close to 30 years of just running in circles.  Thirty years of gasping for air and swimming in currents I have no business swimming in.  I'm a fighter.  I'm a survivor.  But I'm also weak. I'm frail.  I'm broken.

I used to blog a lot.  I've always had a lot to say but could never really speak it out loud.  It was a release. An escape. A coping mechanism. But slowly life got in the way.  Cancer happened.  Love happened.  Unexpected pregnancy. Motherhood.  Marriage.  The already low on the totem pole of my self care became increasingly smaller.  I just retreated further into my head until all the words stayed there. Every now and then I'd blurt something out.  Just like now, things would get bad enough that I couldn't just hold it in.  I'd wave the white flag for all to see just to realize no one was really looking anyway.  I flew under the radar and I wondered if I should be proud of my invisibility or mourn from it.  It's a tricky life when all you've ever wanted was to be noticed and cared for but you're constantly running away.

My thoughts don't make much sense these days.  Perhaps they never did.  I could romanticize the anguish that lives deep inside my heart daily but I think I'm too old for that bull shit. Days get shorter, years move quicker and I'm still so much that little girl crying next to an Aquafina machine every day at school.  But there I go again selling myself short. I'm more than that, I know this deep down.  But she still lives there and knows what buttons to push.

Easy they come, easy they go
I jump from the train, I ride off alone
I never grew up, it's getting so old
Help me hold onto you
I've been the archer
I've been the prey
Who could ever leave me, darling?
But who could stay?

Make fun of me all you want but that Taylor Swift has always spoken to my heart.  I have no scares.  Only more questions.  Uncertainty is the state of my existence.  My type A personality is screaming and I have no idea how to shut her up.  Chaos. It's all chaos. 

I'm losing the game friends. I've been losing for a long time.  And my best isn't good enough anymore.

When Pregnancy Isn't Beautiful

I love my children very much. They have given me a purpose and meaning to my life that I always sought. From the very first moment that I saw the word "pregnant" on the stick in the bathroom of my first apartment it was an instant change. Even with the swirling fear and panic that wrecked my body and mind there was a quiet voice that calmed me. It was a simple whisper of "You're a mom" and that's all I needed to do this. My vocation to be a mother is very precious to me and I would not trade it for the world. Pregnancy, however? I might trade that.

Every morning as I struggle out of bed and wince through the stabbing, piercing pain shooting through my pelvis I question everything. I wonder how many days can I possibly last. I wonder why I even wanted this and for heaven's sake even planned for it. I shake away the crazy thought that this isn't even the last time I'll endure such pain. I half walk, half fall into the bathroom and pee for the hundredth time. As I stand to wash my hands I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and I nearly break. There is no "glow" in the person staring back at me. All I see is tired eyes, a fat face and a body that I cannot recognize as mine. I force away the urge to cry and scream and walk out the door. I just tell myself I'm another day closer.

I go to work and I'm surrounded by women. Women in all stages of their lives. Women with brokenness enveloping them. Women with hopes and dreams as bright as the Arizona sun. Each and every one of them different from the next in lifestyle, circumstance and appearance. Yet all I see is beauty. All I see is potential and radiance. All I see is their God given dignity on display and I feel called to help them see it, too. But I can't find it within myself. I watch the pregnant mothers come and go with their perfect round bellies and no weight any where else and my heart just sinks. I can't compete and I never will.

For someone who has struggled with eating disorders and battled constantly with the person on the other side of the mirror, pregnancy is a nightmare. Stepping on the scale every month is torture. Getting dressed every morning and not finding anything that fits right is soul crushing. So many days I just want to disappear. I don't want another pair of eyes to see me. I don't want to face the world in this foreign body. As my child grows my body only gets wider. My face just gets rounder. My legs, feet and hands only swell more. There is nothing beautiful about it. It's just agonizing.

I get home from work and my two children swarm me. Starved for my attention they hug and kiss me and begin demanding I do this or give them that. I take my shoes off and reveal my balloons of feet and stumble to the dining room table. I just want to get undressed, eat and put my feet up. I feel like a bad mother because although I missed them, I just want them to go away. I want a second to catch my breath but it never comes. Even if I get the opportunity to lay down, I'm never alone. My son lays half sandwiched on the couch and half on me. My daughter dances around asking me to help her with her Harry Potter game or to tickle her and then I have my unborn son leaping in my womb trying to punch through the scar tissue of my gallbladder surgery. The contractions I've had off and on all day become stronger and more consistent and I wonder if this is it as I battle feelings of hope, fear and guilt of the prospect of having my son earlier. My maternal instinct wins over my selfishness to reclaim my body and I do what I can to calm myself down. Eventually night approaches and the chatter and energy filled chaos of my two children ceases and I have a minute alone. But at this point I just want to sleep myself and another night of tossing and turning as I'm squished between my husband and 5 year old ensues. Every turn I make I'm startled by the intense pains that shoot through my body. The urge to pee is ever constant but the struggle to get up is oh too real so I just beg sleep to take over. Sleep barely notices my pleas and most of the time the urge to pee wins. Morning comes and it's the same tape all over again. With bonus aches and pains added daily.

I don't like being pregnant. Even more so, I hate this particular pregnancy. My pregnancy isn't beautiful. It isn't flowery. It isn't what dreams are made of. It's hard. It's exhausting. It's painful. It's anxiety filled. It's humiliating.

But it's worth it. Isaac is worth it. He's worth my already delicate self esteem shattering with my pregnancy related body. He is worth every ache, pain and uncomfortable feeling. He is worth all the tears and instability caused by my hormones. He is worth every sleepless night and all the ones to come. He is my son and it is my privilege to grow him within me and I would do it all a hundred times over just to get to the end result of holding him one day in my arms.

And that, at least for me, is what makes pregnancy beautiful.

Empty Well

I remember my first authentic prayer. I often speak about it and it certainly was a catalyst to my faith journey. There were a lot of things about that night that were very movie-esque. It was pouring, I was crying - all very dramatic. All very real.  One of the things that still strikes me is the ugliness of that night.  I was in utter despair, cold, alone and screaming at the sky. This is where God found me.  He found me hurt, angry, scared, and lonely.  I was broken and He reached down and held me.

A lot has changed in the 16 years that have passed since that night. But there are still things that linger. In many ways I'm still hurt, angry, scared and lonely. I don't know how to shake that part of me away.  I don't know how to find the healing that I probably desperately need.  Years pass along and that weight still drags me down. Insecurities creep back in and I'm immobilized by my demons. My desire to reach out for help is extinguished by my fear of a safety net. Too many times have I set my heart in hands that were careless. Instead I retreat further into myself and end up falling into a web of spiral thoughts and low self-esteem. It's ugly and terrifying and mostly fought alone. Much of the outside world is oblivious to the storm raging within me and I'm okay with that. Until it's too late.

This story gets old. I am married with two kids and a third on the way. I don't want my family to be a causality to my depression. But my well is dry. I have nothing to give.

So what now?

True Freedom

"Jesus said to those Jews who believed in him, 'If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples,
and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.' " John 8:31

As I reflected on this Gospel from Wednesday I found myself pondering the concept of freedom. As someone who, if it had not been for medical reasons, would have joined the Air Force, the idea of being an American and free has always been dear to my heart. I've always felt like I knew the value of freedom and the sacrifices made for that freedom.  But as far as my relationship with Christ, I realized that I struggle with true freedom. Freedom to be comfortable with the person God created me to be. Freedom to cast away the chains of depression, anxiety and loneliness. It begs the question to what enslaves me? As it states further in the Gospel "everyone who commits a sin is a slave of sin". How many times do I sever myself in my relationship with my God? But does my enslavement go further than my sins? Or perhaps it is a ramification of my past sins. I walk around and go through so many days just going through the motions feeling like an empty shell of who I am called to be. My prayer life becomes stagnant.  I long for true and authentic friendships but fear rejection and abandonment that have plagued my childhood and early adulthood. I question my worth as a wife and mother. It's a downward spiral of negativity and I struggle to swim upstream. Where is this freedom that Christ's speaks of? What does it look like? How does it feel? Perhaps even more alarming, would I be able to recognize it if I found it?

This Lent has been a struggle for me. I have felt like I am walking in the desert. I have felt desolation and despair. I have had days where I'm consumed with loneliness and the fact that I have to be a functional human being every day is nearly more than I can bear. Yet there is still hope. In the recesses of my heart way beneath the brokenness is this flicker of light. It allows me to move forward. It keeps me from crumbling. The light of Christ sustains me. It is my responsibility to fan that flame and surrender. Freedom will always be purchased with a price and that price is to surrender to His unending mercy and love. To let go of my pride, allow Him to guide my entire life and stop seeking control. 

As we approach Holy Week my prayer is to unite myself with Christ. To not only die with Him but most importantly, to rise with Him. I pray that the joy of the Resurrection penetrates my life and I can be a living witness to his merciful love. 

Alone and Afflicted

This weekend I have been struck with deep sadness. My heart feels heavy and my thoughts continuously swim through my mind beckoning to me to drown alongside them. I go from feeling frustrated at my inability to feel joy to weeping uncontrollably at my isolation. I look around me and all I see are blessings. I am so blessed. Yet here I am nearly 28 and I still can't fight my darkness.

I will be openly honest and say out loud that I have sought help. I have been going to counseling for about two months and my last session was extremely eye opening. For about a week I felt rejuvenated. I felt like I had begun walking down a path that actually might lead somewhere. I felt hope and for perhaps the first time in my life I felt like I was not broken. Then this weekend I just started crying and crying. Welcome to depression.

I am okay though. I know I am okay. I understand that this surge is a mixture of hormones combined with the cross that I will forever have to carry. I have come to terms with my cross and slowly have come to embrace it. I often think of St. Teresa of Calcutta and the darkness she experienced and I know I'm in a good company.  Not that I am anywhere near being a saint. I'm simply a work in progress. 

There is something that bothers me though. Something that has haunted me since I was a child. Often I thought it might be a byproduct of my depression. Lately though I have come to question if it is something entirely different. Perhaps I actually have more control over it than I realized. I just have no idea how to actually regain that control. 

I am unbelievably lonely and I don't know how to take a step forward. I am cemented in my lack of confidence, social awkwardness and natural introverted tendencies and I have no idea how to break free. I cannot pinpoint if my inability to create a community stems from the amount of times people I have loved have broken me or simply a defect in my personality. My gut tells me it's a combination of both. Regardless of the reasoning, the older I get the worse I feel. As much as I love my best friend that is my darling husband, I long to have strong female friendships in close proximity to me. I need to have the opportunity to enjoy someone over a cup of coffee and have them equally enjoy me. I need someone who will pray for me, pray with me, love my children and be an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Without trying to sound too much like I'm writing a dating ad, I need someone to authentically love me. 

Once again however, I have no idea where to start. I do not know how to take a step. Fear overpowers me, anxiety floods me and despair torments me.

So I'll keep praying. Praying for opportunities and for the courage to take those opportunities. Praying for time and for patience. But mostly praying for a whole world that is filled with lonely people. Because I know how devastating this feeling is and I know that we all need more love in our lives. 

"Look upon me, have pity on me,

for I am alone and afflicted.

Relieve the troubles of my heart;

bring me out of my distress.

Look upon my affliction and suffering;

take away all my sins.

See how many are my enemies,

see how fiercely they hate me.

Preserve my soul and rescue me;

do not let me be disgraced, for in you I seek refuge.

Let integrity and uprightness preserve me;

I wait for you, O LORD." Psalm 25:16-21

Dear Family and Friends

Perhaps my skin is not as thick as I thought it was. Perhaps as my husband puts it, I do care too much about what other people think. Perhaps I do need to quiet all the voices around me and take a step back and evaluate everything through a different filter. Perhaps all of these are true. However, there is one thing that I know without a doubt and that is I will forever be my biggest critic.

About a week ago I purchased my daughter's homeschool curriculum for preschool. I pressed the register button with a wave of nausea and excitement. I was hit with emotion of the fact that my daughter is old enough to go to preschool and the fear that I am making the wrong decision.

Ever since my husband and I decided that it was in our children's best interest to homeschool I have been hounded by opinions from the outside world. They have come from family members, coworkers, friends and occasionally even strangers in the grocery store. There are two questions I dread from everyone. 1. Do you plan on having more children? 2. When will your daughter start school? Both answers usually either give me an earful or perhaps worse, not a response at all but a look that says much more than words could express. In regards to home schooling, I hear the same things echoed in everyone's voice. "Aren't I afraid my kids are going to turn out antisocial?" "Won't your children be behind academically?" "Your children will be missing out on so many important milestones that only an education outside of the home would provide." "When will you have the time?" Although mostly well intended, their concerns are exhausting to say the least. At worst, they're downright hurtful and insulting. It is almost as they think my husband and I woke up one day and said, "Hey, you know what we should do? Ruin our kids life and lock them up at home and brainwash them with only subjects we want them to learn and never let them interact with the outside world" They never saw the hours I spent researching different curriculum. They didn't hear the prayers I said asking for clarity and guidance. They didn't witness the sleepless nights questioning if I in fact was about to go and ruin my children's lives. They can't feel the fear I have that I am making the wrong decision. So instead of loving my husband and I and supporting us, I'm feeling even more weighed down by their negativity.

When I first became a mother I never pictured homeschooling my daughter. The idea of sending her to public school seemed like a guarantee and I barely thought about it. But as time passed public school became charter school, charter school became Catholic school and then Catholic school became homeschool. It was an evolved decision that did not happen over night. I also have enough humility and common sense to enter this journey on a trial basis. I have roughly a year to discern if I can do this. If it is the right fit for our family. And if it is not, then I will enroll my daughter in Catholic school for her Kindergarten year.

As a parent I have been entrusted with the souls of my children. It is a responsibility that is overwhelming and a privilege that I am honored to have. I will do everything I can to love, nourish and protect them. Everyone will always have their opinion and in the eyes of perhaps many, I am not going to be nominated for mother of the year. At the end of the day however, they are my children. I have the duty and right to raise them how my husband and I feel is best. Although I desire my family and close friend's blessings, it is unnecessary. I just hope one day they can at least offer their respect.

To my family and friends who have shown me support, thank you. You are wonderful and a fresh breath of air to this mama who oh so often struggles to breathe.

I'm not sure where to begin. How many ways can you say the same thing? How many times will I find myself in this same place? This hole simply gets deeper and darker.

I have a desire to speak. No, I have a desire to scream. To demand all that I deserve but will never get from those who only think they care. The world is filled with selfish, unreliable people. It's naive to think my own personal world would be any different.

There is no point in saying more. It falls on deaf ears and I'm tired of the cycle anyway.

Grief

This past week I did a training on grief in relation to reproductive loss. While I have never experienced such a loss, the grief training was discussed as grief from reproductive loss being similar to any type of loss. It was a powerful presentation on how to compassionately discuss and handle grief from clients who have either miscarried or had an abortion. It opens the door that is so often shut due to a societal taboo. I was very glad I went but I will not lie if I said the training was emotionally easy. Not only was my heart opened further for those who have experienced a reproductive loss, it made me think of all the losses in my life and the different degrees of grief I have endured.

One of the biggest component that hit me on Thursday was the concept of how much a loss of any type can change you. The reality that who you were before the loss no longer exists. As a human race I believe one of our biggest struggles is letting go. We constantly try to go back to a certain time when things were where we wanted them. We try to recreate feelings we once had or experiences that made us feel whole. But the truth of the matter is we cannot do this. Once we experience something that shakes us to the core and uproots our life we cannot go back. We are forever changed. We are molded by our past situation and will forever see the world through the lenses of our experience. This does not mean we cannot heal. It does not mean we cannot forgive or move on. It just means that we are a different person. It is foolish to think you can go back and be who you used to be. Life does not have a rewind button or delete. It just has a move forward.

Acceptance plays a huge part. In order to move forward and gain a sense of normalcy we have to accept the new version of ourselves. We have to accept our new reality. Perhaps even harder is that we need to find people and surround ourselves with those who can accept you too. People who do not question why you've changed. People who do not demand that you simply reset and restart but understand that life changed you. You need to find people who will love you through it.

The Chase

All my life I fear I may have been running.  Trying desperately to escape this darkness that all too often consumes me.  I think back at my childhood and I can't pinpoint when it started. When my smiles stopped coming forth effortlessly and there was no longer a lightness to my heart.  When did everything get so heavy and so jumbled? When did I begin fighting to just stay sane?

Perhaps my biggest issue is the state of my life.  My beautiful, precious, seemingly fragile life.  I have everything. I spent so many years dreaming of being here.  The imperfections and quirks of being married, being a mother and fighting an ever growing financial tide are not things to complain over. Not things I feel burdened by. They're blessings and joys even in the most difficult times.  Yet here I am still drowning. Still doing everything I can to get a breath of air. Why can I not escape this darkness that continously overpowers me?  Like a demon that sole purpose is to take over my soul and strip me of any hope, I'm haunted.  Tormented. I'm screaming and not a sound comes out. I have absolutely no control.

Yet I still get up,  get dressed and go out and be productive. I still love without restraint and care without any limit.  I still strive to make even the tiniest mark on the world. And I'm not sure why that is. All I do know is I'm still only half the person I could be.  And I have no idea if the other half will be able to be shown the light.

Until then I'll just keep running.

7/18/15

I remember being a teenager and planning my whole life. I always knew I wanted children. The number of them varied from year to year and at some point I settled down at three. I knew I would get married young, have children soon after and ultimately be done by the age of 30. All the while balancing a successful career. I never felt naive about it. I would simply just have gotten it done. I never expected it to be easy. I just expected myself to succeed, Fast forward a few hard years, cancer, an unplanned pregnancy and dealing with the emotional turmoil that proceeded my marriage to my husband, here I am. I am 25, happily married and I have a beautiful little girl-but I'm terrified. Actually I may be in full blown panic mode. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be. And I keep foolishly trying to solve a puzzle with the wrong pieces. It's exhausting. It's debilitating stress. And I feel so very alone.

I honestly don't know how to relinquish control. But I haven't had any control over my life in years. I keep swimming against the current and getting swept away. But I'm too stubborn to quit. Too proud to give up. I keep grasping at the dreams and ideals of my past and everything is getting foggy. I worked so hard. Climbed so many mountains. I cried too many tears. I'm screaming like the spoiled brat that I am, demanding some tiny bit of what I feel is owed to me. What I feel should already be mine.

I want security. I've never dreamed of a mansion on top of a hill and my life to be a vacation. I just want to feel like the ground isn't going to fall out from under me.

Today is Friday

Time escapes me. Almost two years have gone by since I've written in this silly thing. A lot happens in two years, even when "nothing" seems to actually happen.

I'm not even sure what I'm trying to compose here. Though, it may have always been that way. There was just always that inclination to somehow make sense of my life that compelled me to spit my emotions out.

As I begin to creep up on 26 you would think that I would have more of a sense of what life has in store for me. Yet as of late you'll find me on my knees begging God for some type of clue. I'm grasping at dreams I'm not sure I should keep. Why is it that I am always such a mess?

I have so much more to offer than I have been allowed to give.

Selfish

To say I'm going through something would be an understatement.  A person can only take so much yet here I am somehow still taking more.  My frontal lobe is damaged beyond repair.  In result I have a difficulty choosing my words in ways that I wish.  My judgment is not always correct.  My emotions are nearly unmanageable.  I feel myself sinking and I can't do a single thing to stop it. 

Ending my life is my fall back plan.  It always has been.  Suicide is always an option. I can't help but consider it.  It plagues my thoughts and the whispers in my head just get louder.  Many think suicide is a selfish act.  I happen to not.  And let's not start an argument about it. 

But I am being selfish.  Last night I laid in bed and thought everything over.  I thought about Alexis growing up without me.  I thought about her being raised in a home without my influence.  Then it all hit me.  It isn't that my beautiful little girl could not grow up into a marvelous,  strong woman without me.  She would be just fine.  It is that I can't stand the thought of missing a thing.  Not one smile,  one hug, one kiss. I can't miss one milestone,  one event.  I have to live not because I will bring her joy, but because that's what she brings me. 

I'm selfishly soaking up the love my daughter gives me.  I'm supposed to protect her.  Love her.  Help her.  Save her from every and any harm.  But she's the one saving me. 

Stripped

I'm hollowed out. I buried my heart where no one can touch it.  I'm still standing.  Still breathing.  But let's be honest,  I've been slaughtered. 

She's all I think about.  My glue. But I can't gain my strength from her.  She needs to lean on me.

Lies.  Betrayal.  Dishonesty.

I don't care about making sense.  I don't desire to be seen as sane.  I'm not worried about the appearance of my intellect.

I'm tired of forming words that will never hold true meaning.

"I'd like to be my old self again,  but I'm still trying to find it"

Limbo

There is this knot that is perpetually in my stomach.  It's more of a matter of how tightly it's being pulled that varies each day.  For about a year and a half I've been walking around in haze, not really certain if I'm seeing everything in front of me clearly.  For about 9 months I've been breathing in barely enough air. My heart lives outside my body and not in the poetic motherly sense. It was ripped out and placed there. 

Forgiveness is a hard thing to do.  But often I wonder if my perspective on it is misguided.  Countless times I've been burned,  and have risen amongst the ashes,  accepting apologies and doing my best to move on. Yet all that pain lives inside me.  I'm crippled by my incapacity to forget the past.  It is not without effort that I fail.  My memories and attached emotions are just far stronger than my will. I'd give anything to just "forgive and forget". Anything. 

Time heals all wounds. What if that's a lie our world has bought into? What if we're just desperate to live pain free and we manage to convince ourselves that after an unknown amount of days passing things just somehow get better? What if the truth is wounds never heal?  They just scab over and fade into scars that are forever etched into your very being.  Reminders are everywhere. 

Maybe I'm just crazy. 

What I do know is I'm not in hell, but this isn't heaven either. 

I'm just stuck. 

Life Happens

The past couple months I feel like I've been stumbling around in the dark. It's similar to those early mornings/late nights when I make my way to Lexi's room and I'm cautious of my every step in fear of tripping. I move quickly,  but there is no doubt that I'm doing a dance around my path avoiding all possible danger that lurks on the floor. The difference about life though is you can't predict what you may stumble on, and it typically hurts much more than stubbing your toe on a baby toy.

I dislike the battles I have with myself.  A recent conversation with one of my dearest friends helped me put things into perspective, but also set me spiraling down a fury of frustrations. My expectations are simply too high.  I can't judge myself to who I used to be and my former capabilities. I am not who I used to be,  or even wanted to be.  But the person I am is not someone I need to be ashamed of. I'm a survivor,  and I need to keep surviving and simply focus on being the type of woman my daughter can be proud of. I died,  and then was reborn into someone else.  I have to let my old self go. 

We all experience growing pains. Time changes everything,  and we can't stop it as hard as we try.  It is so difficult to see everything you once knew slip away.  To find yourself miles away from someone you used to be merely inches apart. There is a fatality to growing up.  There is no way around it.  So this is where I find myself.  At a crossroads,  so to speak.  Or perhaps I've already driven past it,  and I'm glancing in the rear view mirror for the first time.  Life happens quickly, but the truth is, life does not only have one beginning and one end.  Every day,  life takes on a new start. It provides new challenges.  What I need to learn is to work with what I have right in front of me,  and not despair over all my yesterdays.

I'm a work in progress.

Side Effects

Some days I feel enraged; like a boiling pot of water bubbling furiously right before it overflows. I take a look at my life and my heart wrestles conflicting emotions. There is so much joy and blessings in my world yet this anger is festering inside me. I'm trying to contain so much but I'm dangerously close to the edge.

Words like "irreversible", "uncontrollable" and "permanently" tick me off. In all the right contexts they could be great. My love for you is irreversible. I was filled with uncontrollable laughter. We are in this together, permanently, forever. Instead these words give me a foul taste in myself. This black cloud is looming overhead and I'm without an umbrella.

The matter at hand is a serious one, but I feel as though I'm the only one taking it seriously. Frailty. I think that about sums it up. Everything is so weak and ever so breakable.

My days of standing alone and moving mountains with sheer will and perseverance are over. If only the world could hear my screams and pleas for help.

In addition, I have lost my self-destruct button. This, I'm sure, is a blessing.

Some days I feel everything. Other days I feel nothing. Neither is a place of potential for personal growth.

They say I'll get there some day. You would think that day would have been here by now.

Baby Steps

I've been so avoidant recently. I have this big pile of emotional garbage I need to sort through and I refuse to even go near it. I'm afraid I started this whole "healing process" too late. I rather pretend I'm fine and go about this little game called life. Is any of this really necessary?

The true answer to that annoys me.

Let's change subjects, shall we? I need to begin a project. I'm not so sure how successful I will be, but I know I need to begin. I neglect my daily needs...well, daily. I have to somehow allow myself to access the tiniest bit of creativity my mind holds. I'm stuck at home doing the most beautiful job in the world, but in the beginning of this sentence lies the problem. I'm stuck at home. Do not get me wrong, I enjoy every second (even the difficult ones) with my daughter. But my productivity needs to grow beyond feedings, changing diapers, play time, and household chores. I have all of these ideas in my head but I'm not quite sure how to go about implementing them. Truth of the matter is I doubt myself far too often and I need to just let go and go with it. I suppose we will see what happens.

Sometimes I honestly and truly believe my life would improve so much if we could fast forward time. I hate oh so much this waiting game. Alas, now is all I have. Carpe diem and all that jazz.

New blog or an updated version may be needed.