weary bones.

when a week goes by and I don't write in this space, i suffer.

my parenting suffers, my relationships suffer, my mental health suffers. i so desperately need this therapy; i need the words to seep out from within to find their proper home. life is wearing on me. the combination of a stressed out husband, a sick child, a teething baby, and no time to myself slowly chiseled away my patience until something inside me exploded.

in the dark, feeling so alone, feeling like i had not one drop of energy to tap, I grabbed Rainer and yelled into his innocent face WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! It had been almost two hours in the middle of the night at this point... feeding, pacing, rocking, tapping, shushing, almost falling over from exhaustion. as a mommy, i feel like i can't be exasperated. (though i am. we all are.) there is not the luxury of reaching the breaking point, but it happens, and there i was.

and then I crumpled in a ball on my bed, wailing, giving up. heaving sobs into my pillow, for no one in particular, but because my body did not have the energy to house them any longer.

there is nothing noble about my behavior. and it's not a surprise it came to that. my anxiety has been building, a gradual tightening inside. upcoming travel, holidays, inevitable winter illnesses, a baby that is so hard, there are moments when i doubt my ability to take even one more step forward.

so here i am in this space, where i often find myself when i think i can't possibly go on. onto small black squares with white letters, the combination of them all something magically healing, my fingers tap away these yucky thoughts, the negativity, the weariness that turns to despair.

i'm leaving with palms open, breathing deep breaths, knowing that just in the nick of time, i will receive something that's just barely enough for the next step i must take, feet heavy as they are.

feelings of failings.

I hate hate hate comparing myself to others. And yet, I do it incessantly, like an addiction. It reached an all-time high somewhere around 7th grade, tapered off, and then skyrocketed when I became a mom.

The insecurity, the feeling less-than, the self-doubt, the self-loathing, the fear.

I hate it all.

And, yet.

<Sigh>

Lately there has been another explosion of pregnancy announcements... on Facebook, on Twitter, on blogs. I knew that the inevitable sting would accompany these as soon as we sealed the deal that Rainer would be our last baby. I expected a little jealousy, a twinge of sadness, maybe even regret.

But the gut-wrenching feelings of FAILURE hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. Unexpectedly.

For some reason it hurts even worse that these recent pregnancy announcements are all moms due to have their 2nd or 3rd baby LESS than 18 months after the prior one.

I think to myself (lies),

"It's so easy for them."

"It's not fair. I wanted kids close in age. I wanted a big family."

"I failed. I don't cut it as a mom."

"Motherhood isn't supposed to be such an ordeal. I am not good at this."

As I write this, I know I probably shouldn't even hit publish. How dare I think these thoughts, feel these feelings. There are mothers and families dealing with infant loss, infertility, grief that doesn't even touch what I'm experiencing. I have two beautiful sons. I have so much.

And, yet.

Ignoring it doesn't seem right either.

The fact of the matter is, I suffered Postpartum Depression. An unlucky twist of fate. I'd like to say I'm over it. It's gone & done with. But, now, as my baby turns four years old, the wounds it inflicted still ache. It's no longer an urgent pain, sharp and forceful, but more of a residual burning sensation, underneath the skin.

It's like pockets of wounds have left been open, unbeknownst to me, all this time. And with each reminder of what I didn't or can't have, bold air blows fresh on these wounds, and they flare up again.

wounded.

Here I am about to open up my heart to you. "You" have helped me to process doubts, fears, and challenges. "You" have shared in the joy of all that is my two year old son, the light of our lives. "You" have reassured me that, YES, we can do this again. Whatever happens, we will get through it, and we will be stronger.

I wish these assurances took away all the pain.
I wish these assurances would seep into my psyche with ease.
I wish these assurances would transform the fear that is eating my husband away.

One day at a time.
It is my mantra.

So, here we go, Friday.

Last weekend Mr. P and I had a major breakdown. I suppose the word "explosion" might be more appropriately used here. To put it bluntly, for several frightening seconds I did not recognize the man in my house. He simply lost it. Lost all control. Lost all rationale. Lost touch with reality.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for him to come back to us and realize the deep damage he had done. I am fortunate to have a husband who sees his faults and is deeply wounded by them. I am fortunate that he explores within himself, and wants to make those dark places light. For us.

The road to healing is a long one. I know this. We've been there.

I also know this happened for a reason. To reveal to us which wounds are still bright red and fleshy. To show each other which fears still make our earthly bodies tremble. And tremble we did. And tremble we will continue to do.

This road is not easy. I know this. We've been there.

So, here we go, Friday. The weekend is here. Time for a fresh start. Time to be together, even if our hearts feel stiff and our emotions feel fragile.

We are worth it. I know this.

I love you, Mr. P.
I forgive you.

isn't it ironic?

I find it ironic that the post directly below this one is about the struggle with being content in your circumstances, versus wanting "greener pastures."

Last night Guadalajara, my city, my home, was attacked by "narco" violence.

I really don't know what to think.

On January 20th the U.S. consulate sent out this message to U.S. citizens living in Guadalajara. At that point, just a couple of weeks ago, the violence had slowly creeped closer & closer to the city. The organized drug criminals had set up blockades on a major highway leading into the city from nearby Lake Chapala.

That was alarming. Somewhat.

But, we kinda shrugged our shoulders and went on with our daily lives. What can you do?

Last night Guadalajara, my home, my city, was attacked.

At least 3 city buses were set on fire. About 10 main roads were blocked simultaneously by different cars and trucks owned by civilians who were forced out of their vehicles by the criminals.

The narcos are trying to scare us. I think it's working.

The U.S. consulate has not drafted a letter yet about what exactly occurred last night and what steps will be taken. So, we wait.

I don't write this to scare anybody, although it is scary. However, no matter where we are there is a risk of attack. We live in a fallen and ugly world. Any large urban area poses additional danger and risk to those living there. It's just the way it is.

I do write this so that you can keep Guadalajara close to your heart and in your prayers. Thankfully, nobody was killed in last night's violence. A miracle perhaps, I don't know.

As I type, I have a heavy heart. Solo-boy sleeps in his bed in the next room. His sound machine is playing soothing ocean waves. He is snuggled in a ball under his soft, fleece blankie. His bed is the perfect picture of comfort and safety.

And yet, those two ideals, comfort and safety, are so fleeting. More and more I realize that while I do my best to protect him as a mom, I cannot and will not always do the right thing.

More often than not, that is simply because I am broken. We are all broken. Our world is broken.

Today, more than ever, I long for a place that is safe, that is eternal, that is not tainted with the ugliness of our fallen nature.

Sigh.

from the ashes

a complete stranger wrote to me today and then i cried. she quoted:

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king. (J. R. R. Tolkien)"

then an email from a good friend popped up in my inbox and my heart swelled with all different kinds of emotions. she wrote:

"i wish i could run as fast as you (one day)

i wish we could do that more often (maybe we can?)

 

i wish you could sleep at night (nothing i could say would make that better)

i wish you were healed (but that is a process)

 

i think you are a great mom (and wife)

i think a lot of people would like to be as talented as you (and as pretty)

 

i think that one day it's all going to make sense (don't know when, sorry.)

i think that God is taking you to deeper levels of Him (i know, that doesn't make it better now)"

 

there have been many more words and many more kindnesses. (thank you.)

and although i know in my head they are truth, still i am broken.

and sometimes (always?) when glass shatters, the pieces do not fit together as they once were.