Tag Archives: disappointment

I Should Have Chosen Silence

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You’d think after all this time
I’d have the sanity
to decline
important conversations
after he’s had too much wine.
But my ego was bruised
and I guess my mind confused
which course of action
would lead to resolution
and which to more confusion.
When my fear speaks louder
than the quiet wisdom within
it’s time to shut my mouth
and retreat far away
from the din of those
who know not
that silence is an option.

Back Home: What Lies Ahead

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I’m back in MD
after a long day of travel.
I’ll be honest…
It’s a let down
coming back to the cold
and the chaos of home
after the warmth
and the simplicity
of the desert.
I thought I did so much
work on my retreat,
the work of awakening,
of becoming more aware.
It turns out
the the greatest work
lies ahead.

An Exploration of My Yucky Mood

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Eh. A yucky mood today.  Maybe it’s because I still haven’t caught up on sleep since the move.  Maybe it’s because I haven’t been engaging in all of the positive adult interaction that a caregiver of children needs to feel sane. Maybe I just miss my tiny meditation room that I had at my old house the last three years…my cocoon room, my womb room.  I would close the door, turn on my little space heater, drop a few drops of beautiful essential oils in the diffuser, open up my journal, and write in peace. And warmth.  Now I’m in the thoroughfare of the house, it’s drafty, I feel displaced, and my inner child is having a tantrum.  What, she says, What happened to my room? Why was my room taken away?  This is not fair!  Why did you move me to a place where I can’t have my own space? Not fair, not fair, not fair! Yep. Inner child. Tantrum.

And then when my actual kids have tantrums, it’s like everyone is joining in, even the cat, joining in this fiesta of temper and reactivity. I need a vacation to a quiet place all by myself. And about ten deep tissue massages to smooth away the knots that have stubbornly refused to leave my body since the move.

There is guilt for complaining. Guilt because in comparison to many, my tale of woe is a joke. I have food, shelter, a family that loves me. There is no threat of bombs keeping me cowering indoors with my children, hoping that we’ll survive another day.  I have a job that I absolutely love.  I have a computer and fingers that type words. I have no right to complain.  And yet…

And yet, these feeling of disappointment, of unrest, of grief are real.  They are as real as my journal holding the words I managed to find to describe them.  Guilt is just another reason to stay stuck in this place of sorrow.  I think I need to let myself feel what I’m feeling, and maybe at some point I can move on.

Taking a breath now.  Hoping to write a poem that will help me make sense of all of this.

The Power of Attachment

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I set myself up for it.
I thought for sure it would be mine.
I projected into the future
and created many moments of enjoyment
imagining what I would say and do
and how it would all feel…
and then,
and then
I was told it was given to someone else.
Misery.
Disappointment.
Wanting to know why I wasn’t the chosen one.
And herein lies the power of attachment
to bring one to one’s knees in pain
with weapons that do not exist,
mourning the loss of something that never was.

An Exploration of Relationship Dynamics (Can I get a witness?)

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After having yet another disagreement
about the time I spend alone in meditation,
alone writing, alone reading–
I can really get why many marriages fail.

It cuts to the heart of what is important for me,
and his disagreement is heartbreaking…
it feels like an attack.  It feels like he is being stubborn,
closeminded, childish.
And what words would he use to describe me now?
Probably selfish, ridiculous, out of touch.
if I weren’t committed to working this out,
a part of me would be content to say,
“Ahh, clearly I need to be married to a man who meditates.”
A part of me would be content to throw in the towel
and blame him for our problems.

Hogwash. Relationships don’t work that way.
I want to tend to mine with love and caring,
to develop loyalty and the strength
so that I may support him in his creative pursuits,
so that I may experience true companionship.

This all makes so much sense, yes,
but what about when marriage
becomes like war in the trenches?
When does my willingness to concede
become a sacrifice of ME, the self I like in me?

If one of you has a magic wand,
please rub it over our heads.
Maybe our eyes and hearts will open
just a little bit more
and we’ll enjoy the being in the other.

Back to the Drawing Board

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Upon further research I discovered
that the business school I mentioned last night
is not what I thought it was.
There is some disappointment,
but mostly relief,
that I won’t be enrolling in the training,
Won’t become a member of
“a large community of entrepreneurs”
who would purportedly support me in my creative endeavors
and provide suggestions for building my business.

But when the entrepreneurs end up being
affiliate marketers who get paid $1000
every time they refer someone who joins,

I can recognize that this is not the kind
of entrepreneurial spirit that my soul craves.

It also helps to have a very logical,
hardworking, down to earth husband
who can smell a MLM scheme
from a mile away.

It’s not like I would’ve plunked down
$2000 without first discussing it with the hubby,
but the marketing was brilliant,
and I thought I was going to learn
how to construct an in-home business,
be a better mom, wife
be more patient, enthusiastic about life,
feel freer, more artistically alive.

Wouldn’t YOU join if you thought
the training would deliver such happiness?

I was getting close to signing up,
and my husband smelled something fishy.
Together we researched the school online,
and rediscovered that things aren’t always what they seem.
Together we took a stand.
No get rich quick plans
No too good to be true claims
No beautifully filmed testimonials
designed to get me wanting something I don’t have.

All of the power is within, and all the love–
no need to search for it outside.

I think I dodged a bullet this time.
Back to the drawing board, my friends.

Keeping It Real

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It has been nice focusing on positive things to write about in my recent posts.  I have been thinking, “Yeah, I’m taking a new direction with Yoga Mom–I don’t have to dwell on all of the gory details of my mood, and I can provide inspiration. Yeah, I’m so happy now, and I can focus on being happy!”

And then real life came and basically bitch-slapped me a few times, and I remembered that I’m not here to convince anyone that I’m happier than I really am to save them from being depressed if they read about my heavier stuff.  I am here for myself. I am here to make sense of my experiences using the medium of the written word.  I am here to explore my life.  If someone is inspired, that is certainly a bonus, but handing out generous portions of inspiration is not my mission. I’d be lying to myself and to you if I said that it was.  My mission is to write something every day, and just like the thunderclouds that sometimes roll over head, there might be some pounding and thumping and flashing and crashing and banging and clanging every once in a while–until it all clears and the sun shines again.

So tonight, I keep it real.  I keep it real by sharing that there have been daily disagreements arising between me and my husband, and I’m feeling lonely, believing the old thought that there is no one I can talk to who can just listen and offer me empathy. That is a painful thing to believe.  I’m hurting right now.

Today’s gripe with my husband unfolded in the following manner:

We were originally planning on spending a good part of tomorrow with one of his old friends, his wife, and his three year old son.  My husband’s friend texted him this afternoon and let him know that his son was sick, so the little guy was going to stay home with his wife.  But, the friend wrote to my husband, I am planning on a round of golf early tomorrow morning, and do you golf?  Does he ever!  My husband loves to golf.  I grew very excited at the prospect of joining them, because although I hadn’t attempted golf since high school, I have been enjoying thinking about it and have been wanting to give it a go for some time now.  Normally I stay home with the kids when my husband plays a round, because it’s expensive to pay a babysitter for the several hour window needed to play all the holes. But we are in Utah now, at our in-laws’ place, which makes everything different.  I knew that our kids could be watched by their grandparents, and that I’d be free to get out of the house for some fun with the guys.  When I mentioned how excited I was to finally accompany my husband on a round of golf,  he replied, “Well, I actually wanted to spend some time with my buddy.”

Okay, granted, perhaps 99% of the population would go, “Of course he does!  And you should just let him spend time with his buddy!” But in that moment, I felt devastated, so I shut down.  He sensed my shutting down as I rapidly raced inside my head to check off all the items on my list that confirmed my husband doesn’t care about me.  He tried to engage me in a conversation and I asked him to give me a moment.  He said, “Come on honey, I’ve never played golf with him.”

“And you’ve played golf so many times with me, so it’s okay,” I said sarcastically.  Then I asked him again to just give me a moment.  When he brought it up again five minutes later, and mind you there were eight of us in the vehicle we were driving down a canyon after a long hike, he seemed to be saying that I should be okay with him going by himself, I shouldn’t feel at all annoyed, in fact, I should be happy to see him spending time alone with an old friend.  My two kids, my nephew, my mother in law, and one of my brothers in law were in the car with us, presumable hearing everything we were saying, and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I asked him to lay it to rest for a moment.

Well, crap!

It might not seem like that big of a deal, but damn.  All of the most negative thoughts were coursing around my head, and I felt overwhelmed by them.  Later on, I was running errands with my mother in law and another one of my brothers in law, and my mother in law said to me cheerfully, “Well, what fun thing are we going to do tomorrow?”

“Well, obviously I won’t be golfing, because Cliff wants to spend time with his friend.”

“Who is he going with?”  my brother in law asked.  I told him who it was.

“Well, that’s just healthy, isn’t it?” my mother in law said, “It’s healthy to have time with friends.  And we’ll be able to do something fun.”

“Well, it’s not like I can ask you to be impartial or anything as I tell you this, because he’s your son, but I’m annoyed with the way he handled it,” I said.

“Well, he will probably do something extra nice for you, because he’ll be feeling guilty,” she said.

“I don’t want him to feel guilty,” I said, “it just could’ve been handled better.”  And it was left at that.

What I was wanting was someone to listen and say, “I hear you.  You must be feeling left out, disappointed, hurt.”  That’s all.  Someone to understand.  It seems like my husband has been missing the mark the last few days, making absolutely no attempt to mask his annoyance with my wanting to take time to write instead of watching a movie or playing cards in the evening;  scolding me for asking for help when I was capable of doing a simple thing on my own, blah blah blah…I have a nice list of gripes because I have written about them in my journal the last few nights.

Why are relationships so complicated?  The second I think we’ve hit our stride, then come along some bumps in the road and I’m back to believing that someone else would be so much more understanding, someone else would be so much easier to get along with…

So there you go, keeping it real.  There’s a lot of crap up in my head, and hopefully a good night of sleep will help me to work it out.  I can’t wait to see my therapist again!  Someone who can listen with compassion in their eyes would be the greatest of gifts right now.

I’d apologize about the unedited nature of this post, but to whom would I be apologizing?  To myself for not being perfect?  Screw that. I’m imperfect, and sometimes my writing can suck, and it really doesn’t matter.

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The anger, the frustration, leap up in my mind
And then they take over my body,
taking residence deep in the pit of my stomach.
And behind the anger, disappointment reveals itself,
and behind the disappointment, deep sadness.

This being human can be so complicated.
All of these feelings with no handles
to grip and steer my way out of them.
I have to sit with them until they tell me what they mean,
and it’s fine when I feel happy and light,
but absolutely miserable when they are dark and heavy
and I feel lonely and misunderstood.

So I ask for strength.
Strength to show more understanding than he has shown me,
strength to pick up the hurting one inside me
and cradle her and soothe her
and tell her that she is loved.

And maybe she will feel sufficiently reassured
that she won’t suffer quite as much
as she waits and waits
until the light of clarity dawns,
and all of this makes sense.