I’ve had this lingering cold since September,
finally went to the doctor yesterday;
she wants me to squirt stuff up my nose,
gargle with salt water, and rest.
I’m tired of feeling draggy,
tired of living surrounded by boxes,
tired of being tired.
So today, I rested.
And it’s nuts what the voices in my head tell me.
Don’t be lazy.
It’s not so bad.
Look at your house! It’s deplorable.
You should be ashamed of yourself!
My overworking made me sick.
And now I’m trying to get better…
but somehow I’m not allowed
to do the things that will help me get better?
Another voice speaks.
Discern the voice of truth.
Listen a little more deeply.
Hear the song of being.
Let yourself heal.
Who do I have to be for you
so that you’ll stop blaming me
and criticizing me for everything
that you perceive is wrong with this picture?
How do I have to act?
What do I have to say?
How do you need me to dress?
What, precisely, do I need to prove?
What task must I perform?
How much money do I need to make?
What do I do too much?
What do I do too little?
How should I style my hair?
Should I wear make-up?
What should I eat?
How much should I weigh?
How many friends should I have?
How often should I contact them?
What kind of car should I drive?
Where should I live?
How should I spend my time?
When should I rest?
When should I work?
Can you give me a list?
Will you promise me
that if can get it right—
you’ll love me?
I can feel the pressure building inside of me,
pressure to get things done, get things organized,
be better, do more, know more,
pressure to have a plan,
pressure to answer others’ questions…
It’s the dark time of the year,
and the darkness is bringing me down.
I don’t want this pressure.
I want to hide.
God, help me change my mind.
Help me welcome the pressure.
Let me see this discomfort as a yoga posture
life has given me to master.
If I can breathe through it,
I can learn something from it.
Woke up sick…
I’m wondering how to be well,
even when I feel like this.
I have my kids,
it’s summer vacation.
I would’ve preferred
to be a fun energetic mom,
you don’t always get what you want.
Can I drop the guilt at the increased TV time for them,
so that I can have increased rest time for me?
I guess I’m going to have to.
Guilt won’t make me well.
Only love, acceptance and time will.
I was waiting for an apology from him,
an expression of guilt and remorse;
it hasn’t come yet,
and it probably never will.
I was waiting for him to do the right thing,
to acknowledge his role,
to make things right,
but it sure doesn’t look that this will happen either.
I was hoping he’d awaken,
hoping he’d zoom out and look in
and see how his behavior
has been egregiously unfair—
he hasn’t awakened, and my hope
is turning to hopelessness.
The moral is,
focusing on the other
and hoping they will change
(when they don’t want to and aren’t capable)
will only lead to sadness, frustration and despair.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to wait anymore.
I’m going to move forward in autonomy,
thanking him for my freedom.
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.
Lost my temper today…
I was jumping up and down so hard
that when I went down in the basement
there was some thick wood dust
on my craft supplies
directly beneath where I had been stomping.
My kids heard me yelling and ran…
They were scared of me,
and then I was ashamed.
“Now I’m angry and guilty…great,” I told myself.
I took some deep breaths and moved on.
If we view emotions like the waves of the ocean,
they crash and recede,
crash and recede.
They crest and seem impressive one moment,
they become a flat nothing in the next.
Here I sit musing over all the waves that
flowed through me today.
Instead of fixating on the waves,
I’d like to notice the immensity of the ocean
that contains and holds it all:
the water, the waves, the fish,
the light of the sun and the moon,
the hot and the cold,
the day and the night,
the salt, the air,