Tag Archives: resentment

The Weight Of This Burden

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I’ve been working my @ss off,
trying to boost my finances
for what will come.
I’m tired, overhwhelmed,
my body aches, my mind is fuzzy,
and I’m flooded with a sense of futility.
And it hits me…
I’m doing what my
grandmothers and grandfathers did…
I am struggling just to get by.
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I thought when I married him
I’d be taken care of.
I’d raise our children
and take care of the house
and he would take care of us.
But that dream was shattered
in an ugly, unkind way.
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How can my faith in life be restored?
My family struggled through
the Great Depression.
And countless ancestors before them
struggled through poverty, famine,
sickness, and endless toil…
and through it all…
they somehow survived to procreate.
And so I was given a chance at life.
Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been given this chance.
If I had known I would end up here,
wondering where I’ll live
and if I’ll have the mental fortitude to keep going,
I’m not sure I would’ve signed on.
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What’s the point of living
when you’re struggling just to get by?
And I’m being asked to take on
and even greater challenge…
be strong for my progeny,
give them a reason to keep going,
pretend through it all
that I’m good at this,
that I like this,
that this is all ok.
Hats off to all the single moms out there
who managed to pull this off…
you deserve an award for your performance.
But frankly I resent being here.
I resent the weight of this burden.*

*I just want to acknowledge that in comparison to many, many people on this planet I am doing quite well. I currently have food, clothing, shelter (for now) and access to resources that could be of help. I recognize that all my whining and moaning and complaining about my situation here might elicit absolutely no sympathy at all from people who have been through far worse. I’m just sharing how I feel. I don’t expect that my feelings make sense to anyone. I’m just sitting in the middle of my own suffering wishing I could get away from it. Maybe one person out there knows this feeling. Maybe one person out there now knows that they aren’t alone.

Pulled Under

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The pull of the shadow emotions
is very strong, as if I were chained
to boulders and thrown overboard
into the ocean,
trying to keep from being pulled under,
struggling to catch my breath,
so much thrashing about,
fighting for survival.
And then it occurs to me,
what if I let myself get pulled under?
What is down there?
Maybe once I’m pulled under
someone familiar with the depths
shows up with a key
and unlocks the chains from around me,
sets me free.
Maybe I discover I’m holding the key,
and I can find freedom even as I sink,
holding my breath, keeping my wits about me,
finding lightness, swimming back up
to breathe the breath of life.
Maybe I die in those depths.
Maybe I am reborn
some shimmering creature of the land and sea,
able to navigate both worlds.
I can’t know what waits for me
if I keep struggling at the surface.
Maybe I’ll let myself be pulled under.

The Message Becomes Clear

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The sadness consumes me
and it feels so familiar to be caught like this,
to be caught by anger, by resentment,
by anxiety, by fear, by doubt…
It occurs to me that it doesn’t take
much courage to feel what I’m feeling,
but it does take courage to recognize
what the feelings are here to teach me.
What can I learn from the sadness,
from these shadow emotions
whose presence bring balance
to the more desirable states of
joy, calm, love, confidence?
There is a deeper courage called for here:
to trust that if they’ve shown up,
they have something, some message to convey,
and to be patient and wait
while the message becomes clear.

Step Four: Musings on the Path

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I opened the can of worms last night, admitting to myself that I have a great deal of resentment but am uncomfortable sharing specifics with the cyber public at large. Who wants to know about my resentments anyway?  Sharing can be helpful;  it can help me to be clearer about what I’m thinking and feeling when I search for words to assign to the abstract impressions, words to help someone else understand some of what is happening for me underneath the surface.

And yet, sharing can also be a distraction.  Instead of staying with my own feelings and thoughts and processing them, now I’m trying to make sure that anyone listening understands.  I try to frame things a certain way so as to not offend anyone or make myself look bad.  The more I try to convey the feeling, the less I experience the feeling itself.  But somehow, the conveying is what helps me to connect, what normalizes my challenges, what helps me to see that I’m not so different from my brothers and sisters, not so alone.

There is a balance to be struck between looking inwards and engaging in a solo exploration of  this uncharted territory, and sending my energy and attention outwards, experiencing the comfort of being heard, of being seen and known. Help me God to find the balance.

Do I go ahead and start blabbing about the people who evoke feelings of resentment as I remember past experiences? Is it safe to be so candid?  And is it helpful?  Will my candor advance me on my path of creative freedom?  Or will it incriminate me eventually, stirring up some pretty serious crud, evoking questions I’m not ready to answer?

Ahh crap, loosen up a little.  I don’t think that anyone who knows me actually reads this, and if anyone who knows me ever comes across my blog, chances are this post will be so deeply buried in my feed that they won’t ever come across it.  To tag or not to tag?   To categorize or not to categorize?

Whatever…

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I resent my father for all of the clutter he has held on to, for making our home an embarrassment to the rest of us.

I resent my mother for her reactivity, and for her stubbornness, and for her self-righteousness.

Well…it might not be solid step 4 work, but at least it’s another baby step.  This might take a long time.

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And now it’s time for bed
Time to rest my sleepy head
And to remember that it’s okay to rest
It’s okay to let go.

Let the child in me play to her heart’s content
As the old woman in me surrounds herself with wisdom hard won.
Let me remember that it’s the journey that matters,
and the only destination there is  has already been reached,
has always been NOW.

Let me find the courage to look deeper and to fear less.
Let me remember my true self and awaken
for the benefit of all beings.

And now, for the love of God,
just let me sleep.

Chicken Soup

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Hubby is seriously sick today. So sick that our entire routine was disrupted. Normally, on a Tuesday morning, he takes our daughter to school and then heads to work from there, leaving me and our son at home to enjoy some quiet time together. I’ll play with the little dude for a while, and then put him down for a morning nap while I do things…like: laundry, empty dishwasher/fill dishwasher/clean kitchen, write in journal, a short yoga practice, cut material for a sewing project, sew, figure out what to make for lunch, drink a cup of tea–the possibilities are endless when the house is quiet and nobody needs anything from me for one blessed moment.

But not this morning. No, this morning my husband was sick in bed, not going to work, and although I got up much earlier than usual for my meditation, my daughter also seemed to feel a need to get up way earlier than usual, and wham! The day started in full force before I had the time to process what was happening.

So much resistance in me as I realized that I’d have to put my morning meditation on hold. But so happy to see the little girl smiling, a bit dazed as she stepped into the kitchen light, ready to greet the day. Glad to see her, but I want to meditate. Why does this being human mean we have to live with so much inner conflict? Why these polarities? Why duality?

I got breakfast for the little gal, saw her settled at the table, spoon in hand, eating her cereal–and I thought, maybe I can meditate now. The husband can handle her post-breakfast routine. I have to do things all the time when I’m sick. I never get a break. He can handle this. So I told him I needed to meditate…and then objection from him, and argumentation, and me attempting to keep my cool. Whatever, I’m just going to go upstairs and meditate, he can argue all he wants.

I had just made a cup of tea. It was hot and steaming, and looking lovely, just the perfect temperature to sip and enjoy. I never get to drink my tea hot. I grabbed my mug and hightailed it upstairs to my little meditation room. It was previously a closet, but you don’t need much space to meditate…just enough for a cushion, enough room to sit…this tiny room is my favorite room in the house.

The husband texted me two times. He wasn’t happy with my decision to run upstairs to my cushion. I was going to ignore his objections to my timing, sip my tea, and sit for thirty minutes, but then…

I heard our son waking up.  And the tea had to wait, and my meditation had to wait, because the little guy was hollering, adamant that someone come get him now. Again, the resistance. When will I have time to meditate? Do I have to start waking up at 4am? But I was happy to see the little man, even though his room was unpleasantly pungent, and he was announcing enthusiastically, “Ah poopooped!” At least this time he hadn’t taken his diaper off by himself and painted his room with the contents.

And of course it was one of those diapers. Not the easy peasy quick change, no, it was one of those diapers that require a strategy to minimize complications and then several minutes to follow through and resolve, and of course the lad wasn’t making it any easier on me what with his flailing limbs and his tantruming. Why do they do it? Why do they fight the one who is trying to help? Dude, let me clean you up! Just hold still a moment so that I can get a new diaper on you! Just hold still why don’t you?

It was over at last, I was disposing of the thing, I was washing my hands, and ...maybe my tea is still warm.

But then the boy child needed breakfast, and my husband was shuffling out into the room, a few dirty looks may have been exchanged. Or maybe rather we avoided looking at each other. I got a banana for the boy, he loves bananas and eats one every morning upon awakening.

But not this morning. No, this morning he was swatting at it, screwing up his face, and yelling his displeasure in the way that only pre-articulate almost two year olds can. Oh dear god, why can nothing be easy? Why won’t he just eat the damn banana? When will I be able to sit on my cushion?

All of a sudden, the husband  announced that I could go do my thing. I wordlessly leapt from the room, ran upstairs, and sat on my cushion. I was feeling pretty resentful that he didn’t support my decision the first time I attempted to sit, but grateful that he finally relented and realized that he could handle thirty minutes of child care without me. Again, the polarities that arise in this human life. Gratitude, resentment. Movement, stillness. Feeling frantic, feeling peaceful.

Meditation helped me return to the state of knowing that whatever happens, I can handle it. Some of the resentment from earlier melted away, and left me room to feel some compassion for my sick old man. I decided that I would take both kids with me when I dropped my daughter off at school so that he could have some peace and quiet at home. I planned to do some grocery shopping with my son to prolong the quiet time at home, and I wondered if he would realize what a generous gift I was extending to him. It’s funny how the little resentful voice in my head kept chanting, No one ever does this for you. No one helps you when you’re sick. You always have to push through. You have to keep taking care of everybody. No one ever takes care of you.

Ah well, I shrugged the resentful voice off, and dove into the day.

Daughter dropped off at school, groceries procured, I came home with the son, set him up with a few toys, and made some chicken soup for the sick husband, who was blissfully asleep in bed. Lucky bastard.

One thing I’m learning with each passing day–there’s a balance in all of it, and whether I choose to see it, acknowledge it, appreciate it or whether I don’t–that balance is always there. I’m happiest when I notice the balance. I’m in a state of gratitude, an open, clear place of realizing that I have so much to be thankful for. But sometimes I forget. Sometimes I’m locked in my prison of conditioned thoughts. I feel dark, heavy, hopeless, alone.

There it is again, the dualities of existence–consciousness, unconsciousness. Gratitude, resentment. Happy, sad. Up, down. Night, day, male, female, sun, moon, past, future, hot, cold.

Cold…That reminds me. I never did drink that cup of tea..but I made some pretty good chicken soup.