Tag Archives: struggle

Old Me, New Me

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I can feel the old me struggling
to regain some footing,
and the new me is just plain tired.
I won’t let the old me win—
the old me needs to die.
Does it sound harsh?
It’s real.
I am no longer available
to live life the way I lived it before.
I know too much now
to go back to sleep.
But how to eliminate the struggle
with the old me
so that the new me
can relax and surrender
into the flow of cosmic synchronicity?
If you can answer that question
I’ll be your best friend!

Struggle…Opportunity

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It’s a struggle,*
but only because
it’s always been a struggle.
If I can change my mind,
if I can see a different way,
this might become
an opportunity.
This is an opportunity
to slow down,
listen
to the rhythms of my body-mind,
honor the self
that tries so hard to be good.
Can I love her
when she wants to scream?
Can I love her
when she is tired?
Can I appreciate
everything she has been through?
Instead of doing
what I’ve always done,
can I try something new?
If nothing else,
this struggle
has given me an opportunity
to come home to myself
if only for this moment.
I want to find the Self
in all the swirls of emotion,
in the body aches and fatigue,
in the loneliness—
and I want to love her fiercely.

 

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*Ladies out there, give me an AMEN if you too find yourself accosted with darkness and mood swings in conjunction with your moon cycle. It has been this way my whole adult life. What helps you manage to make it through those days of darkness until the sun breaks through the clouds again?

And guys out there…when your ladies get this way, have you found a way to help them make it through, or do you run in the opposite direction? I mean…it is INTENSE, after all, and hard to understand the sudden changes in temperament. My recommendation:  buy her some flowers, run her a bath, make her some tea, and tell her you’re there for her and that you love her no matter what.

Could It Be?

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I’ve been in agony this past year
trying to figure out how this all will end,
but could it be that this is just the beginning?
I thought my life was over
when he told me our marriage was over,
but could it be that I’m being born into new life?
I’ve cried out many times to God
asking to be given the answers…
but could it be that I wasn’t ready for answers?
Could it be that I didn’t even know the question?
I chose trust as my word of the year
and I’ve struggled to understand what trust even is.
Could it be that my struggle is the opportunity
I was asking for this whole time?
Could it be that through struggling
and surviving the struggle,
I’ll learn to trust myself?
Could all of this,
the entirety of this experience,
be one long answered prayer
as I awaken to the truth of who I really am?
Could it be?

Intrusion

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He wants to say Hi to the kids every night.
Every night his voice is in my home
like he never left.
now his mistress’s voice is in my home,
as my son asks if she is there,
and her face and her voice appear.
Son says that he can’t wait to see her, the other woman.
My son can’t wait to see my husband’s mistress.
How do I compartmentalize?
How do I live with the cognitive dissonance?
I’m trying to be free of them,
but they are in my mind,
in my home,
in my children’s minds.
My children are innocent.
They are loving, accepting and kind,
just like I want them to be,
just like I taught them to be.
But I get tense every night when he calls.
He left my bed, my heart, my home,
but every night he comes back
like he never left.

He’s Won

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More tears.
More anger.
Unending darkness.
Feeling hopeless,
worthless.
Alone.
The things that brought me joy
can no longer reach me. I try
but nothing gets done.
Take some pills they say.
They’ll take the edge off they say.
I give up.
He’s won.

 

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I’m thinking of taking a break from this blog after never missing a daily post for the last four and a half years. I can’t see what purpose is being served by my sharing here, as my sharing has heavily centered on grieving the loss of my marriage for over a year now. I want to contribute to the happiness of the people on this planet, not their sadness, but by sharing my sadness, don’t I amplify it? Has it been selfish of me to share publicly in this way and to let you know that I’m suffering? I honestly have been hoping that my writing here would bring me some relief, but I take no joy in it; it’s something I make myself do—and how inspiring can words born of that mindset really be?  If my words don’t inspire, I don’t want to inflict them on anyone.

I feel burdened by life, consumed in a darkness that threatens to blot out all memory of happiness and love and light. A mighty battle is being fought within me, a battle between darkness and light—and I’m not feeling confident of the outcome.  Both of my kids noticed.

My six year old son said, “Do you know what my greatest enemy is?”

“What?” I asked.

“Losing you,” he said.  I cried.  We were in my room looking at a Divine Feminine oracle deck while my daughter was bathing.

After she was out of the bath tub, the three of us piled into my bed to hang out while I brushed my daughter’s hair. After I was done brushing, she got up, looked at me with her eight years of wisdom, and said, “You know people die of sadness?”

“Oh really?” I asked. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“People can get so sad that they…just…die. And I don’t want that to happen to you.” I cried again.

My children nestled their heads against me and I stroked their hair while I cried more.  I felt like a piece of shit for not being able to just buck up and pretend I’m fine…so that they can know they’re safe in the presence of a strong mother who has it together for them—or some bullshit unreasonable thing people keep telling me I should do so that my kids don’t get traumatized by my depression. It’s great to be quite literally dying of sadness and then have a critical voice remind me that I’m selfish and should be a better mother and put my children first instead of wallowing in self-pity.

I’m fortunate in that my girlfriend Lucy is flying me out to CO to get away from this home where I lived with my husband and children for three and a half years. Too many memories.  Too many triggers.  My children will be in Utah with their father and his mistress.  He’s taking her home to meet his parents.  We’re still married, and I’m struggling to find my will to live each day.

I can’t know that this isn’t the best thing for me. So many people have said to me He gave you your freedom.  Someday you’ll see that and be grateful for it. But I’m not sure I’m going to make it to someday. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it one more day.

I’m considering taking a break from this blog while I’m in CO from 7/21-7/31.  I’m thinking of taking a complete break from everything I normally do, pack very lightly, and just be really open to what might arise in the space of not planning and not knowing.  What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time for something to change.

Perhaps a change of pace. A change of scenery. A change of faces, and smells, and sounds, nothing familiar to trigger the cascade of sadness that hasn’t stopped flowing for a year. I’m bleeding out emotionally and the situation is dire.  No one can save me but me and I have to choose to want to be saved.  I hope the mountains will return me to my sanity. I’ll keep you posted, let you know what I decide. Thanks for reading.

The Path is Dark and Lonely

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I want to trust the process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet ahead of me.
I’m floundering through a forest of pain,
shadows everywhere, loud sounds,
danger, chaos…
and it’s all in my head.
I look up and look around.
I’m in a room,
it’s a bright sunny day,
no danger.
But the night is approaching swiftly,
and this is when the painful thoughts
have the most power over me.
I want to trust this process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet head of me.

Wholly Dazed

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Don’t get me wrong,
it’s not that I hate Christmas…
It’s just that it is dead to me now.
The lights, the trees, the carols,
stepping into the home
of my son’s kindergarten friend,
seeing their happy Christmas
taking shape in their happy home,
and inwardly bemoaning
the shapelessness of my Christmas,
now that it’s dead.
Disintegration.
A marriage, a holiday, a life,
all falling apart.
Dead things decay;
particles break down
and return to the earth.
New life springs up
and eases the memory of death.
Will this happen for me?
Can I hope for this much?