Sometimes, it’s good to have a super-secret blog that you never, ever update, because then when you need to talk about the Very Ugly Things, you have a place to do it.
This has been a hard
day week month 2013.
These days, I am not the person I believe myself to be, not the person I planned to be, not the person I once thought I should be.
It’s not entirely bad, mind you. I’m a pretty good mother – I didn’t expect that. I’m almost endlessly patient, consistent, loving, firm. I respond. I don’t blame. I don’t hurt because I’m angry and I take many, many, many deep breaths when the going gets rough. It would be easy to go the other way – some parts of my childhood could have trained me to always go the other way – but I don’t.
And yet. I’m still so very tired. My brain feels slow and lumbering. My body feels slow and lumbering. Some days I can barely make it to five o’clock before I need a beer, a glass of wine, or something stronger – just something to get me through the cooking of dinner while the two-year-old clings and demands, to get me through the dishes and the laundry, to get me to the hour at the end of the day I get to spend on the couch and answering to no one.
When I was young and knew nothing worth loving about myself other than that I was smart, I didn’t prepare for a life in which my days were spent tending to a small child and cleaning and scrubbing and folding and washing. I thought as long as I used my intellect and my brain, I’d have value.
But most days my brain sits quietly on a shelf somewhere while my body goes about the business of keeping everyone clean and fed – and I just don’t know who I am.
days weeks months years like this that I wished more than anything I could find my way back to believing in something greater than myself. I make these tenative grasps toward the God of my heart, and She is almost within reach, but I never quite touch Her.
I want to recognize the sacred in what I do each day; I want to believe that caring for the physical bodies of those I love is a profession and a gift.
But I’m just not there. Not yet. And sometimes I wonder if not ever.