I had this very naive idea that just because I went away, things would change. POOF! My son no longer drives my daughter crazy, thanks to his pestering OCD. POOF! The house would be tidy when I walked in and finally, finally look like that GROWN UP house I always dream of having. POOF! I would be invigorated and refreshed and have more energy and mental stamina to tackle said house, and constantly fighting children. But no, I was home, and it was messy, and dirty, and there are still piles of where-the-hell-do-I-put-this-stuff everywhere. My son was still my same little Jack, and he still flips out and flies into absolute panic over things that you and I find insignificant. And oh yeah, my Mom is still dead. Yeah, she's gone forever, and some guy named "Bev" is in our house right now instead, watching the place for my Dad; making sure the furnace runs smoothly, and the pipes don't freeze, etc.
I still have to drag myself out of bed every day even though I feel exhausted, and I still have to make those million trips to and from the school. I wanted to go for my power walk the past couple of mornings, but it's your typical Canadian brief thaw, and that means there are lake-sized puddles everywhere, and the sidewalks are covered with bumpy, dangerous ice. No sign of flowers. No sign of any green grass. Your kids still fight you about everything.
So, I was lying in bed last night awake, thinking about all of this. I was thinking about how life is just plain hard. How it's a struggle, and how overflowing with daily worry and heartache it is.
It's easy to fall into the pit of despair. It's easy to wallow. It's easy to give up. It's very easy to think "why me? Why is MY life so hard?"
|Image from HERE|
Do you ever go out in public and feel like you're the only one who has a certain problem, that nobody else has or can understand? I certainly do. You've probably all heard me bitch about my stomach. My pregnancy with my daughter wrecked me. My stomach muscles, already weakened from being cut during a gallbladder-ectomy (did I just invent a word???), were stretched WAY beyond the point of no return. My abdominal muscles separated, and now, unless I really suck it in, the upper portion of my stomach sticks out, and I look pregnant. I have had a few people think I was expecting. I hate it. It's on my mind every minute of every day. I look at other women and I envy their stomachs. Even if other women are overweight, I envy their stomachs, because they simply look like they're heavy--not perpetually pregnant. When I walk to the school to pick my son up, I always feel very self conscious, and then I fall into that "alone in the crowd" feeling: nobody else has a weird, sticking out stomach like mine. I'm the only one here who looks like this.
I used to feel this way about my Mom too, like I was the only one in that crowd who didn't have a mother any longer to love, to complain about, to roll my eyes about, to go shopping with, to call when I needed to vent, or for advice.
So, what I realised is that yes, at times I am alone in the crowd--just like everyone else. Everyone has some sadness, or heartache, or hardship or massive insecurity in their life.
I don't know--it's comforting.