Even if a day is neutral in itself, I’m convinced the reality is that some of them are, indeed, good.
I have rather enjoyed mine!
More to come.
abuse, armor, breath, breathing, children, energy, feelings, Forgiveness, grief, healing, Heart, life, Marriage, Max Strom, My Life, pain, parenting, recovery, relationships, release, shame, story, therapy, yoga
I haven’t been in the mood to write much. I don’t know why. Maybe I feel vulnerable.
I surprised myself and attended all of the workshops with Max Strom I signed up for last weekend.
After “The Healing Power of Forgiveness” lecture Max presented, I stayed awake late into the morning hours because I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t really thinking anything, so it’s not like my thoughts were keeping me up. I was just filled with energy.
So much energy.
I still actually feel that way, even though I have been extremely tired/wiped out at the same time.
I actually told some of my friends about Max coming to town because I had already shared about his “Learn to Breathe” DVD on Facebook before I ever knew he was coming to town. So one of my best friends and her husband decided to come with me for the Forgiveness lecture.
It was nice to not be there alone. It’s been so long since I haven’t felt alone in this healing process (if this process is a healing process and not something else I don’t even know yet.) There are still times I feel really alone, but the structure of my life –and me– is changing. I’m a lot more open these days, more uninhibited, more real (I’d say,) and less ashamed.
(As an aside, I did get to use my special Forgiveness Tissues I mentioned in my last post. I even got to share them. )
The shame waves still take me down every once in a while, but they don’t seem to be as high as they used to be. Not as powerful. Either I’ve gotten stronger or the shame has become weaker…or maybe both…which is extremely cool.
I’m able to step back when it feels like I’m about to go down and say, “Wait a minute, that’s shame and it’s not really mine.” Or…which isn’t quite as fun (but no less useful) I am able to step back and look at what I’m experiencing and see where I need to step up and grow beyond myself a little bit…or a lot, but with realistic expectations.
Oh, this growing thing.
I have therapy tonight.
I sometimes wish I could just punch things into a computer and put all the pieces together to make them whole again without all the elements having to actually go through getting where they need to be. But then it wouldn’t be real life, and real life is what I’m after. I don’t want just a virtual life.
The part that is so hard is looking up, making eye contact and not just watching images interact on a screen.
In his workshops, Max actually spoke on how with the technologic developments that are going on robots are becoming more human and humans are becoming less so. It’s easy to see and say that, harder to take responsibility for our humanity and counteract it.
Especially when so many people are hurting.
It’s sometimes seems easier (and better) to stop breathing and let the robots do it for us.I know it’s a lie. Most things that steal true, authentic life away is a lie.
But lies can be enticing, even when you know what it is.
The lie says you can do that (in this case, not breathe) and still get away with it.
Anyway, Max didn’t talk about lies. He talked about breathing. And he didn’t just talk about it. He demonstrated and taught how to do it too.
I like lectures, but I’m always getting myself caught up in these damn experiential things! lol
A word about Max Strom that I haven’t really read anywhere else. He’s known as a respected yoga teacher and somebody who teaches deep breathing (the kind that actually gives and sustains real life,) but nowhere have I ever seen that Max…is for the children.
Yes, Max is a teacher who gets it.
Hang in with me here as I try to explain…
He understands about the hurt and pain and struggles of our lives, but he’s not blind to the origin. Our pasts…and most commonly, our childhood. Without saying a word about creepy inner child stuff (Inner child stuff is not really creepy, but it has always just creeped me out.) he speaks to the inner child (through teaching breath, it’s the inner child part of us who I think has stopped breathing, and we just follow along…my words, NOT Max’s…so this part is my spin on what I learned from him this weekend)…and then once he sees that he had taught our inner child (or teenager) how to breathe…he reaches out to the children who are really in our homes.
I can’t even name the times Max directly spoke about the children in our lives and in our world who need us to breathe down the defenses of our armored lives, our armored chests.
‘Breathe down the defenses’ are my words too, but that’s how I interpreted what I learned. And…it’s what happened in the space of the hours I was in workshops this weekend and what I’m committed to working on from here on ever-after.
I’m sure there’s a lot more that will come out as a result of what I learned. It’s hard to put it into a summary of words because breathing (in my mind) is such a right-brained thing, even if breathing deeply takes some focused effort. Maybe the effort lessens some after you’ve done it longer. It’s too bad we take one deep breath when we’re born and then it seems they get shorter and more shallow as life progresses.
I say, let’s reverse that trend.
I’m going to do my part!
ps. I don’t make any money off of this! 😉
I just gotta say, before I even get started…it is naptime again. This is the only time I get to come here to write and share my world that is so unwritten, so not waiting on a free moment to give me to process it! So my baby will probably wake up long before I am actually done with a complete working of my brain’s thoughts right now.
I survived surgery. I actually talked through the surgery with the surgeon’s nurse about aging and choosing whether to age with grace…or not. She is outspokenly of the latter. However, I think grace looks decidedly better. And I kind of told her. I was probably injected with a truth serum. I named Jamie Lee Curtis and Helen Mirren in my defense. (And the many less named women in the world…the real masterpieces of our landscape…ah you know them when you see them! Fought for wrinkles that usually crinkly around lit up eyes and mouths…that’s who I want to be anyway.)
During surgery my tattoos and my “interesting” life also came up. My surgeon’s nurse wanted to know what made me classify my life “interesting” and I laid there, kind of unable to move, more than just because there was a surgical instrument stuck in my side. I about choked on the oxygen that wasn’t over my mouth.
I said, “I’m not sure what you really want to know.” Lol. My surgeon seemed to get it pretty quickly. “Is it like family stuff?” he said. “Um, yeah. You could say that.” I’m pretty sure my surgeon and his nurse made eye contact after that and then decided to move on without probing anymore than they already were in the process of doing because there was a silent pause and a few more moments than normal before conversation started up again. And at that point I don’t even remember what was said. I think maybe it was a compliment about how amazing my red hair looked inside the blue hair cap/covering I was wearing.
Anyway, I’ve decided recently I need more time for myself. Like, I want to go back to work. Not that I don’t work all day everyday and all that jazz, but I want to do more work. I need some help with the baby to do it. I’m not sure how I’m going to acquire that help or how I’m going to manage my second work schedule around the first one I’ve already got, but it must be done. And I’m pretty sure it will be done. Well…I’m trying to trust that if it has anything to do with God’s Will it will be?
I am really trying to learn. Really trying to breathe and let go and just live this amazing incredible life that I feel I am trying to cram so much into. I can’t seem to get enough time at any given time. I just feel this push and drive for time. Like my time is limited. I know it’s limited. There are ALWAYS limits to anything. But I just feel like there’s so much to be done.
And as much as I want to be the mother that loves being a housewife…I’ve kind of changed and I love my family and my husband and children…but “housewife” is not me anymore. It feels like I have been a housewife all of my life, from the time I was just a little girl. And there’s something else inside of me. I know this is temporary and life goes on and children grow up and it is precious time and on the outside I know “I’m what dreams are made of.” This is my mantra during every miserable housewifeish task I complete every single day.
This just isn’t me. What if I’m actually a better mother if I’m…just not this?
Omg, I have SO much energy. It’s incredible amount of energy bursting inside me. Maybe it’s this cleanse. Maybe it’s that I haven’t had sugar and its subsequent crashes for 6 days now! Maybe it’s because I’m coming clean…coming clean with it ALL.
I’m not really happy doing this! So I’m working on finding a way to make it work and I will work to make it work and work, work, work and think think think and pray pray pray and keep moving my feet and my heart and walk the walk.
I’m afraid this sounds like I don’t love my family, but I do! It’s because I actually do that I am “going there.”
It’s April, after all, and I’m still alive. Thank goodness I didn’t die 4 months ago. Or maybe I did and I’ve been reborn?
I just don’t know.
I just don’t know.
There’s just so much more…and I can’t explain.
When I was little I always hoped that I would be adopted. It didn’t matter that I never was in foster care or that anyone hardly noticed I was alive…other than when they did notice (and, then they noticed a lot) and always seemed to be really upset about it.
Sometimes I had hopes about my own family. I would get my hopes up when there would be a moment of laughter…which usually came after a really big fight of some sort. There was so much tension all the time. I think I took it all into me. I was the youngest and the smallest, and out of the kids there were only the two of us. I was kind of the runt. And I didn’t mind being the runt. Being the runt can be nice and safe sometimes.
I was always somewhere else. I happened to get a massage today and went somewhere else. I went a few places, actually, but one of them was my first grade classroom. I remember it. Not vibrantly, but it’s not muddy either. It’s blurry…but moving images are there. And what I remembered today while I was in my first grade classroom was looking out the windows. Our classroom had windows that lined one wall facing toward the playground. I remember a sunny playground with black and white rock asphalt topping. I don’t remember too much from 1st grade. But when it comes time for me to answer security questions…i use info. from a memory i have kept about 1st grade. Even if that means sharing that info. means my security questions aren’t as secure anymore?
It was really 2nd grade that I was thinking about when I went there. I was thinking about how when I was in second grade I would never ask the teacher to use the restroom when I really had to go. I was too scared to upset her and make her mad because I knew the classroom rule was that students were only supposed to be allowed to use the restroom at designated “restroom break” times. And believe me, I always used those times! But sometimes I’d really have to use the restroom even more than that. But I would never ask. This started to cause a real and serious physical problem for me because I had undergone a surgery that was in “that realm” a few years earlier, and it was physically important that I have access to the restroom when needed. I remember my mom telling me I didn’t have a choice about asking the teacher to let me go, even if it wasn’t a scheduled time. I was always so afraid to ask. Even though it’s what I needed, for real needed, and wasn’t just trying to get out of classroom time like most of the kids who always wanted to leave the room when they could find an excuse. And also about second grade…I remember learning how to tell time and count money because there was a workbook that you tore out paper coins from and the teacher had us rearrange and count in all sorts of benign ways. I was never really very good at telling time or money. Oh, and I remember show-and-tell! And I also remember one day where we had some kind of fitness drive going on at school and everyone participated in aerobics led over the intercom in their classrooms. I remember thinking that was so bizarre and fantastic!
And I don’t know why I’m remembering that.
Maybe it’s because in therapy we’ve been talking about asking for things and making requests. Maybe it’s because this cleanse I’m doing is in some odd way related. (Even though it’s not really “clearing me out,” at least, yet.) Maybe it’s because I’ve experienced so much fear lately, along with really having a strong drive to put myself out there in life.
Maybe it’s just because I’m growing and I’m processing little tidbits. Maybe it’s like when you juice something. There’s the juice, which is usually the goal, and then there’s all that pulp. What to do with all the pulp?!
To get back to the present day, producing all that pulp has gotten me thinking about starting my compost again. It’s still just a great idea in my brain and it needs to find a new home. A home, like maybe in the corner of our backyard…or somewhere where the neighbors won’t complain about me having a compost. Again, scared of upsetting someone else for doing something on my own property that isn’t hurting anyone.
Anyway, I’m just getting really tired of doing this. I’m not tired of the cleanse. I’m not even really tired right now at all, even though I need to be sleeping because bright and early it is surgery time for me (see my last post if that seems an odd bit of info to introduce so late in the game.)
I’m tired though. I’m just tired.
And I still wish I could be adopted.
I know it’s never going to happen. I know I probably couldn’t even handle it if it did. And it might not even really be what I want.
I thought getting married could sort of be like getting adopted. I was seventeen the first time, so it sort of could have worked. But it didn’t work out. No, it just didn’t work out at all.
I’m tired. Too tired for daytime, even if it’s 10:30 pm.
I’m going to close my eyes. Sweet dreams.
(Wish me luck.)
Things have been wordless here because I don’t have any words for this.
It’s not all light and chocolate kisses.
It fucking sucks a lot.
I’m in a marriage that I’m trying to make work because I fucking NEED it to work. I’m not raising another child on my own, and when it comes right down to it I’m still at the level of a 17-year-old in some ways…the age I was when I got married to my first husband.
Sure, a lot of things are different. A LOT. I have two daughters now. And I’m older, yes. I’m older and have a lot more years of twisted bullshit that I’ve lived through. And when I say twisted, it’s really fucking twisted.
It’s so twisted I really don’t think anybody would believe me if I said it. Nobody would fucking believe.
I’m living with the recurrent memories of it a lot right now. My whole life is coming back to me and it feels like every time my life tries to come back to me it just gets fucked again.
Why? Maybe because I’ve never been really present in my decision making. So I’ve made some really bad decisions. And also because I’ve never been able to escape abuse in one form or another from the time I was a little girl.
My mother continued to abuse me until I got re-married almost 2 years ago. And then, even after that. It just ended 5 months ago when I was 3 days out of major surgery and she came after me to attack me and tried to leave my house with my 4 month old baby against my will.
I guess it takes a lot for me to finally have enough.
I’m upset today because my husband doesn’t care about me. He only cares about me in the ways he feels like caring about me, which is really not very caring at all. Emotional intimacy is zero. Sometimes it’s even a negative number.
I have never been with a person who could ever be with me. And maybe it’s because I couldn’t be with another person. I could only be fucked up.
But now things are changing. And it fucking sucks.
I live and I die all the time now.
I try to not feel the aloneness of my life. I try to put happy pictures up on Facebook so that my life will be as sweet as I want it to be. And sometimes it even works for a little bit.
But not for very long.
I guess I will always just live in my head. Because I can’t deal with me heart. My fucking heart. Fuck this stupid heart.
I’ve been fucked in my heart AND in my head, but I can deal with being in my head because I can move those parts around easier to make it livable. My heart is destroyed.
I’m sick of the rebuilding efforts.
Sometimes you just have to move away. Sometimes you just have to accept you’re living in a god damned fucking flood zone.
How many ways can I die while I’m still alive? I should write a book about the ways. I think it’s all I have to tell.
What is the point of continuing on to be in the light when you’re never going to get out of this place anyway? What is the point even?
I don’t want any fucking answers either. Because nobody has any fucking answers for me any other time.
All of this is too much for me.
I think I’m in a funk.
I feel rebellious.
And there is a little bit in the rebellion that I like and am afraid to lose. But it’s like this rebellion wants to be let loose to live, and I’m afraid because I don’t know what the rebellion is against.
Does rebellion have to be against something?
Or maybe it can be for something?
I’m not sure right now. All I do is watch the feeling rise. I see it, smell it, hear it. I sense it.
I feel like a baby exploring it. Putting it in my mouth and seeing what happens.
Will this rebellion get me in trouble? Will it hurt me? Is it going to be taken away? Is it mine?
What do I do with this?
Oh, “Feel it,” you say?
Feeling rebellion rise inside of you when you are a married mother of a teenager and baby is interesting stuff.
I think I was about to enter into my “teens” when I had my baby almost 9 months ago. I didn’t think I was going to ever have another child. I always wanted to have another child all those 12 years before I became pregnant again, but I didn’t think it would actually come to be.
And then, there I was, baby-making.
Sometimes, even though it’s heading toward a year postpartum I still look at this Being that’s been created and wonder how in the world she is in my house, with me…and….she’s got me in her…or she’s in me…or….well, definitely we are related…and by blood!
How did this happen?
This weekend I started to feel a new bond with her. I had some of those moments where I thought and felt, “Wow, this baby is my daughter!” It was exciting and gave me a big rush. “Wow, I really have another daughter. There’s this baby in my arms and I inexplicably love her.”
I started to get excited about the years to come. About being “Mom.”
Yes, I am capable of this. “Yes, yes, yes,” I assure myself.
Down every line of writing it feels like there are 10 or more stories I could really tell behind it. So much to open up, but then I know it unfolds, unwinds, and like a scene from one of those movies where the book is opened and the story becomes multi-dimensional, so goes the story of this motherhood.
I would need weeks and weeks to tell this story. How long would it take? How much time would I have to take off from my daily duties to get it told?
I sit here and my advanced crawler climbs to pull up on the chair I am sitting in.
“Not now.” That’s what I’m always telling myself. “No, not now.”
I’m not sure when. Of anything in the world I would ever have or do for myself it would be to get the stories out. I know it seems repetitive and boring on the day-to-day basis of this blog, but there’s a lot of content buried deep.
The bits that get written about are the crumbling pieces on a mound that reaches up like a mountain. I’m hopeful that in reality it’s not like a landfill that’s gotten covered up. But in a way, I’m afraid maybe my stories are a little like that. At least, that’s how they’ve been treated by me. It’s like I grab every piece I can these days and write about it, no matter what it is, just so it doesn’t get added to the pile. Even if it really is trash, lol. I figure I can discard it later if it’s nothing.
I guess those buried stories have found some safety in the garbage heap. And now that the holes in my earth have been filled and dirt has covered them I’m a little uneasy about digging down, even though there are things still breathing in there.
Should I let them die? Should they decompose where they are? Didn’t I never really need them though?
I see this little girl-me sitting on top of this covered landfill now, crying, because her whole life is buried in there. And to the whole world it’s just trash.
And the world I’m speaking of has been created by the other parts of herself (myself) that have gone on to exist without history.
They (I) want it this way. They’re (I’m) afraid to find out they’re (I’m) made up of garbage.
Well, I just don’t know. I really just don’t know. If I don’t die first I think there might be an uprising. And maybe this is the rebellion I’m feeling.
It’s this internal war, this push and shove between who I am and who I am afraid of–myself.
Something has brought me to this place…I don’t know exactly what it is.
I don’t know. I just know that I’m here.
I’m rebelliously here.
And I haven’t been able to make it stop…at least not for now.
Things have been a little hairy lately, and I don’t mean I just forgot to shave.
So my husband decided it was time to get away. Tonight we are on a road trip. We’re not actually on the road anymore, and we’re not tripping, but we are out of town. Right now we’re in La Quinta, USA. Not bad.
And I guess my husband decided it wasn’t time to get away from me because we are actually in very close quarters. A mini van is big, but not that big.
We got in the car (car, as in vehicle) without knowing where we were going. Supposedly. My husband had the idea to stop at the Precious Moments Chapel while we were out because we’d talked about taking our baby girl there before and I’ve never been there, but beyond that there was no real destination.
I found out tonight we’re going to Graceland…at least, we’re going to try. We have an 8 month old driving, so the schedule is determined to some degree by diaper changes and pit stops. And play time. ( She hasn’t lost sense of priorities yet, thank goodness!)
But the announcement that we were going to Graceland was thematic for the day. Grace is a theme that can never get old or worn out, in my opinion, by it’s nature.
I started off going to sunrise yoga, and the song played during Savasana was, to my great surprise, “Amazing Grace.” Amazing.
When we got to destination of the Precious Moments Chapel, we got there just in the nick of time. We slid in right before they locked the doors and they let us stay as long as we wanted. Grace.
Then when the scheduler (our baby (her middle name is Grace, by the way)) decided it was time to stop driving for the night, my husband announced we were going to Graceland. How sweet the sound.
And when some things were coming up on a Friday evening, a couple hundred (or so) miles away from home, I was able to contact my therapist and he was there and that alone helped. That saved a wretch like me.
So now I am so tired. So so tired. My husband and baby are already sleeping, and by the Grace of God I will too!
Tomorrow: The Journey takes me where it will…
I am sitting on my kitchen floor. Not because I’m in the middle of some breakdown, and not because I just spilled a bag of chocolate chips. No, the chocolate chips are sitting in a bag right beside me and I am eating them very purposefully.
I’m sitting here now, on my (somewhat dirty) kitchen floor because right now this is where the best light is in my house. My husband just left with our baby girl for an errand (A break! Thank you, Husband!) and left the door open and it’s letting in the warmest sun.
I’m listening to Lucinda Williams and writing on my blog because I said I would-or at least maybe thought to myself that I would like to-try to write in the moment a little more. This is all about a moment in the light and follow through. And chocolate… Not Ghirardelli, not Godiva, just good old dependable Hershey’s. Nothing too fancy because this moment in the light is enough.
I’m finding the more I follow through on my words and ideas the more I respect myself. The more I’m happy with me for being present and doing something about any given situation, whether it’s to embrace it, thank it, or work to make it better.
Oh beautiful sunlight, how I love you. Oh tasty chocolate, what treat you are to me. Thank you, Husband, for giving me a break!
Sunlight on my face and music in my ears, a refreshed spirit for when my family walks back in through the door, and an intention fulfilled…A lot can happen if you give the moment a chance! The light will find its way to shine inside, but leaving the door open doesn’t hurt!
This is the way I feel this evening. I (“I” in the plural…I count 6 Me’s in this photo) am contemplative and reflecting. This photo was actually taken by my oldest daughter as I tried on my wedding dress for the first fitting/alteration. I can kind of still remember the day, or at least that part of the day. I was so solemn. I remember going to this appointment and wondering why I wasn’t giddy and gushing like the other brides-to-be in the store. I couldn’t make my mouth smile even though I really did try. The more I tried smiling the more I came close to crying so I stopped and just let it be. I guess I figured there would be enough time to put effort into fulfilling expectations later.
This was a serious occasion for me. Monumental. I was going through a ritual I didn’t think I would EVER be facing for myself again. The weight of almost an entire decade riddled with trauma, struggle and raising my daughter on my own-alone-was on me. Getting married was full of mixed feelings. I was happy and hopeful, but mostly scared. Taking this step overflowed with uncertainty. Just how much uncertainty I didn’t yet know. It wouldn’t be until my wedding night that I got a better picture…
There’s a lot to say about how our marriage began, but I’m not quite able to speak it. I don’t know how to go there, or if I even should. The point of this post wasn’t really intended to focus on marriage issues so much. What I’m trying to express is the feeling place I am in today.
Earlier today I was soaring, so I was searching for a picture of my skydive when this photo popped up, and then it clicked. I really should learn to write in the moment and not wait until later when things are quiet and the baby is in bed. I probably miss sharing a lot of “up” times by doing that. By the time the day is coming to a close I’m tired and coming down. The only thing that hasn’t really changed from earlier today is that I’m still kind of speechless.
Now, here I am with all these thoughts running through my head about landing in a marriage when really I’d rather be focusing on the feeling of taking a plunge from a plane 13,000 feet in the air.
Photos, like music, can say things you just couldn’t say otherwise. Maybe it’s just my reflective mood tonight that makes it so easy for this image to sweep me away. I don’t know…I just know the girl in that picture has a lot on her mind(s).
I’ve come upon some hard places this week. These “places” are still in the darkness, but the light is shining in and I don’t know what to do with the silhouettes I see. Things feel black and white and have sharp edges.
There’s something about coming to God and showing up to my spiritual journey that makes my reality clearer and tougher to see at the same time. Somehow God time leads back to the heart. This journey has a way of going around all the wired reasoning that can keep things grounded in things that don’t change. This journey is starting to change me. I’m having to face some really unpleasant realities which my brain isn’t always too pleased about. My heart opens and feels more pure for the insight, but my brain struggles to take it all in. What to do with all this new information?
My therapist said something last Tuesday that has haunted me all week. He was using a metaphor to try to describe something to me, and now I don’t even know what the original topic was totally about. I don’t remember the conversation we were having, but I remember this one part of what he said because it kind of made everything inside me stop. It made my heart stop. He was relating something to being like “that feeling when you really want to kiss a boy you like but you’re scared to. ” I think he was relating it to my experience with God. It stopped me dead in my tracks because as he was saying this my heart dropped. I’m married and I couldn’t even connect with what he was saying. And I thought, “Shouldn’t I know something about this feeling of want he’s speaking of?”
It flashed up all these images of “boys” I’ve kissed. My therapist was sitting there talking about some other completely different topic (or is it?) and all I could see, one by one down the line, was boys I had kissed who I hadn’t even wanted to. My heart literally seemed to stop. I wanted to say something. I wanted to say, “No. I don’t know that feeling,” but I couldn’t. My words were all bound up and nothing made sense. Eventually he seemed to catch on that particular feeling-example wasn’t clicking with me and moved on, and the images sort of fell away….but the feeling and remembrance of having not wanted to “kiss a boy” but doing it anyway has not left me. I’ve tried to get it (and the feelings it brought up) to go away, but the light keeps following it.
I remember kissing different boys and dying a little inside. Sometimes I died a lot. The cliche “kiss of death” comes to mind. And maybe this wouldn’t be such a hard thing to think about if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m married. But I am. Shouldn’t I at least be able to conjure up the memory of passion for my husband? I’m ashamed. I’m embarrassed. It feels more frightening to think about than a lot of other things in my life, and I’ve been through some pretty hellacious stuff.
I’m dedicated. I’m committed. I love my husband. But I don’t know what this is about…this lack of memory of desire. It’s had to have been there before. It had to have existed at one time, right? Right??? I wish the light would go away. Maybe darkness is better. It’s more solid and reliable….It stays dark. It doesn’t form dependable things into uncertain shapes.
I look at the depression I have been carrying around with me. I know that I’ve felt so disconnected from my husband, but the saddest part of it all is how disconnected we have been from the start. And now that I’m reconnecting to myself and especially to the deeper aspects of me I feel even more alone and apart. The disconnection I have with my husband is becoming more pronounced.
I’m trying to learn through it. I’m trying to understand what this means for me and for us and our family. I know I’m not going anywhere. I know I’m not ending this relationship. I’m just not quite understanding how this is going to work out. How am I going to get better, become more whole and start really living life if our relationship is not intact. I am so committed to him that I think if our relationship isn’t connected as it needs to be then I can’t really be where I need to be as a connected individual either. I don’t know what to do about this situation.
I live alone in my days and in my nights. It’s not just me who knows this. We’re both aware, but I seem to be the one more bothered by it. I crave so much more. I suppose I am the more addicted one.
I want more out of everything. I have always known that living with somebody and being lonely is much more painful than living alone. Maybe this is just a phase. Maybe it will pass and one day I’ll wake up and I will no longer be alone anymore. I keep hoping this is something within me so I can make it change and fix myself to take care of this issue. Everyday when I am working to connect with my husband and it’s not working I relive the pain of my life when through all the years of all of my years I was yearning for somebody to love and hold me…because they wanted to. Because I had value to them.
I think that I do have value to my husband. I think deep down I do. I don’t think it’s really so much a matter of us not loving each other. It’s the connection thing that gets in the way, lol. It’s like we each go in for a kiss and miss each other’s face and fall head first flat on the ground with no arms ready to catch ourselves because we thought we were going to lean into each other. It hurts terribly and our only connection ends up being the betrayal we both feel after the fall. Sometimes I think I feel that fall more deeply because I’m the one focused on making connections. I think in the beginning I desired him and desired him intensely, but after so many falls I have come to not look forward to the miss so the entire experience and memory of “the kiss” is coming close to being wiped out and changed.
Anyway, I love my husband. I want him. I want his want for me.
And I’m putting this here because surely I’m not the only one in the world experiencing something like this. And I’m putting this here because everything I write, even if not seemingly hopeful in the moment….is about hope. It’s here because I believe in the process and I believe in telling the truth-The truth as well as I can possibly know it.
I’ve gone through my life with so many things happening and such little recall for how it occurred. I’m not leaving myself anymore. I’m staying with me. I’m going to love myself enough to connect with who I am and I think when I can do this I’ll be better able to take my husband’s hand and walk this path together.
It is dark and sharply painful now, but two people going down a path holding hands is a soft silhouette I have hope of creating. I get the feeling this will probably have something to do with God after all.
Maybe we should just sing this song to each other! I couldn’t help but think of this song as I was writing!