The baby is fussing in his crib. I feel my daughter beside me. I’m so tired. I feel the fear, so familiar, pricking at the edges of my barely conscious mind. I need to wake up. Eyes open, rolling over. She says, “it’s ok, Mama, I’ll cheer him while you wake up.”
“Ok Baby, thank you.” What time is it? 9:27. Text messages-stab of fear. My mom has sent us a link to some John piper thing. About hoping in God. I feel a wall go up. She says because she loves us (me) and we (I) matter. I want to believe that. I don’t want to throw up a wall. I start reading and scan a bit. Maybe it won’t be so bad,Ron make it worse. Maybe it will help? Maybe. I head to the bathroom. Great, first day of my period. So much for the goal day measurements and check in I had planned. I look at my bloated abdomen and feel hopeless and discouraged. I get the kids from the baby’s crib, shower kisses and change a diaper, she exchanges pull up for panties. I tell them I’m going to take a shower (I never shower when they are awake, but-I matter, right? And I haven’t showered in well over a week.) and I do. I pray in the shower, but then the thoughts of pain, rejection, and being ignored by a loved one come flooding in. Then the anxiety thoughts that can easily turn to paralyzing fear. No. I breathe deeply and turn off the water. I turn my mind to the possibilities and dreams ahead. To the fitness goals I want to pursue, to creativity, to life beyond this pain. I want to be beyond this pain. 10:04. Get dressed. Workout clothes, all pink. Tank says: “Get your mind right”. Yup, trying to. Hair starting to dry tumbles almost to my waist in a cloud of messy curls. No product to tame it today. I should really shave my legs if I’m gonna wear capris.
“Bub, wanna go downstairs and eat?”
I hold his hand as he slowly makes his way down.
Pour coffee and put in microwave. Banana for him. I let him carry it to his chair and as I wipe his tray, still dirty from last night, he opens it and starts eating. I laugh from my belly-I didn’t know he knew how! In his chair, he eats, while I measure b12 liquid. I am holding it in my mouth when I hear “Zoom zoooooom zoooom!” Coming down the stairs. “MAMA I CAN PLEASE HAVE BERRY JUICE WITH A STRAW?!?!” Get her breakfast, take b12 and omegas. Make tea. Pour coffee. Stare into space because here come those fears again. You need to write. Maybe therapy would help. But I’m scared of so many things and I don’t want to be pushed too hard. I just want compassion. I want to be heard and someone tell me my feelings matter and I do deserve better. That though the fear seems real, it can be overcome. That danger isn’t looming constantly and I can be free to live. That I am loved. Scott tells me, and he’s just amazing, but this is too much for him to have to carry. He sees me suffering and he wants to make it better, but he feels helpless and I feel like I’m failing him. Ok. Enough thinking. What are you gonna do today? 11:04 AM.