Leaning In

A re-heated cup of coffee.

Day 3 hair. 

A Paw Patrol figurine neglected on the kitchen table.

Another Lego under my foot. I curse the creator of the sharp red torture device and move on, leaving it to attack another day.

Laundry.

So. Much. Laundry.

I look in the mirror and wonder whose body I am in.  There are lines and dimples all over. Pants that fit too tight.  I tug on a compression tank top, begging it to work its magic on a belly that has grown three babies.  Do I hate it? Not really. Do I feel like I should? Sometimes.  I am not waking up to exercise at 5 a.m. or counting every morsel I put into my mouth. I don’t have the time or the energy.  Scratch that. I don’t want to use the time or the energy I have for that.  There is a difference. I know.  I am starting to question what I actually want vs. what I think I want based on all of the various influences in my life.

The running narrative begins…my mind is buzzing.  I teeter between giving myself grace and being lazy. Some days I find comfort in a hot cup of tea snuggled up on the couch and others I turn to food and alcohol. I laugh with my kids and I scream at my kids. The daily battles. The constant questioning. Am I doing enough? Can I sustain this? Am I processing and coping everything going on in a healthy way? The answer to that last one is definitely a no.

I’ve written a couple of times this past year about this current season of life and its challenges. It’s the hardest I’ve faced.  There are things about it that would be hard on their own: 3 kids age 5 and under, working full time, managing a household, marriage, etc.  Throw in a pandemic, a mom with cancer and a dad that can’t catch a break on the journey to get a healthy knee, and I’m suffocating.  It’s too much and I find myself feeling like not enough on a daily basis. But there are also so many moments of gratitude. So many things to be thankful for. What if we still lived hundreds of miles away? What if my job didn’t give me nearly as much grace and flexibility as they do?  We have a house, healthy kids, steady income, friends, family…so many support systems.

So, I step away from the mirror. I vow to stop judging how I’m doing by the reflection that stares back at me. Focus on the present moment. Focus on what I can control now. These are the moments you think about – the “what would you do if…” moments and I’d probably go on record and say I’d change all of the answers I ever gave when playing that game in the past.  I would choose simple moments with family over elaborate adventures. I would choose quiet peace over deafening music. I would choose to cry when it’s hard and laugh when it’s harder. I would be patient with myself and lean into the hard stuff.

Last year I felt like I was telling a story whenever I talked about what was going on. It didn’t feel like my life though I was keenly aware that it was. I buried the hurt and reality deep down in my gut because when you’re trying to live in the moment and seize the day, you do so with a smile on your face. Or so I thought. I told my therapist that I likely needed to learn how to cope because my current method was guaranteed to blow up in my face and I had too many balls in the air to let them all drop at once.  The best advice she gave me was to fall apart, together. She challenged me by asking what was the worst that could happen? When I had dubbed myself one that was capable of holding it together when others needed to fall apart, she reminded me that I had no control over how anyone else dealt with their feelings or their pain. There might be stages of grief but there is no perfect formula. It turns out, it’s much harder to lean into your own emotions than try to comfort others in theirs.  Who knew?

Every time I sit down to write it’s because I feel a pull to get something out.  I know there is something inside me that needs to get on the page, and I pray there is someone that finds comfort in the words.  Sometimes it makes sense and other times, like this one for example, it’s disjointed.  It’s also a very accurate depiction of my brain so I’ll go with it. If you needed to read these words to know you aren’t alone, I’m glad you found them.  If it’s time for you to lean into your own emotions and ride it out, I hope you do. It hurts, but feeling is worth it.

Until next time,

T