Monday, June 27, 2011

Forced optimism?

I woke up this morning feeling that one shouldn't have to "TRY" to feel better.  One shouldn't have to make an "EFFORT" to feel joy.  One shouldn't have to "CONVINCE" oneself that everything will be o.k..  A person should not have to "FORCE" optimism.

And yet...that's who I am.

I'm not someone who typically used to be a whiner.  A complainer.  A worry wart.

And yet...when I look in the mirror lately...that is the woman I've become.  Someone who tries to blink away tears when a smiling person says "How's it going?" or "How are you today?"  I've become someone who knows that each corner may have something lurking.  Something I don't want to encounter.  I complain.  I whine.  I worry.  And mostly....I panic.

It doesn't take much to rock my boat any more, and that feels strange and kilter.

I consider myself a pretty resilient person when I look at my resume of life.  I survived abuse, neglect, all around poor parenting, sexual violation, and an icky, sad childhood and I was still a pretty sweet, happy kid.  I survived being a teen mom with all the nasties and judgements that go along with that and I was still a really great and attentive mama. I've lived through parenting a child with undiagnosed bi-polar disorder and I can't say that my parenting skills were lacking even without knowing what I was dealing with.  My son felt loved and nurtured through it all.  He still does.  I've had to let my parents, who suffer with untreated mental health issues, go their own ways in order to stop the hurts they inflict, even though letting them go has been like a ripping apart of my heart.  I've gone through bumps in my beautiful marriage, and bruises in my personal life. I've risen through places no parent wants to encounter as a child hung near deaths door.  I've lived through several miscarriages....I've lived through stillbirths...and my own death.   Twice.

And now, I am here.

Standing here.  A writer.  A mother.  A wife.  A competent healer and educator.  A friend. 

And, I feel weak.


As if I've never had a child before.  As if I have no idea what to do.  As if I am in a freeze frame of fear that I can't move away from.

I feel lost.

I look at the items I've collected.  Just a few sweet things...for my little girl.
I know I need to gather more.  I know I'm totally deficient in the baby supply category.

But...I'm so afraid to ask for more.  And really, who would I ask?

Who is going to take care of me?

Of us?

And why?  Why is it that after a lifetime of being totally control...

that I feel lost.  Alone.  And...mostly...sad.  Why do I even want anyone else to take care of me when I've spent most of the past 37 years taking care of myself and others?

My little girl is coming.  She has beautiful older brothers and the best daddy in the world to greet her with smiles.  She's on the wings of our twins and I have to believe that she WILL be here.

I see the tears in my husbands eyes.  I see the stress on his shoulders.  I grab them, and try to rub away the mounting tension that I know is related to the worry that is plaguing him too.

The worry, caused by all the what if's.  The worry, caused by the absence of elders who seem to know anything about anything.

I look in the mirror, and I see silver strands, and I realize that there are no elders.  Not for me.  I am the elder.  I look at my husband, who yearns for a father to tell him what to to stay strong...and there is no one...just the image of a sweet balding man with beautiful blue eyes and emotional pain etched in the lines emerging on his forehead.  He is the elder.  There isn't anyone else to lean learn ask questions of.  We are the elders we are seeking...and it is a crushing blow to realize that there is no one else.  For either of us.

I'm lost, just like the people who were supposed to love me when I was born and all the way to the now where I stand.  I'm lost, just like the adults who were supposed to know the way and point it out to me so that I wouldn't stumble.  I'm afraid, just like the grown ups before me were afraid.

But...there is a difference.  You see....I'm a fighter.  I'm going to keep on trying.  I'm not going to give up.

I'm worried.  Afraid.  Alone.  Unguided.

And if my past has anything at all to do with my future....I will make it, and when I do, you can be sure that my children won't feel so alone.  I'll be there.  I'll be whispering support and showing affection.  I'll be pointing the way with a smile.  I'll be offering a hand.

The road will be open, because I am currently working my ass off to clear the jungle ahead of us away in the hopes that when I look back over my shoulder, what I will see is the freedom I want for my children that comes with the ability to move forward unencumbered, but supported. 

Sweet baby you swim around in the sea of hormones that your terrified mama can't seem to curb...know that all of that worry is because she loves you more than she could ever express, and please...don't be afraid.  I promise to love you forever...and to care for you always.


  1. Oh Sara ... such a lot for one life. Pregnancy after loss is one of the most arduous processes our mental health has to endure. We straddle hope and horror, love and loss.

    Your rainbow knows your love. For all the stress and strain of his pregnancy, my little rainbow is sweet and happy and seemingly unscathed by my hormones. Your little girl will beam out the love she receives too. I believe it.

  2. My dear friend, Just want you to know I love you and am praying for your buttercup and your fraglie heart. Always.


Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to add your own reflections.