And there are good days

There are good days and there are bad days, and this is one of them. -Lawrence Welk

Kevin said he was going to do yard work today. At 4:30 am when I woke and peered out the bathroom window I thought, “ya right, it’s gonna rain”, in a sort of disappointed voice inside my head. I love when he does the yard work. The smell and sounds remind me of home, even though I am still not totally sure where home is these days. I like to watch the littles chase after him with their bubble mowers and dirty faces and we eat lunch on the porch, watching tiny-giant ants looking for lunch bits we’ve left behind. I’ve missed these days. Where we connected. We are connected now.

There are bad days. Sunday was a bad day. It will not rest well with my soul for a while I fear. Sunday turned into a Monday and then Tuesday, the longest, most painful day of the week. I made a mistake. I cried. I yelled a little and I drank a half a bottle of wine. And then it was Wednesday and I got sucked into the abyss of bad days. I won’t let that happen again. Today, I cleared my browser history. I turned my phone upside down. I promised myself I wouldn’t look. I wouldn’t respond. And I won’t. Therapist Erin told me to get a sticker to put on whatever radiates the sadness I’d fallen prey to. So that I remember to take a deep breath. I’ll walk my beautiful children to the Dollar Tree and purchase those round smiley face stickers I’d bought once before to praise the potty. I will put one on my phone. I will put one on my PC and I will remember to put one on social media. I will not cry today. I will not cry for any other reason than that I want to. Today will not be a bad day. I am promising myself there will be fewer. I will write when I want. I will likely feel afraid again and shut it all down but I will talk myself into coming back, perhaps minutes later,  and maybe only after reading the ass kicking texts from girlfriends, or in this case Beckyfriends. Those will be the good bad days.

This is not a bad day though. This is a good day. Today, I whispered to a tiny soul that mama needed to breathe. I smelled his tiny sweet head and kissed his tiny ears. And mama got a shower and I got to feel the bliss of true and kind love. I got to feel his tiny breath against my neck and feel his tiny heart beat against my own. And I knew, just then, the pain of what was coming would be okay. Endurable forgettable. He walked with me and smelled lilacs, maybe for his first time and we talked to dogs and birds and butterflies with his cousins inside my hands and holding onto my heart.

This is not a bad day. I found new music, the creativity to paint and start a long put off project for someone I really like and want to make this for. I put the flannel in the wash which  says my soul is ready to sew again. I opened the windows and let in the sounds. I opened emails, just in time to find an invite from someone I wanted to be friends and who might just wanna be friends with me. And my soul took a breath. And my heart said to me, “this is not a bad day”. I signed up for something new and scary and fresh. I responded to a few texts. I made a promise to have coffee. I commited to cake pops. I am finding myself inside the hurricane. Inside the rubble. I’m feeding the birds and they’re feeding me. I am finding myself above the lies.

I made an appointment to start my sleeve. Five bunnies, one little boy. A baseball, a mouse, a camera and sharp sewing scissors. Left arm. Not right. Right is for Gram. She’s been gone awhile now. I am remembering that I know all the goods as well as the bad and that it takes bravery to have chosen this path. This good day is telling me I am not the monster.

This is a good day and I am not a monster. This is a good day and I did not do anything to deserve this. This is a good day.

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

And the praying continues

My phone blew up yesterday. I had to turn it off. I am sorry for not responding. I eventually will. And I realize how rude it is to read and not respond but the unfortunate reality of my state of mind is that I cannot do it. And the well-meaning, “I am still praying for you”? Salt. Horrible, bubbly salt. Stop it.

1.)Someone who hides malicious intent under the guise of kindliness

2.)A person who is “two-faced

1-“Hey I just met the nicest girl.”

2-“Yeah I saw…I know her, she hurts guys just for fun, her kindness is fake.”

1-“Jeez..what a wolf in sheep’s clothing”

My life, in a nutshell right now. A wolf, hiding under the sheepish shape of God and religion. A wolf who’s hatefully posted for weeks only to recoil when a kind young man, befriended them. The tone changed when I boiled over. They didn’t see the weeks of Tweets. The drive-bys, the Instagram photos of stalking work. They missed when they lied online about who I was and what they were going through. They don’t hear all the lies this person believes and uses as weapons against me. They didn’t see all the passiveness shrink away when called out on it. When I got called psychotic for looking at this person public Twitter when they have found ways to look at my private Instagram then tweet passively about how “fake” we were. So, eff you. For taking a side. Fuck you for picking the villain and not the victim if you were so inclined to feel you had to choose. God is not real. If he was, I wouldn’t feel shunned time and time again. Shunned when I didn’t sign your rule book. Shunned when I didn’t provide free services. Shunned when I had unanswerable and uncomfortable questions and shunned when I need someone to lift me up. God is not real. And religion is just an excuse to sing the praises of forgiveness instead of digging into the real problems. I am done with praying. Stop praying for me. Praying doesn’t work.

It’s people, not God that do this. I know that he wasn’t going to reach down a redirect crashing airplanes but everyone speaks of hearing him and I cannot. All I hear is silence and I see pain. All the time pain. I see babies who die and children who get cancer. I see bombs and angry and mean. This wolf in my life who can’t think of anyone but themselves. Who stole my memories and my peace. They live in the God bubble. It just makes me want nothing, ever, to do with God again. You don’t have to be a part of a church to be the good. I can be the good. I am not this monster.

I am so fucking angry right now. So incredibly angry. I am angry that my tiny problems balled up into this. That I let the “it could be so much worse” trap me into this corner of not trying to get it out and now, I have this enormous, ungodly demon floating around me all the time. Each silver car that passed made me shiver only to find out that the silver car was traded for another; convenient. Afraid to go out, afraid to do anything. I am angry that my kids’ lives got turned upside down and that everything I loved, changed and now looks different, feels different, smells different and is different. That I am the outsider in the circle and while the volumes of people reaching out make me feel loved, I am so hardened that I cannot accept it or permit myself to believe that they love me. How can anyone love me….. how do you get the words “well at least someone does” out of my head. How do you accept that people love you when this kind of thing happens in your life? How do you prevent the wolf and the illness from winning? Because they’re fucking winning. The wolf, a pathetic clone of what they thought was me. Ill-proportioned words and bravery, staggeringly hidden under the guise of “say it to my face” and “do you have something to say to me” but only in an audience and not one and one. That’s fear, whether wolves believe it or not. Running, fearfully from the store, knowing I was coming. Passively tweeting, that’s fear. Lying is fear.

Winning. What’s the prize? What do any of us win in this? A poverty of peace. A poverty of love. Instability. We all win fear. We win angry and we win sad. Surely you can’t believe anyone believes your painted words. Surely you have to realize how words mean nothing and actions mean everything. And you can’t fix smudges all the time.

Please stop telling me you’re praying for me. I don’t want to hear it anymore.

 

 

 

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

I am human and I am here

My world came crashing down a little over a month ago. It was the prolific implosion of pain and hurt and sad and angry and everything in between and had, no has literally brought me to my knees. Painfully so, to the point, the bruises seems as though they will be there forever. Inwardly they will be. Outward, I do a pretty good job of hiding 80% of the pain. Until there is wine of course. Then it’s either sad or angry and often both, at the same time and with a ferocity that makes me not recognize myself. But the wine helps me sleep when the medicine and the melatonin fail. And I am sadder and scarier without a few good hours of rest.

I am not ready to talk about why. I may never be. I spend enough time in the apparently “shameful” therapist’s office now, that I know it doesn’t need to be put here. This month I’ve learned better than I ever thought I could, that social media is a fucking nightmare and people, often under the guise of Christianity, are evil and terrible and mean. That in one moment they can quote Psalms and in the next to make fun of how someone looks, or that they seek help or insult that they perhaps are the actual victim in this scenario.

I have learned that people reach out to you often not because they want to take care of you or love you but because they are dying to know the story. I’ve never cringed so much at the sight of the words “I am praying for you”, in my entire life. The pity looks are almost worse though. “You poor thing”, their eyes read. As if I am some starving African child. Don’t pity me. Treat me as you always have. The pity face makes me feel inhuman.

But I have also learned that people will drive hundreds of miles to keep you from the doors of destruction. That they will bring you groceries and text you through the middle of the night and that they won’t judge you or feel hurt that you’ve become so disconnected that you don’t know a single thing that is going on in their lives. Those people who truly know the meaning of love and community will rush to your rescue when the insanity makes you fear for your safety. They will call the police when the words are too hard to force out of my own mouth, those words will come out of theirs. They will take record of the cruelty and deception. They will fiercely fight for you when you don’t have the strength. They will make sure that you have what you need to go on when you’re not sure you can. I have learned that despite the demons in my head, people care about me and have always, I was just so blind in self-depreciation, that I couldn’t see that there was love all around me. For the most part, that makes the hurt, hurt a little less.

My baby turned 5 this last month. My nephew born. I have been married now 17 years; I have spent nearly half my life with the same person. I enrolled in the doula certification course; of course I can’t even get through the manual but it’s self-paced, thank God. In the past month, I’ve found my voice, bravery and realized my tenacity is fierce. I’ve decided my soul is starving and this horrible, implosion is the kick in the ass I needed to be brave again. I walked into a church for the first time in many years, my heart fully open to Him. I walked in that same church fully prepared to “say it to your face”. I did not sneak in a back door. I did not make a scene. I made it clear that I am human and I am here.

I’d thought long and hard about deleting this blog. Knowing that the catalyst to this insanity has been reading it for close to a year I believe. That they used my words to create this monster that I am not. They used my anxiety and depression and the desire to share and heal other people as a tool to help build this lie that they had a right to hurt people; that they deserved something. No one deserves anything. Especially when you’ve attempted to earn it with lies, deceit, and cruelty. I know you are there, I know you are reading. And I am here, I am human and I am not hiding anymore.

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.