I have to post this, because it’s been weighting heavy on my heart.
I love doing my blog and bringing light to chaos and mess, struggles and the dog days of motherhood.
But, then I get messages from people who read telling me how strong, brave, wonderful, etc I am, and as much as I love them, it makes me feel like a fraud.
I’m working on healing, but I’m far from even being close. Most days are a struggle to make it to the end, and sometimes I’m not sure how I do. God is the answer, but you can get an idea of what I mean.
Yesterday I woke up to my baby cactus pulled from its planter and dirt covering the floor, cranky kids, and a thoroughly dirty house. My peace was running so thin, and I finally had to send the kids upstairs so I could mop the sticky, dirty, messy floors that are proof I have kids and pets.
I sat on my knees in the kitchen, I cried, and I prayed, hard. I felt pain and sadness and what really lies under my overwhelmed emotions and anger. It’s the only way I know how to get back to my “true” self versus the angry cactus-prickly self that seems to be most dominant.
Toys have officially all been moved upstairs because Yankee can’t stop eating them and the kids won’t pick them up.
Most people say their cats help their anxiety, and in a non cruel way, it makes me want to laugh. I’m sure it’s possible, but mine are demon assholes and they cost me the last bits of peace I may have at any given moment.
Alvi dozed off on my lap, and I took deep breaths and found my peace. I can do this, but I’m still fragile. It takes work and time. Dedication. To a better life for my kids. When Alvi brought me her shoes, I knew God was pushing me to do what was on my heart. Let the kids go hangout with grandma and make a solo trip to the greenhouse to finish my fairy garden. The relief I felt from just a short break, a good cry, and a few small things that bring joy to my heart was absolutely overwhelming, in a good way, of course.
I wore jeans with mud spots on them from yesterday to church. No one noticed. We were 13 minutes late. No one judged. I missed my favorite part; the singing. I may be terrible, but my God, it makes my soul feel so good. Alvi had a tantrum at the end so we finished the service in the lobby, barefoot with her hair pulled almost all the way out.
Regardless, I got the message I needed. Not every storm that happens is because of something I’ve done. Sometimes we’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Other times, our storms are exactly that. Ours. Directly linked to choices we’ve made. Either way? Things can change.
They don’t normally sing at the end, but God knew I was missing one of the things I crave most. The band sang at the end! How amazing is that?
We have to hurry home for teeball, but that’s okay. It’s going to be a darn good day, and everything is going to be alright.
One step at a time, no matter how big or small. One moment at a time. One day at a time. I’ve got this, and so do you.