I’m having a difficult time and I’m embarrassed about that. Worse, I’m ashamed.
The shame is wrapped around the word “should” and I know it. I should be able to control it. I should be able to get through it. I should be able to get beyond it. “It” being a million things and/or one singular thing: pain, worry, fatigue.
My adult children are struggling and as any mom will tell you, the thread that connects us never goes away. So, when they suffer, I suffer.
When I’m asleep (fitfully) I’m dreaming of an old house where I lived… over and over and over. I know there’s something there to look at… something my dreams are trying to tell me. Dreams = simple + complicated.
I sat down to write and realized I haven’t had a single glass of water today. Not one. I thought, “I should get up and get water.” And yet, I sat. I turned on the computer, stared at the blank screen and then finally dragged myself to the fridge. Finally, sustenance.
I’m sick of my meds but I’m taking them. It’s not that. I’m doing things I’ve never done before… taking classes and getting certificates and feeling proud and scared. I’m doing it afraid. Whatever “it” is. I’m doing it.
I went to the dentist, had my blood tests. I’m getting up and going to work when it’s the last thing I feel like doing.
Did you see Tiger Woods won the Masters? Do you know what I love about that? Everything!
In the early days after the scandal, when he played, stumbled and lost, I thought, “That’s what you get, asswipe” and admit it wasn’t my finest hour. He was breaking into a million pieces in front of us, trying to hang on to some semblance of dignity in spite of it all, and couldn’t do it. I wanted him to go away, hide in the shadows, where the cheaters and infidels go, never to be seen again.
But he carried on. He got help. He fell. He got up again. And here we are, ten years later… and damn if he didn’t rebuild himself and his career. That takes guts! He gets props from me! Not that he needs ’em.
And this brings up that whole notion of shame, doesn’t it? And shoulds. And how it’s so much easier to forgive someone who never asked for it and doesn’t need it… than to forgive myself.
It’s been gloomy and that sure doesn’t help. I’m tired beyond belief. I’m worried about my kids and dreading the week ahead. And dreaming of an old house. What does it all mean?
It means I need to go within. Sort out what’s normal (worrying about kids) and what’s not worth my time (worrying about the future). It means I am falling backwards into old thinking and decrepid houses that no longer exist.
That was then. This is now.
No wonder my book isn’t getting written.
More shame and guilt. This sucks.
Time to change course. What’s first? I don’t know but I’ll figure it out. My sanity depends on it!