When I was younger I used to lay on my floor with my feet strategically posted next to my radio. I would listen to Mariah Carey sing about love and All 4 One swoon me promises about my wedding day. I was in love with love. I would even go as far as to sit on my desk in front on my window in hopes that someone would walk by and be stopped by my beauty only to later throw rocks at my window to get my attention. My mind and heart were young, innocent, and STUPID. Forget the whole "naive," that's just a pleasant way of saying that someone is stupid. I'll just come right out and admit it.
It seems only right that fifteen years later I acknowledge what has happened to my heart. The past couple of months I have been searching my soul and spirit. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. Even as I write this I am going back and erasing words that are too honest even for myself. Intimidated by the back lash and judgment I delete some phrases and sentences I am not ready to unleash to the public.
When I was twelve I was scarred. Yes, it has healed. It is just a piece of my past now, no longer creeping into my dreams. Or so I like to think. But once where my heart was (no there's not an ice box there), instead a smaller-less-productive heart resides. I engulf myself into my work and tasks of the day and than at night, before I rest my head on a very uncomfortable pillow, I think. I search that small heart for peace and purpose. Sometimes I think I'm still twelve. Still stupid.
I had let myself get used and tormented by the men in my life. Emotionally and physically. Now, here I am a woman almost 30 and I am emotionally tormenting myself. What did my mother train me to become? Who have I let God "exchange" me into? Questions burn through my mind and into that little heart of mine constantly.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Storm
You know that feeling that so many people talk about? The one where you have just survived the worst thunderstorm you have ever been in and look up expecting to see sunshine, but instead you can see black-green clouds looming and you know you must embrace for the hardest hit?
That's where I'm at right now. After a grueling "spring break" tutoring in KCMO, I've been struggling with what one may assume to be an easy three day adjustment back into finishing the last leg of my student teaching. Ironically in the last three days of literal rain I have also had the chance to look up and see the metaphoric clouds quickly approaching.
Just as efficiently as I closed my lap top my eyes re-focused on what I was surrounded in. A house that had been un kept because of my busy schedule. I apparently forgot to write in asking someone to help me clean. ---Wait. No I didn't. I scheduled time for myself to clean, but put Little Matt's new twin size bed together instead. That consumed three hours that had been strategically placed for cleaning.
Now as I ventured into the kitchen to clean the 5 minute-do-dinner-in-microwave mess that was covering the counter, I turned around to a sink over flowing with dishes. My feet were successfully tracking bread crumbs from linoleum to carpet, and speaking of carpet, those Spring buds that I love so much were all over my living room floor. Which was a little difficult to see under the kids' coloring books, broken crayons, markers, bills, hair bows, and toys that had managed to escape the non-effective "toy basket" for the living room. I sighed and went to turn off the lights only to allow myself a chance to see what I was truly trying to hide. My failure. I sat on the arm of the couch contemplating accepting defeat or battling the mess. I chose the third option. Ask for help.
Remembering that I was married and that my husband had just been sleeping on the floor I went to our room to finally put my pride to the side and ask for him to help me clean the mess in the living room. After a little debate and me finally admitting in an exasberated voice, "I am about to cry. I need you help," he arose from the bed still partially in REM stage 3 of sleep. He managed to pick up a couple toys and his pie plate before I heard the bedroom door close again.
I walked down the hallway to be greeted with what I already knew. The door was closed. The light was off. My help was gone--to bed. I begged. I gave in. I turned to battle the storm myself. But just as those who rise from the protection of their basement to see that their home and everything they knew to be normal was ripped away and replaced with shreds and debris---I saw my house after the storm. Failure was at my feet in the petal filled hallway. It was on my couch in the still to be put together book shelf. It was filling my sink in the dirty dishes and crumb filled floor. I was no longer in the eye of the storm. I some how slept through the actual tornado and now I was standing in the aftermath.
I stood in the hallway taking in all that was around me and finally did what I had been needing to do since I found out my sister was diagnosed with blood cancer. I cried.
Even as I write this I struggle to hold back the weakness that is banging to escape my eyes. I allowed myself to cry, but not for my defeat today. For my defeat this year. This was supposed to be my year and I have let my circumstances dictate my reaction and strength. So tonight I am allowing myself to have a moment of weakness. Tonight as you all sleep, as my husband snores in the bed and my children rest in their newly built beds under my broken back....I will cry.
Tomorrow: I will attempt to gather what is left of me after the storm.
That's where I'm at right now. After a grueling "spring break" tutoring in KCMO, I've been struggling with what one may assume to be an easy three day adjustment back into finishing the last leg of my student teaching. Ironically in the last three days of literal rain I have also had the chance to look up and see the metaphoric clouds quickly approaching.
Just as efficiently as I closed my lap top my eyes re-focused on what I was surrounded in. A house that had been un kept because of my busy schedule. I apparently forgot to write in asking someone to help me clean. ---Wait. No I didn't. I scheduled time for myself to clean, but put Little Matt's new twin size bed together instead. That consumed three hours that had been strategically placed for cleaning.
Now as I ventured into the kitchen to clean the 5 minute-do-dinner-in-microwave mess that was covering the counter, I turned around to a sink over flowing with dishes. My feet were successfully tracking bread crumbs from linoleum to carpet, and speaking of carpet, those Spring buds that I love so much were all over my living room floor. Which was a little difficult to see under the kids' coloring books, broken crayons, markers, bills, hair bows, and toys that had managed to escape the non-effective "toy basket" for the living room. I sighed and went to turn off the lights only to allow myself a chance to see what I was truly trying to hide. My failure. I sat on the arm of the couch contemplating accepting defeat or battling the mess. I chose the third option. Ask for help.
Remembering that I was married and that my husband had just been sleeping on the floor I went to our room to finally put my pride to the side and ask for him to help me clean the mess in the living room. After a little debate and me finally admitting in an exasberated voice, "I am about to cry. I need you help," he arose from the bed still partially in REM stage 3 of sleep. He managed to pick up a couple toys and his pie plate before I heard the bedroom door close again.
I walked down the hallway to be greeted with what I already knew. The door was closed. The light was off. My help was gone--to bed. I begged. I gave in. I turned to battle the storm myself. But just as those who rise from the protection of their basement to see that their home and everything they knew to be normal was ripped away and replaced with shreds and debris---I saw my house after the storm. Failure was at my feet in the petal filled hallway. It was on my couch in the still to be put together book shelf. It was filling my sink in the dirty dishes and crumb filled floor. I was no longer in the eye of the storm. I some how slept through the actual tornado and now I was standing in the aftermath.
I stood in the hallway taking in all that was around me and finally did what I had been needing to do since I found out my sister was diagnosed with blood cancer. I cried.
Even as I write this I struggle to hold back the weakness that is banging to escape my eyes. I allowed myself to cry, but not for my defeat today. For my defeat this year. This was supposed to be my year and I have let my circumstances dictate my reaction and strength. So tonight I am allowing myself to have a moment of weakness. Tonight as you all sleep, as my husband snores in the bed and my children rest in their newly built beds under my broken back....I will cry.
Tomorrow: I will attempt to gather what is left of me after the storm.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Balancing knives...success?
I am almost done with my student teaching and as lucrative positions open and close I am drawing and pulling closer to the vision God has given me. I find myself consistently speaking in a future tone. "When I get my own classroom." "Let's get this for my new class." All while the speaking is going on I wrestle with my flesh tearing away my optimistic outlook. This internal struggle may be more evident to myself, but lately I have noticed that my external self is struggling as well.
I have managed to put back on almost 20 pounds that I worked so hard to get rid of, not loose, because I know exactly where I put them and picked them back up! I have also started to fail at the jobs that I find most pertinent in my life. Wife. Mother. How is it that in the midst of trying to balance everything for the sake of the greater good I have lost sight in it? No, not sight. Just hold. I can still see them. I can hear their laughs. However, I have become a spectator in the life I have worked so hard to obtain. I watch my children color and tackle each other. I watch my husband make plans for our business and attend meetings that I should be at. Where did all that balance go? Where is my cape that has all my super powers?
I function day to day just as I did before. Keeping track of my activities, crossing them off as I go so that I do not miss a thing. Shower? Check. Diaper bag ready? Check. Both kids dressed and hair brushed? Check. Living room toys picked up? Check. Papers graded? Check....The list goes on until it runs into the next day. When I look back at the day I realize that I missed the simple moments that I should have soaked in. My daughter reaching for me at 5 am to get out of the crib and cuddle with daddy. Instead I am distracted by the soaked pull-up that has leaked over her night clothes. Change her and quickly exchange kisses for a new onsie. Or my son shooting straight out of bed to ask "Where are we going today?" curious of the day's adventures. Instead I see a wide eyed boy ready to eat breakfast and in desperate need of a bigger bed. Add that to the list.
I missed it.
I missed the moments to sit with my kids and pray. I missed teaching them to thank God for waking them. I missed teaching them how to talk to God first thing. Sure we prayed and thanked God at night, but what about what He has done for us through the night?
I missed it.
I missed my husband getting into bed to tell me about the team meeting. To share with me his vision for our family. I was exhausted from a day of work and planning for the upcoming school week. I missed the opportunity to let him know that I see him. Not just who he was, or who he is, but the small things he is doing to become who God wants him to be. Yes, I feel it's taking a long time. But my timeline is not the one in control here.
So after all this, how do I find the better balance? How do I juggle knives and not get cut? Does it exist? I thought I had it all figured out until I realized that I WAS in two places at once. I was the juggler tossing knives high in the air awaiting for them to descend into my hands (hopefully) gracefully. And I was the spectator. Watching the juggler, secretly wishing that one knife would drop innocently to the floor so that the terror of watching would slowly decrease.
I have managed to put back on almost 20 pounds that I worked so hard to get rid of, not loose, because I know exactly where I put them and picked them back up! I have also started to fail at the jobs that I find most pertinent in my life. Wife. Mother. How is it that in the midst of trying to balance everything for the sake of the greater good I have lost sight in it? No, not sight. Just hold. I can still see them. I can hear their laughs. However, I have become a spectator in the life I have worked so hard to obtain. I watch my children color and tackle each other. I watch my husband make plans for our business and attend meetings that I should be at. Where did all that balance go? Where is my cape that has all my super powers?
I function day to day just as I did before. Keeping track of my activities, crossing them off as I go so that I do not miss a thing. Shower? Check. Diaper bag ready? Check. Both kids dressed and hair brushed? Check. Living room toys picked up? Check. Papers graded? Check....The list goes on until it runs into the next day. When I look back at the day I realize that I missed the simple moments that I should have soaked in. My daughter reaching for me at 5 am to get out of the crib and cuddle with daddy. Instead I am distracted by the soaked pull-up that has leaked over her night clothes. Change her and quickly exchange kisses for a new onsie. Or my son shooting straight out of bed to ask "Where are we going today?" curious of the day's adventures. Instead I see a wide eyed boy ready to eat breakfast and in desperate need of a bigger bed. Add that to the list.
I missed it.
I missed the moments to sit with my kids and pray. I missed teaching them to thank God for waking them. I missed teaching them how to talk to God first thing. Sure we prayed and thanked God at night, but what about what He has done for us through the night?
I missed it.
I missed my husband getting into bed to tell me about the team meeting. To share with me his vision for our family. I was exhausted from a day of work and planning for the upcoming school week. I missed the opportunity to let him know that I see him. Not just who he was, or who he is, but the small things he is doing to become who God wants him to be. Yes, I feel it's taking a long time. But my timeline is not the one in control here.
So after all this, how do I find the better balance? How do I juggle knives and not get cut? Does it exist? I thought I had it all figured out until I realized that I WAS in two places at once. I was the juggler tossing knives high in the air awaiting for them to descend into my hands (hopefully) gracefully. And I was the spectator. Watching the juggler, secretly wishing that one knife would drop innocently to the floor so that the terror of watching would slowly decrease.
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