anniversaries

Shake it Out

Well, here we are. The last week of October. I thought I’d be OK. In control. But I’m not as much as I’d like to be. I thought it was Mercury Retrograde weighing on me because I really felt it. Uncomfortable in my own skin. Pulled, contorted, strained, weighed down. But here we are. My own personal D-Day. I can feel my anxiety rising daily. I’m struggling just to keep it together when what I really want to do is burrow under the covers and stay there. House a mess? Check. No cooking? Check. Clothes unfolded? Check. Child late to school? Check. Oversleeping? Check. Irritation? Check. Sensitive? Check. Crying? Check.

And my thoughts are so jumbled and muddled. My therapist told me a few weeks ago that I intellectualize emotions and feelings instead of letting myself experience them. I try to explain what I am feeling instead of letting myself indulge in them. But I do feel them; I find it difficult let myself to be an emotional person. To be seen as someone who has feelings.

You know who I envy? People who don’t give a fuck what other people think. I’ve always cared too much. It has improved, but I still care too much. I had a conversation on Friday night about my feelings, and I’m not completely certain it went well (not the fault of the conversation, but talking about feelings can be difficult). But I know that I cried – like ugly cried – afterwards. The kind of crying that left my eyes extra puffy Saturday and experiencing an emotional hangover.

We all have history and formative experiences and god knows I have thought a lot about mine. Probably too much. Analysis is my forte. Feeling is not. I’m not going to subject any of you to my TED Talk on why I am this way. I guess I should get to the point. I think my thoughts are jumbled around vulnerability and shame (yes, yes, off to read Brene Brown). After that conversation on Friday – or frankly, any conversation in which I let loose like that – my first reaction is embarrassment. I’ve revealed too much of myself. All the ugly parts. The parts that indicate that no, I very much do not have my shit together. You know, the parts that reveal me as a flesh and blood human who is not perfect. And the fear about whether people will still like me or respect me if I reveal that I do have feelings. But I AM human! I DO have feelings! Why is vulnerability such a difficult state for us to occupy? How did we get here?

I think of this verse Rizzo sings in “There are Worse Things I Could Do” from Grease:

I could hurt someone like me
Out of spite or jealousy
I don’t steal and I don’t lie
But I can feel and I can cry
A fact I’ll bet you never knew

But to cry in front of you
That’s the worst thing I could do

And to finally, finally get to the point. I have a lot of thoughts about this week. Can I express those emotions? Should I express those emotions? Can I be that vulnerable? Is it allowed? And yes, I know it is technically. But am I allowed to feel and express these things truly? Or should I keep a stiff upper lip? What is the statute of limitations on grieving in our society these days?

It is funny to be writing this after last week’s somewhat “rah rah” “Entropy” post. Well. I feel what I feel when I feel it. THAT I have definitely learned in the last year. And I grapple with that dichotomy. I have good days and bad days. Last week was not a great week, and I have a feeling that this week may not be either. And I have to be OK with that. I have to accept that and understand that. More importantly, I have to give myself permission to feel. To let those emotions flow through.

This week is worthy of my feelings. If I feel dread, uneasiness, and anxiety every day, it’s OK. If I need to take a day and just be, that’s OK. From what I have seen, there is no manual for any of this (but if there is other than Kubler-Ross, message me?).

I’ll do what I need to get through it. Cry when I need to. And then “Shake it out” as Florence + the Machine recommend and prepare for Halloween. I have three pumpkins to gut (ugh) and carve (good luck?) and a child to make happy.

One step backwards. One step forwards. Every day.

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

#MicroblogMondays: Thirteen Years

 

Favor from our wedding

Today Jimmy and I celebrate our 13th anniversary. I joke that I was a child bride, but I was a decent 24 and Jimmy was 25.  We had been engaged for almost 2  years by the time we got married, but our wedding occurred three months after September 11 and I felt nervous about everything.  Jimmy jokes (it isn’t really a joke) that I almost broke his hand during the ceremony because I was gripping it so tightly. I was a much more anxious person overall at that time.

It has been a good 13 years, but it feels like 13 years. That sounds grim, but it isn’t. We’ve been through many ups and downs in that 13 years, but we’ve faced them together, inch by inch and mile by mile.  We’ve invested time and most importantly, ourselves, and I’m proud of that 13 years. I don’t think we had any inkling of what our lives would be like over the next 13 years when we plied our troth at half-past four on December 1, 2001, but there is no one I’d rather be on this journey with.  Here’s to many, many more anniversaries.

 

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#MicroblogMondays: sentimental

We are extremely sentimental in our house. The calendar is littered with the “first time since…” and “8th anniversary of XYZ.” Case in point: we just celebrated our 18th meeting anniversary 🙂

September has been a special, significant month for us for many years, but its status was sealed when we cycled for our successful surrogacy cycle during it 6 years ago.

I always note the dates, but this year is the first time the calendar dates & days of the week align again, sort of like déjà vu.

I spent Saturday cleaning up the results of my little boy’s upset tummy. I blame it on an overly- sweet cupcake and don’t ask me why b/c you really, really don’t want to know.

Six years ago on that same Saturday, we received the almost unbelievable news that after years of infertility, we had our first positive beta ever. While cleaning up your child’s vomit is no one’s idea of a good time (I hope), there was an odd, messy rightness in it since nothing says “parent” like ungrudgingly cleaning up after your small person.

Thankfully, by noon Daniel was feeling better and begging to go outside. I often worry that I am not being the best mother I can be, but I’m forever grateful I have the chance, even if it means spending quality time with my favorite cleaning products.

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