Category Archives: Seeking Life Now

Confessions of a Facebook “Creeper”

04 Wednesday Jan 2017

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I admit it. I search for people all the time who aren’t my friends on Facebook. Usually, this happens during bouts of nostalgia when I find myself thinking about the people with whom I grew-up and wondering where they are, what they are doing, what they look like and how happy they appear.

I want to compare where I am, what I’m doing, what I look like and how happy I am with my childhood friends. I am always relieved and slightly joyous when I see that there has been weight gain, wrinkles, weariness…good. It’s not just me.

There are many people with whom I wish I had kept more regular contact. People with whom I am no longer “friends” – not even on Facebook. Sometimes I creep these people to see what life is like for them. I did this yesterday and spent a considerable amount of time looking at a few childhood friends and I was genuinely glad to see how happy they appeared. I was pleased that they had experienced adventures, travel, fun, love and beauty.

I considered sending a few friend requests, but got lost in thoughts of how it would be perceived by these people. I suffered from depression for most of my time in high school. This was before depression was really understood, talked about or treated. But, the biggest casualty of my depression was my social life. I withdrew from all of my friends and lost most of those relationships. One of the biggest hangers-on of this time period is embarrassment. I feel embarrassed all the time about how I was and I assume that people remember me in a negative light.

I was moody, judgmental, shy, confused, lonely and lost.

During these years my FB posts would have be the kind that you just get tired of seeing so you block the person so you don’t get the constant drone of negative status updates in your feed.

When I think about these years I am always overwhelmed with sadness for the many memories I have about stupid things I did as a result of my state of mind. I’ve been working on forgiving myself, and giving that girl a chance to heal and find acceptance; strangely, creeping on Facebook kind of helps with this. I’ve managed to ‘rekindle’ a few of these lost relationships and they have been extremely meaningful to me. Every time I send a request to a long, lost, friend and then we message back and forth a bit, and eventually just start to share life through the regular news feed, it helps normalize what feels like an extremely polarizing time for me.

I wish I could sit down with all of my old friends and have an open discussion about those years, explain what was going on in my world, express my regret for how I may have treated them, share my sorrow for all the lost time and then make-up for some of that time and move-forward as friends again.

My mind is full of many happy memories with them. I remember hours and hours of time spent together, laughing, talking about boys, playing stupid games, sleepovers, doing makeup, playing sports, passing notes in school…I see snapshots in my mind of us together on hammocks, acting cool at school dances, playing flag football, flirting and silly things like stuffing our shirts with balloons. The memories are full and rich.

But, then there are years where the memories are filled with pictures of school dances, football games, pep rallies and lunches filled with all these faces growing and enjoying life—but mine is not with them. These memories haunt me like shadows. Life was happening all around me, but I wasn’t in it.

So, I creep on facebook. I try to fill-in some of the gaps. I reach-out. I rekindle. I make progress.

I am so thankful for those friends with whom I’ve managed to reconnect because, the truth is, the folks with whom I grew-up really do mean a lot to me. They were the people that helped shape me into who I am today. They were my original cheerleaders, challengers and role-models. They were my squad, my family, my community. They exist in my memory as a deep and vast resource of life, joy, sorrow, lessons-learned, new experiences, comfort and friendship and I am so thankful for the ability to creep into their lives now and get a little piece of what once was.

Putting Me First

04 Tuesday Oct 2016

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Ok, so writing is a bit challenging at the moment with everything that is going on. I’m in week 4 of my Cognitive Processing Therapy for my diagnosed Non-Recovery PTSD. This is EXHAUSTING. And there is a substantial amount of homework involved that really drains me.

Also, I have started a new job and, in the words of a co-worker at the moment, “it’s Oscar season!”
I’m planning the organizations largest event. Not only is it, typically, the largest event but, apparently, I’m very good at my job and have almost doubled the numbers from last year.

And then, I am continuing to work on the lifestyle and mindset changes necessary to become the healthier me I desire to be.

Also, of course, I am a Mother and a wife.

But, I’ve been doing really good at trying to take care of myself in the midst of all of this. I have made huge strides forward. I was recently very sick, and still have a bit of a cough and some sinus yuckies, and I didn’t binge-out on comfort foods. True, I didn’t totally neglect myself either, but I was mindful through it all.

And, for a while, I had stopped doing my mini-workouts during my workday. But, I realized how unfair that was on me. I had stopped taking breaks at work and was even eating my lunch at my desk, while working.

I could feel how the lack of these breaks was, actually, draining my energy and making me less effective in my work. So now, I am back to focusing on taking 2 breaks during my workday to get active. I climb the stairs, go for a walk or close my door and do some yoga or a 7 minute workout (the App).

I have refocused on trying to ensure that I am eating more veggies and fruit during the day as well. It all makes such a huge difference.

There are a few more changes I am trying to make for my personal well-being. One of them is to do some kind of household chore every day so that it doesn’t all become too much at once. If I do a bit every day, I should be able to stay on top of it and it will decrease my stress. Bonus- It’s added energy being spent. Like free exercise.

I want to be in bed, eyes closed, by 10:30pm. I have this persistent eye-twitch lately that’s driving me nuts. I know that it is the result of way too many nights awake past 11:30pm.

And, ultimately, I’d love to have more tv/video/game-free time. More still and quiet time. Even if this looks like 30 minutes of yoga before bed. Which is also a thing I want to make a “staple” of my day-to-day. At least, a little, yoga. It feels so good to stretch-out.

Part of “putting me first” is actually letting-go of part of me. I have a tendency to want to do everything, and have everything, absolutely perfect. I have had to work on letting-go of this desire and allowing things to be done “good enough” or not at all, so I could do some self-care.

I’m not that great at putting myself first, but I am learning to find some times when I allow myself to become the priority. Even if just for 10 minutes. I really believe this is helping me, my marriage, my work-life and my family be much healthier, happier and well-rounded.

Drowning

05 Friday Aug 2016

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My clothes are heavy and dragging me down as they dance in the water. My hair is thrashing around, wildly, like it’s moving to an African drum beat. When my hair finally breaks apart, I am able to look up and see the sun above the water, hot and heavy, and becoming increasingly distant as it seems to be pushing me down into the depths of the sea. I take a deep, inner, breath and propel my arm upwards in an attempt to pull my head to the surface, but instead of doing so, I find myself gripping my newborn baby’s ankle and pulling him beneath the water with me. Suddenly, it’s as though a mountain has attached itself to my legs and as the sun continues to push me down, I am plummeted to the belly of the sea, dragging my child with me.

We are gone.

This was the nightmare that haunted me for months after my son’s birth. I would wake-up gasping for air, soaking wet and sobbing.

To this day, I can’t think about this without the surge of an upcoming panic attack. I stop as I write, close my eyes, practice my box breathing. I become aware of the sensations around me. I hear people talking in the hallway. I can feel my fingers resting on the keyboard in front of me. I smell a mixture of my morning mocha and my perfume. The aftertaste of my last mouthful of mocha is bitter on my tongue.

When I first mentioned the struggles I was having to my doctor, and told her about the nightmares, she said ‘It sounds like you might have some PTSD from birth trauma’ and that was that.

The first 4 months of my son’s life were a living hell for me. I felt like I was constantly in a war zone, battling for not only my survival, but his as well. This was made worse by the fact that I often felt like I was the biggest threat to my son’s safety, which meant that I was also fighting a war against myself all the time. I used to say: ‘It’s you and me, kid. You and me against the world.’ I felt like nobody got it. Nobody understood, or cared, about how dark it was for us. How much we had to fight to survive.

This added trauma on-top of trauma. I’ve started therapy to help me work through this. The other day my therapist asked ‘What things remind you of the event?’

What things remind me of the event?

Pretty much every aspect of my life is a reminder of the event, because ‘the event’ (my son’s birth), literally changed everything in my world. Everywhere I look there are reminders of him, every thought inside my head circles back to him, every emotion finds itself linked to him…I am surrounded by triggers.

But, I’m learning that there are certain environmental factors that bring me right back to the trauma and leave me swirling quickly out of control. Feeling trapped and feeling hot are major triggers for me.

I have identified a few, regular, times when this happens which means I am able to prepare and plan for them and when I am in the situation, can practice calming techniques to stave-off a full-blown panic attack.

But, there are still moments when I am caught by surprise.

This happened while camping last weekend. My son was exhausted, and so was I. We both like routine. He has always, naturally, been a ‘routine’ child and has always loved daytime naps. While camping, we were both thrown out of routine, and neither of us had slept well the previous night – I had, about, 2.5 hours sleep and while he slept longer, it was very disturbed. So, we needed a nap.

We were lying in our tent and it was HOT. I lay there, sweating bullets, trying to calm him and soothe him to sleep, despite the fact that he was also drenched in sweat. He kept looking-up at me with these pleading eyes to help him feel better. I felt helpless. Powerless.

I could feel the surge of a panic attack approaching.

Box breathing. Box breathing.

What can you feel? What can you hear? What can you see?

What can you see?

I looked above me to the top of the tent and saw that the sun was directly over us and I suddenly felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

The panic was rising.

I looked up again and I saw the sun above the water, pushing me downwards.

I couldn’t breathe.

I’m trapped. We’re trapped. We’re going to die. I can’t breathe. I’m going to lose it. We’re being tortured to death. I have to get out of here. We’re under attack.

I grabbed my car keys, my son, and said to those around me “We’re going for a drive…” I’m sure I said some other things, not even sure what, or what was happening, or who heard me, or where anyone else even was.

All I could see was that my son and I were being tortured and I was getting us the hell out of there before we drowned to death.

It was everything that I had felt for the first 4 months of his life compressed into a few minutes. I have had experiences and moments like this every day since my son was born. Sometimes they are super intense, like it was that day camping. At other times, it is a small surge that I am able to overcome with grounding techniques.

But, every time it happens, it brings the trauma back to the surface and seems to add another layer on to it.

I am reminded of the line from the West Wing where the trauma specialist explains to Josh that the goal is to allow him to remember the event without reliving it.

I cannot wait for the moment when I can think about the day my son was born and smile at how incredible it was to hold him for the very first time, without feeling like I’m under attack and that I’m going to drown and bring him down with me.

To remember the beauty without reliving the trauma.

The Power of Being Heard

20 Wednesday Jul 2016

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I have started seeing a therapist for help with anxiety and trauma and a phobia from which I have suffered since my son was born.

My last appointment was Monday and I woke-up Tuesday feeling better upon waking than I can remember feeling when waking up in years. I thought it was because I had spent the previous evening playing Minecraft with my husband and brother. And, while I still believe that the time I spent with them was definitely part of it, there must be something else going on as well, because I woke-up the same way today.

I woke-up feeling like life was before me, I was excited to embrace the new day and see what it had to offer. In fact, I rose in such high spirits today, that I got out of bed and did some yoga before getting my son up for the day.

And, as I was going through the breaths and the movements, I remembered that this is how it always used to feel. I used to enjoy waking-up, thinking about what experiences I might have today, eager to get up and move and stretch.

One of my constant complaints to my doctor for the past 2 years is that I am always waking-up feeling exhausted. I wake-up feeling like I’ve been through a war. We talked about doing a sleep study, and sleep apnea, etc. But, that never really felt right to me. My gut instinct was that this kind of issue was not the problem. It was something else.

So, what changed?

I’ve been heard. Finally, someone seems to be hearing what I’ve been trying to say for years.

I live in a state of trauma, panic, fear and uncertainty all the time.

I’ve been able to openly express the darkness that has lived deep within me; this turmoil that I pour all of my energy into suppressing so that it doesn’t affect those around me. It is a constant battle for control, for peace, for patience and it takes every fiber of my being to keep it all in-check.

No wonder I am so exhausted.

Having been able to share the things that terrify me with someone who is able to really hear what I am saying without me feeling the need to shelter or protect her has made all the difference. I have been heard. I have been able to share my burden, fully, with another person. This act, alone, has lifted some of the stress from my life that has been tearing me down.

I was in a similar situation when I was a teenager, I was depressed and really struggling, but I was terrified of how I felt and found it difficult to share the actual depths of what I was feeling because I had this need to protect my loved ones.

I thought I was expressing my concerns, I thought I was asking for help. But, when things hit rock bottom and I ended-up in hospital having overdosed on medication, all I kept hearing was ‘we didn’t know it was this bad’ and ‘why didn’t you tell us?’ and ‘why didn’t you ask for help?’

I thought I had.

I thought I had been speaking out, asking for help, trying to express how scared I was about what I was feeling. But, no one heard me.

And, for the past 2.5 years, it has been happening again. I have felt as if I have been constantly asking for help, trying to get people’s attention and expressing my concerns for how I was feeling, but never really being heard.

I am learning that, one of the reasons for this (perhaps the greatest reason) is that, because I don’t want to scare people, or cause them distress, when I express my concerns they are done in a way that is protective. This means, things can come-across as less critical than they actually are. I throw things out there and hope that someone will pick-up on my cues and say ‘hey, I think there is, actually, something really massive going on here that she’s too afraid to come right out and say’ and then they will swoop-in and rescue me.

I am working on this. I learned that in the OCD ‘world’ one compulsion that can happen is the need to protect the people around you. We often see the stereotypical wash the hands ‘x’ amounts of time, do this act ‘x’ amounts of times, have a specific pattern for getting out of the house, etc. I had no idea that ‘compulsive caring’ was, actually, a disorder.

Don’t get me wrong—I have definitely felt it was for years! It is EXHAUSTING feeling like you are ALWAYS responsible for how EVERYONE around you is feeling.

And now, there is someone who has seen this in me and understands the depths of it and how much it affects my day-to-day living and I am already starting to feel whole again – just because someone listened.

It’s so incredible to be heard, isn’t it?

.

The Power of Friendship

15 Friday Jul 2016

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Every once and awhile I get a message either on my blog, or sent to me from a friend via a private message, that lets me know that people appreciate me sharing my story, my struggles, my triumphs and my thoughts.

These messages mean the world to me and I know that I need to do better at keeping up with it.

However, in the spirit of my burgeoning philosophy of self-love and self-care, I acknowledge that it is an area in which I need to do better, but I’m not beating myself up for it.

Don’t get me wrong, I am totally tempted to beat myself up for being so slack, lazy, lame, selfish and not getting up and putting the effort in…(see how easily all those words came to me…) BUT….I’m turning it around and telling myself exactly what I would tell someone else: ‘It’s ok. You’ve been going through a lot and you’ve been doing your best. Don’t be so hard on yourself. One step at a time.”

In fact, that’s another life lesson I am finally beginning to understand. All my life I have been able to give others greater support, encouragement, advice and patience than I give to myself. So, I’ve been practicing this thing where, when I notice negative self-thoughts arising, I pretend that it’s a friend talking to me and I tell myself what I would say to them. And, when I say that, I don’t mean just the pleasant, fluffy, things, but the difficult things as well.

I have a close friend who has also said some pretty tough things to me when I needed to hear them. Having friends who can speak the truth to you, in love, when you need to hear it is important as well.

I have had a difficult time making new friends since we moved countries and I am only just beginning to understand how important good friendships have been in my life. Good friends accept us for who we are while not letting us remain who we are. Marriage does the same, as does being a parent, but the problem with familial relationships is that they become too personal. There’s more baggage that comes-along with it all. When a friend talks it just feels less…complicated.

And so, I am learning to be a friend to myself. Also, to really try to embrace the friendships that I have and reach-out to them more. That’s why I write. 

Thus, as I am sitting here, writing, eating a bowl of chips and a jersey milk chocolate bar, my friend is saying to me: ‘Ok, you did that. Now, move on. The next time you put something in your mouth, be sure it’s something that really feeds your body and makes you feel good about yourself. You deserve that.” (Btw…it’s also a reminder I received from a friend today, so THANK YOU!).

I Dreamed a Dream

05 Tuesday Jul 2016

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I had a dream last night that I had decided to leave my husband and run-off with an old flame of mine. This isn’t a unique dream for me, I have some variation of this dream every 3-4 months. 

The “object of my affection” is a guy who was my biggest crush in life, though in the dream he’s actually an almagamation of different people I’ve met into one super-human.

This dream always starts off so beautifully. My ‘dream guy’ has just professed his love for me and expressed the ultimate desire for us to be together. I’m swept-away. Swept-up in a daydream of violins, rose petals, strong arms and perfect love.
This is what I’ve been missing.

What I’ve always wanted.
My new/old beau and I spend some intimate and romantic time together. We embrace, we cry, we kiss we talk about the time we’ve missed and the dreams to come.

(At this point, I wake up because I have to pee. I go to the bathroom, pee, return to bed and fall back asleep, and am instantly brought back into the romantic reverie. My new/old beau and I have a few friends around us who are so happy that we’ve finally connected and that we have accepted the fact that we were meant to be together and I am feeling peaceful, happy and so in love).

Eventually, however, reality hits. This is the part of the dream where I start to think about how I would break the news to my husband. I begin to process how this will hurt him, and the realization starts to set-in that hurting him will hurt me as well, because his well-being was part of me. I don’t want to hurt him or see him sad.

More importantly, I don’t want to break what we’ve built together.

It hasn’t been perfect and it most definitely did not start-off in any romantic, loving, head-over-heels kind of way, but it is what it is because we’ve worked at it together. 

I never “fell in love” with my husband. We were good friends and I loved him as a friend. But, I never had romantic feelings towards him or felt attracted to him. Our romantic relationship hopped-skipped-and-jumped from friendship to ‘couple on the verge of divorce’. That is where our relationship started.

I never had the butterflies, the nervous stomach, the excitement and anticipation of being picked up for a date, or that feeling of being swept-up or falling in love. 

I have always wondered what I missed-out on. I try to tell myself that I don’t want, or need, the romance – that they are not required to be in a happy relationship, that it is unrealistic, that this idea of being “in love” with the person you marry is a fairytale, or something that only a few special (privileged) people get to experience.

I used to wake up after one of these dreams feeling resentful towards the man that was snoring beside me. Why couldn’t he be more like the man of my dreams? Why do I feel trapped and that it is impossible to leave to pursue a relationship like that of my dreams? I loved getting swept-away in this dream, a fairy tale, a plot for a Sandra Bullock or Meg Ryan movie. I used to try to live in the dream as long as possible once awake. To pretend that it was real.

But, this morning when I woke-up, I was surprised at how I was feeling. I didn’t feel resentful or sad at my lot in life, I wasn’t desperately clinging to the romance I had experienced in my dream, I wasn’t depressed by feelings of being trapped or stuck, I was relieved. I was grateful that the man snoring beside me was my husband and nobody else.

I usually wake-up during the part of the dream where I’m just starting to feel sad about the looming idea that I might not be able to go through with it. But, this morning, I dreamt for much longer than that. In my dream I went through a lot of processing and woke up after I had realized that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to be with this other person. I wanted to be with my husband.

It was the first time that this dream didn’t leave lingering feelings of regret or sadness.

And there was no sadness there.

Only joy.

Joy and gratitude.

There are is still improvement needed and I clearly desire more excitement, romance, intimacy and adventure in our relationship, but I know that I want it in OUR relationship and not with anyone else.

I want to continue to build on what we have created. To explore and discover romance and beauty together. To continue to challenge ourselves and each other to make our lives the things of which dreams are truly made.

I love you, sweet cheeks.

Summertime Dreaming

20 Monday Jun 2016

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There has been something magical about this summer. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it, except for, perhaps, the fact that I feel more present. 

I’ve been trying to be really aware of each moment. I try to be mindful of how I am feeling, my surroundings, how my surroundings make me feel, etc.

A few years ago (ok, more than a few!) when I had first moved to Toronto as a young,naive, small-town girl, it was the end of summer and I had never experienced such heat and humidity before.

I remember feeling hotter than I had ever felt before in my life. It felt torturous in the moment, and I thought I hated it, but lately I’ve been having very beautiful remembering a of these days.

Feeling soaked with sweat, listening to Alicia Keys singing “you give me butterflies…”, day dreaming about the person with whom I was currently in love, eating very little, the sweet smell that, mysteriously, fills the Toronto air during the summer…

And I’ve been reliving it and it feels like that part of my brain, the part that used to be a wild dreamer, is waking up again.

I had forgotten what it was like to live life on a dream. I was always dreaming about more, about what was around the other corner, about the adventures I was going to have, the places I was going to go and the incredible mysteries of life that were unfolding before me.

Somewhere along the way, I got lost.

It’s been incredibly fun rediscovering myself. Just as I have loved watching my little boy grow, learn and discover the world around me, I am enjoying the experience for myself as well.

Life is meant to be lived. It’s meant to be full of, well, life. But, for years now I have felt as though it was just a cloud that I was, kind of, sleepwalking through. There was nothing much that inspired me. Nothing that made me want to get up and explore. Perhaps it was that motherhood completely overwhelmed me, or that I have been “burnt out” for years and am just finally coming-through on the other side of both. 

But, whatever it is, I’m loving it and I’m having a lot of fun rediscovering myself, learning new things about myself, and growing stronger and healthier every day.

Maybe I just had to sweat it out.

It’s Dad’s Day

19 Sunday Jun 2016

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It’s Father’s Day here in North America and I have been on the verge of tears all day. I feel sad, frustrated, scared, helpless and very far away from my entire family.

I have a father-in-law doing radiation treatments, a Dad who is going for major surgery this upcoming Friday and a Stepdad who is undergoing chemo as he battles colorectal cancer.

And I feel helpless about it all.

It is making this Father’s Day particularly difficult for me. I wish I could do more. This feeling of helplessness is exhausting me and I feel like my reaction to it is to become a deer in headlights-standing there, frozen, unable to do anything.

My Father-in-Law has always treated me like his very own daughter. Maybe the daughter he never had. He has an incredible way of always making me feel loved and welcome. I have never felt like a visitor in his presence, but always like family. From the first time I met him he made me feel special-like he was proud that I was the one his son had chosen. This is an incredible gift that has granted me much encouragement, inspiration and support through the years.

My Dad loves the outdoors. For the first 7 years of my life, I spent a lot of time camping, swimming, hiking, canoeing, fishing and just being outdoors. When I was very young, I used to love getting up early and sitting outside the house with him, watching the sunrise. To this day, the smell of coffee always brings me right back to those warm, red, sun-bathed memories. I learned  how to be quiet, how to let your thoughts and emotions be worked-out through physical activity. I learn from him how to be hardworking and to keep moving, no matter what.

My Stepdad has been my rock, my refuge and my safety. He is a true, ‘salt of the earth’ kind of man. He is a retired farmer. He took-over his Dad’s farm and poured his blood, sweat, and tears into the land and the livestock. I still remember the year he was finally able to purchase his ‘dream’ section of land. For his entire life, a beautiful section of land separated his fields, but the owner never wanted to sell. The year the owner finally sold it, I went out on the 4-wheelers as my Stepdad, puffed with pride, showed me his new land. He pointed-out the gorgeous flowers, the luscious grass, the perfect placement of the trees. On that day, I saw a a man’s dreams come to a meaningful completion.

All three of these men have strengthened my life, supported me, and encouraged me in who I am. And, here I sit-miles away from each of them-aware that they are all going through their own, unique, struggles and circumstances and feeling responsible and guilty for my lack of returned support.

I have enjoyed spending the day with my husband, the Daddy to our own, wonderful, child. But, it has been a really difficult day as well. If I could do anything for my Dad’s this Father’s Day, it would be to remove all their pain, illness, discomfort and fear. 

Everything else just feels so empty. 

But, for what it’s worth, I love you Dads.

Post Menstrual Syndrome

16 Thursday Jun 2016

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Sorry, boys. This one’s for the girls. 

Ok, I take that back. This one is for anyone who has ever gone through mensturation or been around anyone who has ever been through it. There may be some thoughts here that might help you.

I know that there have been a million jokes and articles written on the topic. But, most of this stuff is about PMS or Pre Menstrual Syndrome.

I’ve recently begun trying to research POST menstrual syndrome. This came-about from a year of me keeping track of my cycle, diet, stomach, head, pain levels, emotions and mental abilities. After tracking for months and months, I have discovered that I go into a deep slump directly AFTER my period. Leading-up to and during my period, I am positive, have energy, and am emotionally level.

But, immediately following this, I crash. And I crash hard.

I have ZERO energy, no focus, I’m extremely irritable, I struggle with food (thoughts of vegetables make me want to puke and all I want is carbs), and the world becomes dark and depressing.

So, I started looking into it. But, I’ve found that there really isn’t much out there about it. I am going to be bringing the information to my Dr in a couple of weeks to see what she says. One thing is for sure, I know it happens every month, I know when it happens, I know what issues, or side effects, it brings with it. So, I am going to work on preparing for next month. I want to think-ahead about what I can do to help myself get through the dark time better than I did before.

All the work I’ve been doing so far helped me come through this past week better than I have in the past, but there is still a long way to go. For example, I haven’t written here since the darkness fell and I was really missing it. But, I just couldn’t see anything but a dismal grey cloud. I couldn’t find my way through the cloud to write.

I hated it. Also, I have discovered it disrupts my month so much that, by the time I am ‘back to myself’, I only have 1 or 2 weeks/month when I feel like I’m fully myself and firing on all cylinders. Too much of my time is spent in a cloud, or trying to get out of one.

Last night I was determined to write – something. Anything. I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to produce something worth sharing, so I dug-out my journal and began to write. This broke the wall. I used to write in a journal every day, for over 15 years. I have 40 journals in storage full of memories, thoughts, prayers, dreams, poems and, well – me.

At this stage, I don’t have much help to offer anyone who is struggling, or knows someone who struggles, with the same issues. But, I will be able to share insights from my Dr, my own experience, and anything else I find online in the meantime. 

It’s time for the suffering to stop. 

I Hate to See You Go

03 Friday Jun 2016

Posted by in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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I had the joy of being able to drop my child at day care today. At least, it started out as a joy. It soon became one of the toughest, saddest, most horrible moments I’ve ever had as a mother.

We were early leaving today which meant I was so excited at the opportunity to be able to go with my husband to bring my son to day care. “T” was so excited that Mommy was coming with him for a change. The 3 of us strolled along, chatting, in a perfect reverie. As we arrived at daycare, I smiled as I watched my child run down the path towards the front door, skipping and hopping with excitement.

When the door was opened for us, he did a little skip-hop and he was off like a bullet towards the elevator. Arriving on the floor where the toddler room was, he burst out of the elevator.

This is where our joyous morning started to turn sour.

There was a man fixing something in the toddler bathroom with an electric drill. T is nervous when it comes to loud and unfamiliar sounds. He started whimpering, rushed back to where I was and clung to my leg.

“Look, buddy, he’s fixing something in the bathroom with an electric drill.” As he began to whimper more loudly and tightened his grip on my leg, I added, “It’s just like Daddy’s.” Hoping that bringing some familiarity to the situation would ease his anxiety. It didn’t work. When the man pulled out a hammer, his tension eased, as T has 2 hammers he uses at home all the time. So, this was more familiar to him.

He eventually went up the stairs and into the room. Once there, he met one of his teachers who was adding water into a little pool filled with plastic fish. There were 2 fishing rods sitting on the side of the pool and T and I began to try to catch us some of the magnetic fish. We laughed and shared a little bit of fun before he was off and grabbing one of the shopping carts.

Now it is time for Mommy and Daddy to go. Daddy gives a hug and says goodbye and then T comes to Mommy and starts crying : “Mommy, don’t go!” I give him a big hug and kiss, say “I love you” and put him down. He immediately starts crying. “NO! Don’t go. Don’t leave!” and he’s gripping at my legs and trying to pull himself back up into my arms.

Now, he is wailing. And our child doesn’t often cry. My heart is breaking and I just want to swoop him up and tell him I’m never going to leave. Instead, I try to calmly say “What’s going on, Buddy?” He just continues to wail “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!” and now, I am broken.

I try to distract him with all the fun things he has to look-forward to during the day: “You can go fishing. You can play with the cars. You can tell everyone about soccer. ..” Nothing is working.

The teacher says “Ok, one more hug and then time to go”. Now, I’m feeling heartbroken, judged and anxious. I give him a few big squeezes, a bunch of kisses and tell him I love him.

I put him down, but he clings to my legs as though he were falling off a cliff.

And then I do something I wish to never have to do again. I push him away from me. “I love you, Buddy! But, I have to go.”

“Nooooo!” he wails, face beat red, tears streaming down his face.

The instant I release my hand, ‘thawump’, he’s suctioned against my legs again. I take a deep breath and push him away a second time. I can still feel his beating chest against my fingers as they attempt to release myself from his grasp.

“Buddy, I love you. But, I have to go.”

This goes on for, what feels like, an eternity. I push him away, he returns. I push him away, he returns.

I push him away.

It’s all I can remember. It’s all I feel. It’s all I can think about.

I pushed him away.

This goes against every fibre of my being. This goes against the deep, raging, maternal instincts within me. And, although I’m sure he had moved on before I even hit the end of the street and then, probably, never thought of it again, I have.

It left a deep wound on my Mothers heart.

And so, tonight I made the absolute most of my time with him. I listened to him closely, held him tightly, sang songs, played games, told stories and then we had some special cuddle time in Mommy and Daddy’s bed before heading to his.

And, as he cupped my face in his little hands, saying “I yuv you, Mommy” before planting a kiss on my forehead, he pulled me close.

He pulled me close.

He pulled me close, he pulled me close.

He brought me home – back to where I belong.

We were together again.

He pulled me close.