I wasn’t going to blog this week because nobody wants to hear when you’ve hit rock bottom. Whining doesn’t make for good reading. But then a little light went on. Now that I’m back from my stunted travels it is blatantly obvious I was running away. “From what?” you ask. From the truth. It is distressing to admit you don’t have any marketable qualifications or that the only thing you are good for is an entry level low paying job. It is painful to realize I have spent my whole life doing the one thing that our society disregards, that is, being a homemaker. The majority of women these days juggle having a career with trying to run a home. I have never understood how that was possible, though many seem to manage. I was much too busy working for my family to have had time for another job. And though I wasn’t given a choice, neither did I resent my lowly station. That was what I was created to do. And I loved it. However, being thrust into having to make a living for the first time while being in my mid-fifties did little for my already impaired self-esteem. I was and still am a fish out of water. My heart breaks for myself. (I’m now in self-pity mode.)
I’m pretty good at sucking it up, but this time around the battle seems to be a wee bit harder to wage. For those of you who hear voices in your heads, you will be able to relate to the insomnia that comes about from the bombardment of self- deprecating echoes in your mind. I can’t shut them out and I am weak and exhausted from the continuous assault.
When these ugly beasts reared their repulsive heads way back in 2013 I decapitated them for the sake of my children. I’m really good at fighting for others. At that time I knew I could not fall apart, no matter how much I felt the need to. And so I picked up those offensive objects and sealed them away for another day. I also knew that if I ever opened that box I was in for some serious trouble.
Enter trouble. The reason I gave up my life here. I didn’t want to look at my life and think, “hmm, well I could always waitress in some greasy diner.” Only they likely wouldn’t hire me because I’m too old and lack experience. I can be driving down the road when I suddenly get slammed with rage at my late husband for being so wrapped up in his own pain that he never considered his family, and mostly me. My children have suffered, and always will, but they are young. They can assemble a life for themselves, with their partners. Regardless of how this all plays out, I’m struggling, and I have no-one beside me. I do understand just how desperate Greg was to have done what he did and it fills me with sorrow, sorrow for his brokenness and sorrow that I was not able to help him. But it still leaves me blowing in the wind. Yes, I am very self-centred, but only because I’m fighting for my life and my sanity.
Now I have returned to face my fears, fears that have increased in magnitude, at least in my tiny mind. I know I will get through this. I always do. But sometimes it gets pretty dark in the valley of the shadow of death. I ran away to the sunshine, and although it soothed my shattered heart, it didn’t help me in my quest to build a new and sustainable life. I do realize just how pitiful I sound. Millions of people, every day, survive much worse and become victors over adversity, the likes of which makes mine look like a minuscule grain of sand. It causes me shame to see my reflection, but it is my reflection.
Happy Mother’s Day.
“In the fury of the moment, I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand”
Bob Dylan, Every Grain of Sand