OK. So here's what I have learned:
I have good days and I have bad days.
The good days...are good. (I know, so eloquent. It's a wonder I haven't been nominated for a Pulitzer of Blogging. I done write real good.)
The bad days consist of me dragging my tush out of bed, and getting things done in auto-pilot mode. The bad days are salty with tears. The bad days are wearying.
But I am learning to avoid them. Not altogether. But mostly. I don't have bad days anymore. I have bad hours, or bad minutes. And they are more maneagable.
You see: If I focus on me, on how this sucks, on how hard this is and wouldn't it just be easier another way. If I start to worry that I'm too weird and noone will ever love me again. If I think about my fears/self-doubt. If I focus on the miriad of little blows and piercing remarks (that he probably doesn't even realize he's dealt), then I feel like...like I am going to sink under the weight of it.
It's physical. I can feel my shoulders fill with lead. I can feel my heart begin to race in panic or anger or fear. Or pain. I can feel myself slipping into a mud that is deep and thick--and cold at first, but then my body heat warms it up a bit and it can become...comfortable, and my will to fight it kind of...fades away. That is the danger of it. It feels so good sometimes to wallow. (As my mom used to say,--ok, she still does--'It's nice to sit in warm s***') The thing is, you can't stay there. Or you'll drown. You just keep sinking deeper and deeper into that mud. You may not even realize it when it begins to fill you. And all you are left with is hurt, pain, anger, a feeling of mistreatment, and discontent.
Now. Don't get me wrong. This isn't about depression. Depression is real. People I love suffer from severe depression or it's various incarnations. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about choosing to wallow in and focus on/relive/pick apart hurtful experiences/words/etc.
When I focus on my kids and Beloved and the concern I have for them--and stop worrying about the ways I've been wronged, etc.--the rest just melts away. I can focus. I can breathe better. I may not feel light and airy, but I sure don't feel cold and wet and swallowed up by something that could kill me. I feel peaceful. I feel--dare I say it?--happy. I smile. I laugh.
I can move freely and think freely and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. It is good.
Now, some may say that I am going about it the wrong way. Some may say a little anger never hurt anyone, and not to bury my head in the sand.
OK. So say that.
But you see, I know I was wronged. I know this sucks. Most of those things that make my bad days bad are real and true fears/feelings/concerns. But I think life is about choices. I choose not to dwell on them. I choose not to focus on Gigi.
Now that isn't to say that I don't take care of myself. I'm eating (a little too well...gotta get back to that sugar-free lifestyle), and exercising, and taking time to read, and get together with friends, and being spiritually fed as well. I feel good. But focusing on something is different from caring for something. I'm caring for myself right now. I'm focusing on my family.
I'm no fool. I know I'll have bad days again. I'm not impervious. I'm human. There may be a day in the not-too-distant future when Baby Girl comes up to me again and says (again) 'Mommy. How about a makeover...Instead of more crying?' But I will try to avoid those days. I know the secret:
It's not 'get over it'.
It's 'Get Over YOU'.
Twelve Days of Boots: Day 9 by The Pioneer Woman
7 hours ago