Yesterday I was preparing my thoughts on the last four months of growth since losing my unborn daughter. I was writing down the differences between immediately after, a month after and four months later.
Yesterday I would have honestly admitted that I can now feel true joy for friends who are pregnant, I can feel completely content about not being pregnant, I can look through my Ravelry patterns for baby blankets and not feel pangs of sadness, but instead feel truly eager to start making something homemade and lovely for upcoming baby showers.
Yesterday, I would have told you that I really do not want to be pregnant this year. I need a break from change. I need to aid my children back on track to stability and growth. I need to invest deeply into myself and my marriage. I need to remember the basics before I start adding in another player to my game of Double Dutch.
Yesterday, I finished my day with a glass of Chardonnay and yummy buttered popcorn and stayed up late watching White Collar.
Today, I was late. Late in writing those feelings, penning those thoughts, and in getting up.
Today, I took a pregnancy test, because my cycle also was late.
Today, I discovered there is life in my womb.
Today, I remembered all the things I love about being pregnant. I started scribbling down lists of to-dos and "don't forgets" and long lists of how this pregnancy, this baby, this delivery would be different from the others. And, in light of my new resolution, how I was going to keep up caring for myself this year. How I was going to take time away, refresh my soul, encourage my spirit, care for my body and love myself through through the growth of another child inside me.
Today my mind was spinning. I caught myself in doubt and moments of disapointment in myself for what I left undone or how my body still healing hadn't completed the tasks I had laid out for her before giving her the challenging task of bearing another young. But I silenced my hate. I spoke to my young and I told her she was welcome. I whispered a thank you to the Being who placed her inside of me and realized this beautiful opportunity for my family to grow. I let my husband sing the song he played the day we were married and I took my children out for ice cream with sprinkles.
Tonight, I drink chamomile tea, a tall quart of Berkey water and a handful of raw almonds, I'm going to read in bed and go to bed early. And I'm going to dream of a tiny little babe with curly red hair and teeny little fingers and toes and unblinking eyes that look into my heart and remind me to trust and love myself.
CLTD
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Saturday, January 12, 2013
a new year's apology
I want to begin with an apology. And an open letter.
To Whom This Letter Applies,
I want my new year to be filled with love, and to you, I know I have shown little.
I want to tell you that I am deeply sorry for mistreating you. For years of hurt, anger and unkindness shown to you.
I'm sorry for not listening to your mind. I'm sorry not letting you finish your thoughts, or finding value in your opinion. I'm sorry for not trusting that your contribution was worthy of adding something remarkable, worthwhile or memorable to the clatter. (I was willing to let others show themselves fools over allowing you to reveal yourself wise.) And in such way, I'm sorry for publicly dishonoring you. For speaking often of your weaknesses and failing to present your strengths, and for constantly second-guessing your voice.
I'm sorry for demanding so much of you: more than anyone can handle. I'm sorry for continually giving you the blame and for failing to relieve you of the burden of responsibility. I placed expectations unending on you. For no gain at all. I'm sorry for pushing you beyond your limits. For consistently downgrading your accomplishments and requiring always more (and thus making it impossible to finish).
I'm sorry for always comparing you. Against my peers, my peer-models and my own perspective of perfection. My criticism toward you reached new levels daily and I was continually finding fault, guilt, and blame. I am sorry for this. The shame I pour over you does not motivate you, inspire you or give you an ability to flourish. I see the way it cripples you and yet I do not relent.
I'm sorry for not acknowledging your needs. For failing to give you your own space. For reprieve. For an ability to be recharged and rejuvenated and given the opportunity to succeed. I've failed to understand what boundaries need to be observed and how best to let you live.
But perhaps what reached my deepest level of sorrow was last year with the loss of your baby. I empathized with you, but secretly I blamed you. Yet again, without concern for your voice, your heart, your value... I gave you the burden of responsibility and in anger and unkindness, I did not realize how broken and in need you were. I blamed you. Your heart was crushed but I made lists of mistakes, of shortcomings or failures. I lined you against my friends and failed to see their miscarriages, but yours I saw plainly. It was your fault. And you were without forgiveness.
Dear sweet Self. I apologize. My hatred against Self gains me nothing. Muting your voice, comparing you, ushering shame into your tender heart, and finding continual fault and responsibility is wrong. You cannot always be to blame. Theo Roosevelt said that "Comparison is the thief of joy." -- He was right.
To you, my tender Self, I commit to love this year. I want to learn about what makes you come alive, what makes you dance, what makes you feel inspired and motivated. I want to see you flourish and find life enchanting and intoxicating. I want to see your body and spirit healthy and thriving. I adore you, Self. You are the one thing my life has always had in constant and for the remarkable twists and turns in life, I want to rest assured that you know I am always on your side. Your efforts, your voice, your ability... they are worthy.
Self, find this year new. Find me in unity with you, no longer writhing in self-hatred and loathing your company. You are beautiful and brilliant. You are creative and inspiring. I love you.
Go, my sweet Self: Love life.
CLTD
To Whom This Letter Applies,
I want my new year to be filled with love, and to you, I know I have shown little.
I want to tell you that I am deeply sorry for mistreating you. For years of hurt, anger and unkindness shown to you.
I'm sorry for not listening to your mind. I'm sorry not letting you finish your thoughts, or finding value in your opinion. I'm sorry for not trusting that your contribution was worthy of adding something remarkable, worthwhile or memorable to the clatter. (I was willing to let others show themselves fools over allowing you to reveal yourself wise.) And in such way, I'm sorry for publicly dishonoring you. For speaking often of your weaknesses and failing to present your strengths, and for constantly second-guessing your voice.
I'm sorry for demanding so much of you: more than anyone can handle. I'm sorry for continually giving you the blame and for failing to relieve you of the burden of responsibility. I placed expectations unending on you. For no gain at all. I'm sorry for pushing you beyond your limits. For consistently downgrading your accomplishments and requiring always more (and thus making it impossible to finish).
I'm sorry for always comparing you. Against my peers, my peer-models and my own perspective of perfection. My criticism toward you reached new levels daily and I was continually finding fault, guilt, and blame. I am sorry for this. The shame I pour over you does not motivate you, inspire you or give you an ability to flourish. I see the way it cripples you and yet I do not relent.
I'm sorry for not acknowledging your needs. For failing to give you your own space. For reprieve. For an ability to be recharged and rejuvenated and given the opportunity to succeed. I've failed to understand what boundaries need to be observed and how best to let you live.
But perhaps what reached my deepest level of sorrow was last year with the loss of your baby. I empathized with you, but secretly I blamed you. Yet again, without concern for your voice, your heart, your value... I gave you the burden of responsibility and in anger and unkindness, I did not realize how broken and in need you were. I blamed you. Your heart was crushed but I made lists of mistakes, of shortcomings or failures. I lined you against my friends and failed to see their miscarriages, but yours I saw plainly. It was your fault. And you were without forgiveness.
Dear sweet Self. I apologize. My hatred against Self gains me nothing. Muting your voice, comparing you, ushering shame into your tender heart, and finding continual fault and responsibility is wrong. You cannot always be to blame. Theo Roosevelt said that "Comparison is the thief of joy." -- He was right.
To you, my tender Self, I commit to love this year. I want to learn about what makes you come alive, what makes you dance, what makes you feel inspired and motivated. I want to see you flourish and find life enchanting and intoxicating. I want to see your body and spirit healthy and thriving. I adore you, Self. You are the one thing my life has always had in constant and for the remarkable twists and turns in life, I want to rest assured that you know I am always on your side. Your efforts, your voice, your ability... they are worthy.
Self, find this year new. Find me in unity with you, no longer writhing in self-hatred and loathing your company. You are beautiful and brilliant. You are creative and inspiring. I love you.
Go, my sweet Self: Love life.
CLTD
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