Healing (312-325)

Depression is a peculiar thing, in that by the time you realize and admit it has become a problem, it has already been a problem for a long while; and alternately by the time you realize it is no longer a problem, it has been gone for an even longer while.

How long have I been breathing now? Days, weeks, months? I look back and try to trace the exact date that living became easy again. The exact moment I stopped shaking. It was November that I hit bottom. It was January when I dug my heels in and decided to climb out. It was February when I really began to allow myself to heal, the only way I know how- writing it out.

And next week, on Mother's Day I get to read that writing-it-out at a Mother's Day show and I have to admit, dangerous as it is, that I think the healing will finally be complete. This show is giving me a chance to own my experience in a way that I didn't think to imagine.

And looking at all those linkies it seems like I've let you all in on this journey of mine.

But I haven't.

I've written emotionally about figerprints on my walls, and thoughtfully about the joy of christmas gifts . I've written humorously about bad haircuts, heck, I even took you step by step thru a day in our life.

But I never admitted when it got hard. I didn't let anyone know how numb I was feeling, how difficult it was to get dressed in the morning. I didn't talk about the mess, physical, emotional, that Josh would come home to or how lonely I was feeling in it all. I didn't mention how I'd lose patience with the kids and baby-gate them into their toy room so they'd leave me alone. And I'm not really sure why. Or rather I am. It was part pride, and part shame. Even though it became clear fairly soon that it was my last miscarriage that set it all off, it didn't seem like a good "excuse". It wasn't postpartum after all, it wasn't my first miscarriage. I should have been able to handle it.

Now it just seems dishonest, that withholding. Fake.

And I'm very sorry.

And so I'll admit to you that yes, I feel better. But I'm still scared. It's not the first time I've fallen into this particular pit, fought these particular demons, and I think the hardest part of all of it is that now I have to admit it's not the last either. It's going to happen again. And with every single breath I take right now I remember that tomorrow it might not be so easy anymore. The walls can cave in at any second.

I'm still walking carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements or loud noises. I'm still not sure when I will be brave enough to try to get pregnant again.

I'm counting. But don't think I never falter.

#312. A husband willing to play with me at Mobius.

313. Dandelion tea, and two faithful dandelion collectors to make every cup possible.

314. Koolaid dyed yarn.

315. Milkshakes.

316. Lilacs budding.

317. My peas didnt freeze!

318. That none of us get what we deserve.

319. My first sunburn down.

320. Zeke's imagination.

321. Calls on the way home, asking if there is anything I need at the store.

322. A cross all decorated with butterflies.

323. Warm meals.

324. Weather reports.

325. A chance to own my experience, to heal, to share.