Who I am right now is a scared child. I've had so much change thrust into my life that I have lost sight of my own anchor. I'm in a new town. New job. New people. New house. New school for Ellie. New potential for friends but as we all know, true friendships can only be built through time. I miss my family terribly. I miss my friends. I jumped off the proverbial cliff, landed on my feet, but I'm dazed. Is there where I meant to land?
Each day is wracked with questions of self doubt. "Did I do the right thing?" "Am I doing this right?" "Are you sure this is what you want?" "Are you sure this is what is best for your daughter?"
Earlier this week something happened to my body. It was a terrible, horrible thing. I became wracked with unrelenting nausea and vomiting. I spent the night curled next to the toilet, sweaty but also freezing. By morning I had consumed no water (it wouldn't stay down) and to move my head a mere few inches off the pillow not only racked me with nausea, but it gave me the worst, bone throbbing headache. My husband was hours away in Denver and I was alone with my daughter, as I am for much of the working week. I was too sick to get my child ready for school, too sick to drive. I had to keep her home though the mere act of feeding her was all I could muster. It was one of the loneliest, scariest days I've had in a while. I realized I was on my own island. I had no one to call for help when the thing I craved most was to feel nurtured. It was a really hard day.
Earlier this week something happened to my body. It was a terrible, horrible thing. I became wracked with unrelenting nausea and vomiting. I spent the night curled next to the toilet, sweaty but also freezing. By morning I had consumed no water (it wouldn't stay down) and to move my head a mere few inches off the pillow not only racked me with nausea, but it gave me the worst, bone throbbing headache. My husband was hours away in Denver and I was alone with my daughter, as I am for much of the working week. I was too sick to get my child ready for school, too sick to drive. I had to keep her home though the mere act of feeding her was all I could muster. It was one of the loneliest, scariest days I've had in a while. I realized I was on my own island. I had no one to call for help when the thing I craved most was to feel nurtured. It was a really hard day.
There have been a lot of hard days. We are still living out of boxes (we do not close on our new house until next month). Without feeling settled I notice how hard it is to be the kind of mom I want to be, how hard it is to treat myself with genuine love. I feel myself withdrawing into winter, into the dark and cold that starts to permeate. And yet, for her, I can not withdraw. She needs me. Now I see that bravery in the face of change has become a wholly different thing now that I am a mother.
The Places that Scare you is a book I'm reading by Pema Chodron right now. She writes "Do I prefer to grow up and relate to life directly, or do I choose to live and die in fear?
I do not choose fear but acknowledge that fear is ever present. I've left behind my comfort zone in exploration of new experience. I remind myself this is hard to do. I remind myself that I am being brave. Though I can be scared and feel so small among these mountains, these new faces, this new routine, I also stand here as a woman and a mother. I hold the hand of my child and navigate these waters, charting a course that is not yet known. I remind myself, because it needs reminding, that we are here now, and that we are actually doing the thing we were craving for so long.
I remind myself that it is okay to feel scared and lonely, but that the things we need will unfold. In time. In trust. I know that we will be okay. I can be a brave warrior as I must for the sweet little girl who calls me Mom.
(Little child you have no idea how hard it can feel to be a grown up.)
