I thought I had avoided my annual January low point. And perhaps I did, because it's now February. It found me, though. The low found me.
I love the snow and the cold and the dreary, cuddly days, but today the snow and the cold and the dreary are holding me down. Suffocating me. Breaking me.
I'm not me. I turned into someone else. Somebody who sits around and feels sorry for herself. Somebody who lets others dictate her self worth.
I feel down. I feel low. I feel ugly.
I'm a pitiful mess.
This isn't truly me. This feeling finds me, sometimes, but I turn and I run as fast as I can. I know the truth. I'm not any of these things. I have so much to be happy about it, so much to be grateful for. And I am, most days, so very happy and so very grateful.
To see people I love spew hatred towards me and my family is brutal. It hurts. It shakes me to my core and makes me question why the heck I fight to keep it all together. Why do I so desperately need or want these toxic people in my life? I say that it doesn't matter what they say about me, and for the most part, it doesn't. I don't need validation from them. I don't need their permission to be happy.
But I'm not perfect. I'm human. I hurt. I bleed. I cry.
Because it does matter. Not in the grand scheme of my life, but in the here and the now and the yesterday. That's where it matters.
I feel bombarded by the lonely, by the cold, by the dreary. One on top of the other, over and over, until I find myself sobbing in a pile on the floor.
It's an utter mess.
And while I deal and I process with all of this, I need something to help me, to pick me up, to remind me of my worth. That isn't there. Nothing is there.
Here, it is cold and it is so lonely.
The distance grows further and deeper, and I reach out and I scream and I cry for help, and I am met with deafening silence.
It hurts. I am broken.
The rock that I relied on in my day to day has shattered and I'm caught in an avalanche of pain and loss that I had not anticipated. I keep reaching out, I keep screaming, I am begging for help, for love, for compassion, for a moment of just us.
Today I was about as far from a Super Mama as I could get. Avoiding and hiding, letting life happen while I sobbed into your pillow, aware but distant. It wasn't fun, for me or for my little ones.
Which is probably when it hit me. I can't allow this. I am not that girl. I am not broken by your lack of compassion or understanding, I am not nothing because I don't measure up to your standards.
So I vent, I let my words tumble out on to this page, free and easy and painful and hard, allowing the feelings to escape through my fingertips as I type and through every tear I've brushed away. Letting it go, letting them go, letting you go, letting go my vision of the past and how wonderful it all was. Today's reality is equally as wonderful as yesterday's, but with a different cast of characters, and somehow that is just going to have to be okay. I can't fix everything. As much as I want to, I am incapable. Saying it out loud, writing those words, giving it away is freeing. Finally.
I'm faced with tomorrow and the unknown.
Hoping you want to pick up those pieces and put them back together.
As I kissed each of my babies goodnight, I am reminded that there is so much good in the world, and that I have every chance to teach them how to love and how to give, even when it hurts, and especially when it's not easy.
Now I'm able to sit in my thoughts, allowing myself to cry a few more tears for the broken girl inside me, and ready and able to pick myself up off the floor tomorrow and hold my head up high as I face the world.