I wish I could write openly about the things that are going on right now in my life, but I can’t.
So you’ll just have to trust me when I say these past months-really this past year-has been the most challenging since the first 365 days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
I have cried more in the past three weeks than I have cried in the past three years.
I am forced to crawl into that secret space inside my heart and soul over and over if I hope to not vomit all these feelings on whoever happens to be nearby.
I look like I’m walking around in the world, but I’m really just walking around in a fog-putting one foot in front of the other and hoping I don’t trip and land flat on my face.
I want to be transparent, but I can’t be. Outcomes depend upon my ability to keep it together.
If I’m transparent, they will see that I’m falling apart.
So I plant a fake smile on my face, put on my good clothes, suck it up and suck it in and do what I have to do.
But I feel so very vulnerable.
Every day I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where you show up naked to class or to a job interview or to some other important function. And everyone just stares-dumbfounded-because they don’t know whether to laugh or cry at my predicament.
And I’m scared.
I know I write a lot about learning to set anxiety aside and not trying to figure out what the future holds. I really do take my own advice.
But some days, some weeks, some months I find I’m just as unable as the next trembling heart to do that.
So I’ve spent a lot of mornings crying before the sun rises too high in the sky. Letting all that vulnerability and fear leave my body through my eyes.
Then I dry it up and get dressed. Put on my mask and get going.
It is utterly exhausting.
I’m clinging to the fact that my track record for surviving hard days is 100%.
But it is still so very hard.