Tapping Out-Everyone Needs a Safe Word

Today went from OK to not good at all in a matter of hours.

Before lunchtime I had a confrontation with someone I love, entered a public space (when I thought I had my emotions in check) and couldn’t stop crying, misplaced my debit card, misplaced my driver’s license and lost my mind.

I desperately needed a do-over.

And then I realized that I hadn’t queued up a new post. Which really isn’t that big a deal to anyone but me (in my pride) because this November will make four years I haven’t missed a day.

I know sometimes I run a series of old posts but y’all have just been subjected to that because of Hurricane Dorian. I didn’t want to do it again so soon.

And I don’t like just posting fluff. I want to honor the time you take to read what I send out.

But this time I think I’m tapping out.

All my kids and my husband participated in Tae Kwon Do for years.

I watched a lot of sparring matches, demonstrations, testings and practices. James Michael eventually rose to the rank of Second Degree Black Belt and Dominic was the youngest ever (at eight years old) to test for First Degree Black Belt in their particular school.

There’s a safety protocol for sparring in Tae Kwon Do. Even though no one is supposed to be overly aggressive when sparring, sometimes it gets a little out of hand. So if your opponent crosses the line and is actually hurting you, you tap the mat indicating that they need to stop-RIGHT NOW-before harm is done.

I was oh, so grateful for that safety protocol when trying to keep my seat in the bleachers as my little guys were tossed around. I knew that if someone was really hurting them, they had a way out.

I should have learned it then, but I’m a slow learner.

Everyone needs a safety protocol.

Everyone needs a safe word or a safe space or a safe friend so that when things pile high or heavy or both, they can make it plain that IT HURTS!

I’ve managed to do the necessary today.

And like I’ve said before, the worst day of my life only lasted 24 hours.

Tomorrow is a new day, another sunrise, another chance for things to be a little easier, a little better, a little more bearable.

Thanks for listening.

I Didn’t Cry, But Then I Did

This past weekend was an emotional one.

My deployed son began his trek back home to his wife and newborn son.

My youngest son went on the bachelor trip with his soon to be brother-in-law and was incommunicado for almost 72  hours which always makes me nervous.

My daughter’s wedding is only a few weeks away and there is so much to do. Fun things.  Things I want to do.

My companion animal and faithful sidekick died two weeks ago and I haven’t been sleeping nearly as well as I did before

It was the fifth anniversary of Dominic’s death and funeral.

I didn’t cry, but then I did. 

And I couldn’t stop. 

I just couldn’t stop.

How in the world can it be five years?  I can’t explain it to anyone who hasn’t buried a child. But I keep trying.  The giant chasm between what I thought life would be like and what it actually turned out to be is so wide that it’s impossible to comprehend.  I’m living it and I can’t comprehend it.

dom on mountaintop

I am trying so, so hard to participate.

I’m working at keeping grief at bay and leaning into the life I have without constantly comparing it to the life I thought I would have or the life I wanted instead.  I’m purposing to keep my expectations low so I won’t be disappointed.

But it’s not working.

I think I’m just at the end of my personal resources.  I think I’ve exhausted any reserve I might have had.  I’m leaning into Truth and holding onto the hem of His garment.

I know it won’t always be this way.  

The tears will dry up.  They always do.  

Tomorrow is a new day.  

finish each day and be done with it emerson

 

 

 

 

 

Overcome, Overwhelmed and Undone

The past seven days have been anything but the lazy, hazy days of summer. 

There has not been a solid 24 hours where some kind of crisis didn’t find its way to my doorstep, across my driveway or into my living room.  

Seriously.  

tree on driveway edited

On a scale of one to ten, none actually rank high in that there’s not a solution or plan of action. 

But every single one of them raised my stress and anxiety to very uncomfortable heights.  

I have no idea why I keep thinking maybe-just maybe-there will be a season of rest when I can get my feet under me, get my mind settled (a bit) and get the laundry put away.

There are good days.  

But then there are bad ones right on their heels.

I’m 54 years old, raised and home educated four children, helped my husband with his career and a personal business, managed a small farm and cooked, cleaned and was the all around go-fer for my family while each one pursued his or her education and dreams.

But there has been no season as stress-filled and trying as this one: the season of grief, the season of missing, the season where I have had to admit that control is an illusion.

So many days I watch the sunset in defeat.

Overcome, overwhelmed and undone.

I know the new day will bring new mercies and that is how my heart holds onto hope. 

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