Lines of worry are starting to etch themselves on my face. This could be a byproduct of having yet another birthday (think of the alternative, I know) or it could be the bone-crushing pressure-cooker in which I find myself. Who’s to say? All I know at this point is that there’s no way out, only through. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. And you better get darn good at holding your breath.
The recipes peppering the blog are because I cannot bear the sound of my own sadness anymore- soothing with food is a band-aid, but at least I’m caring enough to soothe with good food instead of an entire box of cheese-its.
Like a dog who’s been kicked too many times, I am kind of cowering in the corner- I don’t want to tempt the fates and speak up too loudly- it’s better to be invisible. I might not exist then, but no one can hurt me, either. My breath catches in my throat, and the part of my brain that is not primeval medulla recoils from this base reaction and begins to try and reason. You don’t reason with the primordial ooze.
The needs of others cut me like sharp slivers of glass. Like a plate-spinner in the circus I keep running between delicate balancing acts. Three essays due for school today, two discussion commitments, a large paper and a test due Friday. Between now and then I have preschool, carpool, a field trip for one child, enrichment craft day at church, a meeting with my bishop, and an appointment with financial aid.
And yet oddly, one just keeps going. There is great joy in small things, and I am getting better at ignoring the things that hurt- or at the very least, I’m getting better at recognizing that often pain is transitory and fleeting as happiness. There is comfort in remembering that- this too shall pass really applies to everything.
For happiness, this week:
I fit in a pair of pre-baby jeans. Not pre-Abby jeans. Pre-any-baby.
I found my old logger boots that I used to wear when I was traipsing around Germany, and remembered how much I love them. They are thick black leather, with lug soles and heavy, nailed heels. They make me feel solid and grounded, and I love them. The kids thought it was funny that I had on big black boots instead of flip-flops.
I found some under-counter lights on super-clearance sale at Lowes and installed them in my kitchen- and now I can actually see when I’m fixing dinner.
I got my paper for Lit finished early so I have time to do the other stuff on the docket.
We have started reading Harry Potter aloud each night as a family. It’s incredibly joyful.
Abby has finally mastered her bladder and is waking up dry most mornings. My washing machine is grateful.
So there’s all that. A lot might suck, but there’s a lot good too. I just have to remember to look harder and watch where I’m focusing. So maybe there’s a few new lines on my face- they were bound to show up eventually, right? Perspective.
5 thoughts on “Stream of Consciousness”
This is where I think President Monson’s gratitude talk from conference becomes so invaluable. The more you try to focus on the good, the more good you see, and then the more good you have. But good grief it takes effort!
You are one of the most inspiring, amazing women I know of. You handle your difficulties with such grace and poise. I’m sure there are bouts of crying and why me’s as well, but I truly admire you.
Thank you for the inspiration, Tracy! I really admire that you keep plugging along. You’ve wrangled several of my own goals.
Hold on to the positives. You really are doing so very well with all that you’ve been handed.
My previous branch president had “This Too Shall Pass” written on the chalkboard in his office, it was there his entire tenure and he referred to it often during meetings.
With your good influence maybe I can write a positive post this evening.
Pre baby jeans! You should put THAT on your online profile and see what comes up! Ok, don’t, but still. Good for you.
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