It pains me to keep writing. It pains me to face this all. But Jesus, it's what I prayed for isn't it?
The Big Reveal.
With a side dish of betrayal.
This is crazy because it all just plays right into the very abandonment issues that have now been put on display. Like some crazy fucking someone from your past dragged into the courtroom as a character witness assassin while you're on trial for your life. Here! See? She's CRAAAAZZZZY.
So...
I freak when I get my mom's e-mail saying basically that she doesn't trust me, care about me or whatever. She's siding with my dh any way you cut it. She's made a choice. Marriage 1. Ellen 0.
I don't think I have talked to my mom for two whole hours since this thing even began.
Fickle mommy.
Mommies should not be fickle.
I write her a very calm e-mail asking for her love and loyalty and for her please not to speak to the dh.
She does not respond to this e-mail. Instead, she calls my brother??? who calls me to talk about it. It was a long, loving but difficult conversation. It's hard to hear people make assumptions about you. It's even harder when they act on them. It's hard not to be trusted by those closest to you. Not to be FIRST. God, that's a thing for me.
Yeah. Now I know why.
We get ourselves through the conversation but I've been yelling on and off, outside, in the rain (staying out of earshot of the kids) for 20 minutes so I say my goodbyes. As an afterthought, my bro says, "You know, take comfort knowing that your dh did most of the talking." "Yeah?" (Go figure, I think.) "Yeah," my bro says. "He even told Mom all this stuff about you having issues about your adoption."
Time stops. Rain freezes in place. The birds are quiet. It's cold. Color drains from my sight.
My brother's voice continues in my ear.
"I told Mom that isn't true."
I hear myself say, "It is true. I have to get off the phone now."
The world is literally tilting. I walk up and inside the house.
Place a call to my therapist's cell phone.
She and I are in the middle of negotiating a way for me to get out of the house without conversing with the dh (he has a visit with the kids that night) when I turn and he's standing right there. Listening of course.
God, I hate him.
I hate to hate. But I do. I do.
My mother's e-mail takes shape. Like words coming out of a fog. "When you were a child..." "You're depressed..." "You're the one who needs therapy..."
I leave. Get in the car.
Howl.
THAT WAS MINE! IT BELONGED TO ME!
He climbed the scaffolding of my growth, of my work, to get leverage with my parents. He crossed a sacred trust. There are things I have told my dh that I have not told any one else. That is sacred whether you are married or not.
He stole. He stole any moment I may have chosen to tell my parents in. He stole my privacy. He stole my growth. I can't think of any other more accurate way to describe it. That belonged to me. It was MINE. Not his.
You see, my adoption has two stories. One good. One not-so-good. One the story of a woman who has a great (?) family, who has been provided for and loved. The other story is of a six month old child abandoned repeatedly by her birth mother.
It's great that my family really doesn't "see" me as adopted. It's assumed I'm part of the family like anyone else. It is simply NOT AN ISSUE. That has its advantages. The disadvantage is it can lead to some insensitivity. But that's not their problem. Not until I chose to clear it up.
On the surface, one story does not negate the other. I had not yet felt the need to correct my family's version. It's not un-true. My version came after many years of therapy. It is the very definition of personal. It is a battle I have fought within myself. It has made me what I am today.
It is also not un-true. And it is certainly, CERTAINLY, not a SOMETHING to be batted about lightly. There is a hard nub there of un-worthiness. It is the dark, tainted, left-over stain of my self-loathing. A condensation of self-hate...for a BABY. But I have taught myself to look at it, and even at times, love it.
It is ironic that in the moment of this reveal...the reveal of my tissuey, pre-verbal issues of abandonment that I am actually, really, in the flesh abandoned.
There really is nothing to say more about that.
Let me just add, for the record: I would have done anything to save my marriage. It was of paramount importance to me. I loved it. I loved my husband. I trusted him. I will miss my marriage.
Remember, from the moment we're born, we climb aboard a sinking boat.
Bon voyage.
It Is What It Is
Showing posts with label abandonment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abandonment. Show all posts
Monday, February 25, 2008
I'm Not Telling - Part One
This post is going to take many drafts I think. Or maybe I'll just let it fly. Either way, you won't know the difference and I'm not telling.
I'm an angry bitch (if this stays in then I didn't edit). And I have good reason (editing fuck out between good and reason).
We're born alone and we die alone. I know this thought can make some sad, but for me it's actually comforting. First off, it's true. And I've been praying for God to remove my blinders. Please Jesus, wash away any and all last bits of untruth that I harbor. The mis-conceptions, the prejudices, the hurtful ignorance. I pray this prayer because I don't want to go through all this growth and truth and then trip on a blind spot.
My Jesus is swift. And I am open. Read: be careful what you pray for. Because my eyes have been opened. Doesn't mean you're going to like what you see.
I've learned/remembered how much I dislike having my life run by other people. I hate in fact not knowing the truth about my life. This is all very circular isn't it? I pray to know the truth and then find the truth being hidden from me. Infuriating. And then some.
Wednesday: Mediation. Went pretty well I thought. On the long drive there I was really nervous. Trembling. A tape ran in my head:
This is the end of my marriage.I have to sit withmydhanddiscusstheendofmymarriage.
Oh,God.Oh,God.Oh,God.
Then I stopped. Breathe. Breathe. I stroked my soul. I love you. Breathe. I told myself, It's okay lady. Don't be scared. Remember this is what you want. And grace, sweet divine grace, descended on me. No more trembling. A smile even? This is what I want. I want free. I've wanted freedom for a long time. And I'm getting it. It's basically done. Wow. Totally different attitude. Yes. I say yes.
Where do I sign?
So I was able to walk in (still) very, very nervous but my soul was intact and my heart was sure and my mind was sound. My dh says immediately, "You sure you want to do this?"
Answer: Inside: resounding yes. Outside: "Yes? Why are you asking me this right now?"
He shrugs.
He's so bizarre.
The mediator is terrific. A real pro. I feel like my heart is going to explode and my dh is sighing loudly every few minutes. But the mediator is calming and diplomatic and his eyes are on the big picture. Like hospice nurses and sanitation workers...who signs up for this job? And thank God they do. I felt confident about the process. He said stuff like "You don't want a judge making life decisions for you" and "Your children will thank you for going this route on their wedding day." Wow. My dh and I just have to be open and able to trust each other and we can get through this and provide the best life for our kids. Okay.
"Trust each other." Insert sound of throat clearing. Or maybe one of those record scratches. Or brakes screaching. Yeah. That's good. "Trust each other." RRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Son of a bitch.
My dh called me on the way home from the mediation bitching at me about an e-mail my brother sent him. I try to be kind. "Don't worry about it," I say. "It doesn't matter. Why do you care what he thinks?" But in typical dh-fashion he keeps coming after me.
I wonder about him. I mean mediation went WELL but I'm still REELING from the experience. The last thing I want to do right now is FIGHT with someone. Does his engine run on pain or what?
I finally say, "I have to hang up now" and he says, "What am I supposed to do with all this shit?" And I think, well there it is. His modus operandi. His reason for raging. He just doesn't know what to do with his shit.
Next day, Thursday. I e-mail my mom to assure her that mediation went well although my dh is acting kind of strange. She e-mails me back that she knows why dh is upset. SHE TALKED TO HIM FOR TWO HOURS PRIOR TO MEDIATION.
That explains dh asking me if I really wanted to do this because my mom told him it was her understanding (ha!) that I didn't want a divorce. It also explains dh's threatening e-mail later that day which says that things I've said to my mother will "come back to haunt me for years to come."
Back to my mom's e-mail (we're doing this through e-mail!?!?!) - despite having told her and my Dad about the abusive nature of my relationship, despite spilling my guts which was very hard to do while feeling broken and vulnerable, despite telling them the recent truths about dh closing our financial accounts, etc., my mother, MY MOTHER, tells me that I should get back together with my dh. That I am throwing away my marriage. That I should get back in therapy with my dh (and here...she goes on about something that I can't even understand so I blow by it...kinda like how they say the Indians couldn't see the Pilgrims' ships because it was something they couldn't even comprehend. Yeah, like that.) So I skip those sentences and go on to the finale. She writes: You need to do what's best for all FOUR of you.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
That's a moan people. A MOOOOAAAANNN. Later, in Part Two, there will be a howl.
For now, a digression.
I read a book recently called "The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show." It's by Ariel Gore and in it she tells her narrative by weaving in stories of the saints. (Aside: I liked her other novel/memoir "Atlas of the Human Heart" a whole lot and she is the editor of the cool zine "Hip Mama.")
In "The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show" Gore offers invocations for individual saints, including Mary Magdalen.
(Backstory: I've always loved Mary Magdalen. My cat's name is Magdalen. Mary and I even share an astrological sign - her feast day is July 22nd.)
As I'm sure you all know Mary Magdalen was portrayed as a prostitute for most of history. But 30 plus years ago the Catholic Church said once and for all that no such thing was true and that the bible didn't support the claim. Dan Brown took it one step further in "The Da Vinci Code" to say that the whole thing was a smear campaign to keep women from challenging the patriarchal system of Catholicism. (I couldn't agree more.)
Ho or not, what is know for sure is that Mary Magdalen was the first one to meet the resurrected Jesus. She showed up at Jesus' tomb the day after His Crucifixion and burial to find the stone rolled away and His body gone. She saw a man walking in the garden and asked him if he saw the body removed from the tomb. He turned to her and said, "Do you not recognize me Mary?" She didn't. And then.
And then.
She did. She moved towards Him.
"Do not touch me Mary. I have not yet ascended." (Happy Easter!)
Mary was the first one at the tomb and Jesus chose to reveal Himself to her first. That's a special lady.
I decided a couple weeks ago to order a Mary Magdalen medal to wear during these dark days. It arrived on Thursday - HOURS before this shit hit the fan. I was glad to have it.
Now dig what the fabulous Ariel Gore had to say about how to pray to Mary Magdalen.
Pray:
"'So that I may not waver at the sight of the divine.' To honor her, learn how to express your grief as well as your joy. Watch the sunrise or sunset and say our loud: 'I am fully and radiantly myself, IMMUNE TO SLANDER. I offer my unique gift to the world.' Stay open to inner vision and refrain from judgement. That woman you're calling a whore may just be the Lord's favorite apostle, and that gardener you hope to underpay might be God himself."
Riiight?
Reviewing the post I noticed that I neglected to give another reason why I take comfort in the thought that we're born alone and we die alone. So...
Secondly, it relieves me of the burden of finding a someone else to trust, to align with, to confirm my existence, to reflect my godliness. People might let me down. Even those whom I have entrusted all my love and respect, those who I have attached myself to with a taped-together umbilical cord.
Those people live their own lives. They're in their own sinking boat. They have their reasons.
And so it's a comfort to not lean, but to stand tall and firm on my own two feet. And know that no one can knock me down.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
More...now.
I'm an angry bitch (if this stays in then I didn't edit). And I have good reason (editing fuck out between good and reason).
We're born alone and we die alone. I know this thought can make some sad, but for me it's actually comforting. First off, it's true. And I've been praying for God to remove my blinders. Please Jesus, wash away any and all last bits of untruth that I harbor. The mis-conceptions, the prejudices, the hurtful ignorance. I pray this prayer because I don't want to go through all this growth and truth and then trip on a blind spot.
My Jesus is swift. And I am open. Read: be careful what you pray for. Because my eyes have been opened. Doesn't mean you're going to like what you see.
I've learned/remembered how much I dislike having my life run by other people. I hate in fact not knowing the truth about my life. This is all very circular isn't it? I pray to know the truth and then find the truth being hidden from me. Infuriating. And then some.
Wednesday: Mediation. Went pretty well I thought. On the long drive there I was really nervous. Trembling. A tape ran in my head:
This is the end of my marriage.I have to sit withmydhanddiscusstheendofmymarriage.
Oh,God.Oh,God.Oh,God.
Then I stopped. Breathe. Breathe. I stroked my soul. I love you. Breathe. I told myself, It's okay lady. Don't be scared. Remember this is what you want. And grace, sweet divine grace, descended on me. No more trembling. A smile even? This is what I want. I want free. I've wanted freedom for a long time. And I'm getting it. It's basically done. Wow. Totally different attitude. Yes. I say yes.
Where do I sign?
So I was able to walk in (still) very, very nervous but my soul was intact and my heart was sure and my mind was sound. My dh says immediately, "You sure you want to do this?"
Answer: Inside: resounding yes. Outside: "Yes? Why are you asking me this right now?"
He shrugs.
He's so bizarre.
The mediator is terrific. A real pro. I feel like my heart is going to explode and my dh is sighing loudly every few minutes. But the mediator is calming and diplomatic and his eyes are on the big picture. Like hospice nurses and sanitation workers...who signs up for this job? And thank God they do. I felt confident about the process. He said stuff like "You don't want a judge making life decisions for you" and "Your children will thank you for going this route on their wedding day." Wow. My dh and I just have to be open and able to trust each other and we can get through this and provide the best life for our kids. Okay.
"Trust each other." Insert sound of throat clearing. Or maybe one of those record scratches. Or brakes screaching. Yeah. That's good. "Trust each other." RRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Son of a bitch.
My dh called me on the way home from the mediation bitching at me about an e-mail my brother sent him. I try to be kind. "Don't worry about it," I say. "It doesn't matter. Why do you care what he thinks?" But in typical dh-fashion he keeps coming after me.
I wonder about him. I mean mediation went WELL but I'm still REELING from the experience. The last thing I want to do right now is FIGHT with someone. Does his engine run on pain or what?
I finally say, "I have to hang up now" and he says, "What am I supposed to do with all this shit?" And I think, well there it is. His modus operandi. His reason for raging. He just doesn't know what to do with his shit.
Next day, Thursday. I e-mail my mom to assure her that mediation went well although my dh is acting kind of strange. She e-mails me back that she knows why dh is upset. SHE TALKED TO HIM FOR TWO HOURS PRIOR TO MEDIATION.
That explains dh asking me if I really wanted to do this because my mom told him it was her understanding (ha!) that I didn't want a divorce. It also explains dh's threatening e-mail later that day which says that things I've said to my mother will "come back to haunt me for years to come."
Back to my mom's e-mail (we're doing this through e-mail!?!?!) - despite having told her and my Dad about the abusive nature of my relationship, despite spilling my guts which was very hard to do while feeling broken and vulnerable, despite telling them the recent truths about dh closing our financial accounts, etc., my mother, MY MOTHER, tells me that I should get back together with my dh. That I am throwing away my marriage. That I should get back in therapy with my dh (and here...she goes on about something that I can't even understand so I blow by it...kinda like how they say the Indians couldn't see the Pilgrims' ships because it was something they couldn't even comprehend. Yeah, like that.) So I skip those sentences and go on to the finale. She writes: You need to do what's best for all FOUR of you.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
That's a moan people. A MOOOOAAAANNN. Later, in Part Two, there will be a howl.
For now, a digression.
I read a book recently called "The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show." It's by Ariel Gore and in it she tells her narrative by weaving in stories of the saints. (Aside: I liked her other novel/memoir "Atlas of the Human Heart" a whole lot and she is the editor of the cool zine "Hip Mama.")
In "The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show" Gore offers invocations for individual saints, including Mary Magdalen.
(Backstory: I've always loved Mary Magdalen. My cat's name is Magdalen. Mary and I even share an astrological sign - her feast day is July 22nd.)
As I'm sure you all know Mary Magdalen was portrayed as a prostitute for most of history. But 30 plus years ago the Catholic Church said once and for all that no such thing was true and that the bible didn't support the claim. Dan Brown took it one step further in "The Da Vinci Code" to say that the whole thing was a smear campaign to keep women from challenging the patriarchal system of Catholicism. (I couldn't agree more.)
Ho or not, what is know for sure is that Mary Magdalen was the first one to meet the resurrected Jesus. She showed up at Jesus' tomb the day after His Crucifixion and burial to find the stone rolled away and His body gone. She saw a man walking in the garden and asked him if he saw the body removed from the tomb. He turned to her and said, "Do you not recognize me Mary?" She didn't. And then.
And then.
She did. She moved towards Him.
"Do not touch me Mary. I have not yet ascended." (Happy Easter!)
Mary was the first one at the tomb and Jesus chose to reveal Himself to her first. That's a special lady.
I decided a couple weeks ago to order a Mary Magdalen medal to wear during these dark days. It arrived on Thursday - HOURS before this shit hit the fan. I was glad to have it.
Now dig what the fabulous Ariel Gore had to say about how to pray to Mary Magdalen.
Pray:
"'So that I may not waver at the sight of the divine.' To honor her, learn how to express your grief as well as your joy. Watch the sunrise or sunset and say our loud: 'I am fully and radiantly myself, IMMUNE TO SLANDER. I offer my unique gift to the world.' Stay open to inner vision and refrain from judgement. That woman you're calling a whore may just be the Lord's favorite apostle, and that gardener you hope to underpay might be God himself."
Riiight?
Reviewing the post I noticed that I neglected to give another reason why I take comfort in the thought that we're born alone and we die alone. So...
Secondly, it relieves me of the burden of finding a someone else to trust, to align with, to confirm my existence, to reflect my godliness. People might let me down. Even those whom I have entrusted all my love and respect, those who I have attached myself to with a taped-together umbilical cord.
Those people live their own lives. They're in their own sinking boat. They have their reasons.
And so it's a comfort to not lean, but to stand tall and firm on my own two feet. And know that no one can knock me down.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
More...now.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
My Mind Field
So...four days ago my husband moved out of our house.
This is what I wanted. Freedom. A chance at joy. A time for growth and peace and healing. But this is not what I wanted. I want to be with him. I want to have a family. I want to have a future. I want a husband. I want HIM. I don't want to be alone. I want to be curled up in his arms and to feel safe and loved. I want to love him. I want to shower him with love. But the truth is that there is no such vessel for my love. It's a fantasy. I miss the best of my husband. I miss the house of cards which is the hope I have carried for over ten years. And I have watched that house crumble more times than I can count. So I'm a fool. So I'm in love. So I will always love him. And my love will float. With no place to land. With no chance of return. I know this but it still hurts. Man, hope is a gut buster.
I love my husband. Shit, I adore him. It seems impossible after everything. For I have hated him too. I have begged God to take the burden of living with him from me. And now that the burden is lifted I am floating somewhere between the fantasy, the dream of the life we were supposed to have together, and the memories of loss and despair and abandonment. It definitely sucks. I won't kid you.
But, I am proud of me. Of the me who found the strength and courage to face the life I really had. It was nothing like the fantasy. It was not a dream. It was mostly a nightmare. It was a one-sided marriage. I carried all of it.
Yesterday I was remembering (because memories can safely come to me now) a time maybe a year and a half ago when my dh was raging for days on end. I was scared. Sad. Angry. Confused. Depressed. There really isn't a word for it. I was frozen. Totally unsure of what to do, how to proceed, how to fix it. Helpless times a hundred. Anyway.
After the kids were asleep, my dh would rage for hours and then completely retreat and I would be left holding the emotional baggage. I couldn't sleep. I would try to sleep on the couch. Sleeping in our bed was an impossible thought. I'd lie on couch wondering what am I doing here? WHAT AM I DOING HERE? On this couch. In this marriage. In this life. Hard to sleep. Go figure.
I'd grab my grandmother's rosary and just pray. And try to pray a prayer that was empowering. I knew I couldn't just pray to be saved anymore. The saving wasn't coming. A miracle was not going to drop in my lap. Jesus wasn't going to appear like a mirage in front of me and pat my hand and magically change my husband and my marriage and my life. But how could I do it? I couldn't change him. I had grown to know that all too well. My love wasn't enough for both of us. And my past, my babyhood abandonment, had left me with easy, victim-y excuses for my life during a dismal, dark night: I was un-loveable. There was something wrong with me. No one cared. No one loved me. No one could save me. NO ONE WAS COMING!
So I did small things. This was what I remembered. This is what I had pushed back. But I can tell you now.
I could only sleep for short spells on the couch. I had to get in my bed, despite the fact that my raging adored husband's peaceful snoring was like a slap in the face. I needed to sleep in my soft bed with my special pillow and my white noise humming next to me. I had to sleep. I had children to care for. So I wrote myself notes. Simple notes on small squares of white scrap paper, folded and tucked under my pillow. The notes sometimes said: "You'll be ok. This too shall pass. Tomorrow is coming. The sun will rise on you."
Sometimes they were forceful: "You can get divorced. Fuck him. Hold on. This is your life. You get to decide."
But most often they said this: "You are loved. I love you. I love you Erin. I see you. I hear you. You're wonderful. You're loved. I love you."
I'd sleep with them under my pillow, along with my grandmother's rosary, hoping their strength would imbue my sleeping mind, my dreams. If I woke during the dark, troubled night my hand would find the note's soft crease and I would remember: I'm here. And I loved me. And that was enough to make it through the night.
Turns out though, that's enough for always. For all nights. That's all there is.
The next morning, I'd hastily jump out of bed and throw these notes away before the bed got made. I didn't want my dh to see them. I don't know why. I'll tackle that next time. This is enough for now.
It is what it is.
No judgement. No good. No bad. It's way too complicated for that.
Or is it just too simple for that?
Is it just life? Just humanity. Just breathing. Just loving. Just living.
Thank you Jesus. Cause you were there.
I know.
Cause I'm here.
Here I am.
I love you.
This is what I wanted. Freedom. A chance at joy. A time for growth and peace and healing. But this is not what I wanted. I want to be with him. I want to have a family. I want to have a future. I want a husband. I want HIM. I don't want to be alone. I want to be curled up in his arms and to feel safe and loved. I want to love him. I want to shower him with love. But the truth is that there is no such vessel for my love. It's a fantasy. I miss the best of my husband. I miss the house of cards which is the hope I have carried for over ten years. And I have watched that house crumble more times than I can count. So I'm a fool. So I'm in love. So I will always love him. And my love will float. With no place to land. With no chance of return. I know this but it still hurts. Man, hope is a gut buster.
I love my husband. Shit, I adore him. It seems impossible after everything. For I have hated him too. I have begged God to take the burden of living with him from me. And now that the burden is lifted I am floating somewhere between the fantasy, the dream of the life we were supposed to have together, and the memories of loss and despair and abandonment. It definitely sucks. I won't kid you.
But, I am proud of me. Of the me who found the strength and courage to face the life I really had. It was nothing like the fantasy. It was not a dream. It was mostly a nightmare. It was a one-sided marriage. I carried all of it.
Yesterday I was remembering (because memories can safely come to me now) a time maybe a year and a half ago when my dh was raging for days on end. I was scared. Sad. Angry. Confused. Depressed. There really isn't a word for it. I was frozen. Totally unsure of what to do, how to proceed, how to fix it. Helpless times a hundred. Anyway.
After the kids were asleep, my dh would rage for hours and then completely retreat and I would be left holding the emotional baggage. I couldn't sleep. I would try to sleep on the couch. Sleeping in our bed was an impossible thought. I'd lie on couch wondering what am I doing here? WHAT AM I DOING HERE? On this couch. In this marriage. In this life. Hard to sleep. Go figure.
I'd grab my grandmother's rosary and just pray. And try to pray a prayer that was empowering. I knew I couldn't just pray to be saved anymore. The saving wasn't coming. A miracle was not going to drop in my lap. Jesus wasn't going to appear like a mirage in front of me and pat my hand and magically change my husband and my marriage and my life. But how could I do it? I couldn't change him. I had grown to know that all too well. My love wasn't enough for both of us. And my past, my babyhood abandonment, had left me with easy, victim-y excuses for my life during a dismal, dark night: I was un-loveable. There was something wrong with me. No one cared. No one loved me. No one could save me. NO ONE WAS COMING!
So I did small things. This was what I remembered. This is what I had pushed back. But I can tell you now.
I could only sleep for short spells on the couch. I had to get in my bed, despite the fact that my raging adored husband's peaceful snoring was like a slap in the face. I needed to sleep in my soft bed with my special pillow and my white noise humming next to me. I had to sleep. I had children to care for. So I wrote myself notes. Simple notes on small squares of white scrap paper, folded and tucked under my pillow. The notes sometimes said: "You'll be ok. This too shall pass. Tomorrow is coming. The sun will rise on you."
Sometimes they were forceful: "You can get divorced. Fuck him. Hold on. This is your life. You get to decide."
But most often they said this: "You are loved. I love you. I love you Erin. I see you. I hear you. You're wonderful. You're loved. I love you."
I'd sleep with them under my pillow, along with my grandmother's rosary, hoping their strength would imbue my sleeping mind, my dreams. If I woke during the dark, troubled night my hand would find the note's soft crease and I would remember: I'm here. And I loved me. And that was enough to make it through the night.
Turns out though, that's enough for always. For all nights. That's all there is.
The next morning, I'd hastily jump out of bed and throw these notes away before the bed got made. I didn't want my dh to see them. I don't know why. I'll tackle that next time. This is enough for now.
It is what it is.
No judgement. No good. No bad. It's way too complicated for that.
Or is it just too simple for that?
Is it just life? Just humanity. Just breathing. Just loving. Just living.
Thank you Jesus. Cause you were there.
I know.
Cause I'm here.
Here I am.
I love you.
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