Keeping it real . . .

Sometimes I wake up in the morning totally lacking in motivation . . . like a thick damp fog is laying over me, keeping me down and I feel like I am lost.  It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, I just wish that I could go back to bed again and wake up again, in a sunnier mood . . .

Those are the days when I don't want to do much of anything at all.   The days when I just want to lay around and wallow in self pity . . .  when I feel sad and lost and . . .  blue.




Those are the days where I alternate between feeling invisible and feeling sad about that . . . and wanting to actually be invisible.  Days when I wish I could just jump on a plane or a train or a bus and just go . . . I don't know where, but just someplace other than here.   Someplace where the sun is shining and people are laughing and everything is a. o. k.

And when I have those thoughts I immediately feel ashamed, because I am not a person who doesn't have a lot to be grateful for.  I have relatively good health, and I have a husband who loves me . . . a roof over my head which keeps me dry and warm . . .  clothes upon my back and food to keep my belly warm . . .  good friends, the Gospel in my life.  At least one child who I know cares about me in a special way . . .  and possibly two others.  It is the two that don't that get me down . . .  and that is at the root of the matter really.



If I look at the timing of feeling this way, I notice that it most often happens around special days and holidays and tomorrow is Mother's Day . . . well, here in the UK at least, and I know that to two of the five bairns I gave birth to I am a non-entity, and that makes me feel incredibly sad to the core.  It makes me doubt myself and who I am.   It makes me feel like I must have been the worst mother ever, even though I know I was not.   That feeling of loss is compounded and made worse with the knowledge that how I feel and my story is not in the least bit important to them.  I.   Just.   Don't.  Count.

That is how I felt for most of my life until I found the Gospel.  Like I just didn't count and that my feelings, my hopes, my dreams, my thoughts . . . just did not matter.  Now I know different and I shouldn't be feeling this way . . . but I do . . . and it makes me a bit angry with myself, because it is not something I can change.  You cannot make people love you or care for you, or care about you.  You cannot make people like you.   You cannot make people acknowledge you, or your feelings, or anything else.   It is up to them . . . and whenever you allow those negative thoughts into your life . . . you are letting the other side win.



And I get angry with myself for allowing other people to have this power over me and my feelings.    And when I let that toe hold of negativity grab me, it starts to bleed into other areas . . . and I begin to doubt my talents, and who I am . . .  and I feel very discouraged.    And I am not looking for pats on the back, or for people to say "there . . . there."  I am not really looking for anything.  I am just venting . . . giving a voice to my feelings in the hopes that once I have put them out there they will go away.

Another thing which is making me feel sad is my mother is forgetting me.  I do not talk to her every day now that my sister is living with her, only about twice a week . . . but when I do, I have to remind her often who she is talking to.   She will be telling me a story about me and I have to say  . . .  mom, this is me.   That is me you are talking about.  And then about 2 minutes later it happens all over again . . . and I am taken back to a year ago when I sat on the sofa at her house while she sat in her rocking chair, slack mouthed and sleeping . . . and I felt like she was disappearing in front of my eyes and I was losing her . . .  and there was nothing I could do about it.   In truth this is probably what is bothering me more than anything.  I feel helpless against it.

Intellectually . . . I know I am not a bad person.  I am good and I am kind.    I would give anyone anything I had if they needed it more than I did . . .  and more often than not, just because they asked for it, or even if they didn't just because I wanted to give something to them.  I am loving.  I am forgiving.  I care about others often more than I care about myself. 



But I am human.  And sometimes I just feel like bleeding all over the page.  And it's not pretty.  And it doesn't make you smile or feel good inside either.  And I am sorry for that, because I really don't want to make anyone feel sad or for anyone to feel sorry for me.  This is not meant as a pity grab.

Don't worry . . . I'll feel better soon.   I always do.  This is just a minor blip in this great adventure we call life.  I just wanted to share it with you because I don't want any of my readers to think I lead a charmed and perfect life . . .  or that I am always happy and that nothing ever bothers me.  I get down from time to time.  This is called keeping it real.  It's called being human.  I hope you'll forgive me.

But that's a silly question.  Of course you will.  I have the best friends in the world.

Now THAT makes me smile. 

 

Easter Basket Sugar Cookies in The English Kitchen today.