At some point, I hope life feels less like brief periods of time between everything falling to absolute fucking shambles and more like gentle rolling hills with properly pleasant breezes at the peaks (“breezes” being wealth, joy, spoils) and shady, vaguely threatening, but not ruinous cataclysms, in the valleys. Fewer Rivers of Styx, more Journey.
I may be tattered, but I’m not so down I can’t appreciate a random prog. rock reference. Seriously though. It seems as if my memory begins at college and there’s a hit list of personal annihilation beginning at 19.
Just hang in there. The pity party will be abridged.
Avoiding all the awkward missteps of my late teen through earliest twenties years; leaving aside the epic failure of financial advice that led to the horrible dog of college debt, and diving right in to the once in a life time Fool’s card that was “falling in love” with someone I totally did not know…things have been challenging. It’s easy to think, when you’re up that you’ve always been blessed, and when you’re down that you were born under a bad sign, I know. It’s also easy to fill page after page with messy mixed metaphors that heavily employ vague song references. Give me a break. It’s been a long time coming, me here at this page. The longest night of the year.
I can’t solve it. I can’t solve the problem of why I “fell in love” with feh (that’s future ex-husband). All sorts of memories, some bleak and some sparkling, stand out to me – as reasons why I did or should not have fallen for him. Putting it in quotes, as though I never really meant it, serves two purposes. It proves (to me) that I didn’t know what love should have looked like, consisted of, that I did it all wrong, that I was a fool seduced by a wolf in sheeps’ clothing. It winks at feh; someone I both fucking hate and also, will always have a piece of, lodged inside of me (like a bone spur), or my soul, or my karma, because he often and still accuses me of never having loved him.
Then why did I wreck my life?
Is my life wrecked?
It certainly is a fucking mess; nothing like I ever would, never ever would have, dreamed for myself. If only I had been wise enough to know how to dream, before making all these mistakes.
It’s not so bad. I know. I know. The pity party must dissipate. Self-pity is a, perhaps the, most wasteful emotion. I’m just a little over-wired for it.
The reason I’m here, the format I’m thinking of, is one for healing. I want self-forgiveness. I want to reframe some parts of the story I’ve been telling myself. I want self-love. Self-respect. Honesty with myself, and that includes the things I did right. The ones I should celebrate, polish off, and wear proudly as a diamond necklace. The kind someone who loves me fiercely, strongly, well, might give me. I also want to be allowed to be sad, to be heard in my sadness, to validate that event or memory as sad. And I will do it all. Because, if you want something done right, you have to either do it yourself, or know how to love someone slowly, honestly, and long enough to trust them doing it for you. Right now, both of those aspects are me. I don’t get out much.
I wasn’t especially desiring to be pregnant, but I did believe that I was with my life partner and that we could do it. He was encouraging it – especially while having unprotected sex. I thought he wanted a family with me. Except, I must not really have all-the-way believed because once I found out, I was terrified. I wept daily. I laid in bed weeping and trying to overcome the weeping with ice cream and books about natural child birth. I was Alice in that long-ass down-tunnel. Toward the end of the nine months of weeping and denial, I wept violently with fear that I would be a non-compassionate, distant mother. People told me that I wouldn’t be, because I was worried about it, I just wouldn’t be.
I’m a hard worker, especially when I have a deadline and am impassioned. I nerded out on natural childbirth and how amazing it is.
I gave birth pretty beautifully. When the time came I totally went with it. For about four hours feh did an excellent job at being my doula.
Really, for all his gajillionmozillion horrendous faults, he’s quite the gentle touch and really learns things deeply.
When the midwife arrived I was more than half way done with labor. When the contractions became almost too much she had me get in the hot water of the big tub. Another thing the feh does well is make a pretty shitter. That shitter had a really pretty tub and I gave birth in it.
When the transition came I flipped from my back to my hands and knees. When I became terrified of the death of childbirth (aka transition – in natural labor talk) all I saw was water and the tub bottom. No face, no human, no eyes to help me through it. I roared like a lionbear thing being killed. Roared the sound of all the mothers who’ve ever done it before me, but the key was missing. The energy point was not there. The feh, he was standing at my rear. His eyes were locked, his stare deep, he was awaiting his child. Who was awiting me. My midwife came to the front and told me to push that roar back inside and down and out. I pushed. I have no metaphor for how I pushed because nothing pushes more than a first time mother terrified of dying and wanting the death to be over. I pushed with such force that my baby came flying, flying out of me and I tore along the side wall.
I didn’t have words for this at the time. I wouldn’t have words for all the ways in which I was left standing there alone, waiting for my life partner to help the energy gap flow until I far far away from him for many months. Moons. Tears.
Nevertheless, I had the baby. They gave him to me and that magic is unforgettable. I looked at his little otter face and little otter body and he was familiar. Why is that? It is the most unimaginable thing up to that point. I looked at his grey soft eyes, his little furry body, his eyelashes, eyebrows, finger nails, nose, lips he was utterly transcendent. Born on Christmas day. Born in such a magic hour. 12/25, 12:25pm. What a boy. I have so much to forgive myself with him. I want to start now so that I can be done, and getting it wrong in kinder ways, going forward.
How do we forgive ourselves our foolishness?