Oh man. God is knocking on my door this morning asking more from me. He’s asking me to be honest and face the subliminal pain that is rotating around me on all those damn Today Show mother stories, Mother’s Day cards, and Sunday brunch plans. I want to shut my eyes and wait until this day is over because it is just too painful. It’s so bad I’m not even sure I should be writing this post acknowledging it. Somewhere inside me I know that feeling the fire is what leads to healing and writing def. helps coax it out of me, but what I really want to do is close my eyes, plug my ears & eyes tight and say la la la la over the noise of the rustling of plans happening around me.
You guys, this is way too open, but it’s the truth and I feel like I just have to shout it for a second. It seems like everyone, literally everyone, in my life is making their preparations for Mother’s Day. I am not. I am not going to OpenTable to reserve a restaurant for my parents, my kids and husband to dine at. I am not picking out a card with flowers on it. I am not tearing up watching the end of Nightly News when they profile an amazing connection between mother and daughter where the daughter would basically die without said mother. I am turning from and avoiding all of it because there is nothing there. It is like the annual day of a death, where I know it’s on your calendar and it makes my heart hurt just knowing it’s coming up because it’s a day that symbolizes something that does not exist for me.
I kind of hate all those beautiful I-would-die without-my-mother people. I know, this is probably you too because most people do in fact feel this way. I literally hunt out the ones that suffer like me and there are so few of us on the planet it seems.
I won’t go into my story because most of you know it. I do have a mother, she is living. But, this relationship is the source of all my anxiety, fear, pain and suffering. It is what I cry tears over every week during therapy for the last 10 years and it’s what makes me not want to leave my house at least a few days a week. It has made me question myself for the past 39 years and it’s what makes me on some days conclude that in fact, I am unworthy and should in fact lock myself in my room and never come out because I am so stained.
I think what makes it the worst is because of what it is meant to be. Like, this relationship is supposed to be like holy water, healing and life-giving and for me, it is sadness, distrust, shame, darkness, hopelessness. I don’t say this to be dramatic. It’s actually just what I wrestle with every single day. It’s always there in the foreground, in the background, in every conversation and every decision I make. It affects every corner of my life and I very rarely feel released from it’s tight hold. But, I do try. Every single day. Numbing through Netflix helps too.
So, I hate Mother’s Day. I can’t even pretend to enjoy what it brings me as a mother myself because the pain is so blood, red hot. I want to sleep right through the weekend or take the cupcakes my husband has delivered me and stuff my face with every single one to try to sugar numb. I want to hold my kids’ faces and know that we are everything to each other, but if I’m being honest it is hard to hang out in that warm feeling on this day.
I’ve booked extra therapy this week and on Monday I will sigh with relief. On Tuesday I will try again to feel better.