Uncertain

Nothing is certain. Absolutely nothing.

I know this. I’ve been shown this time and time again. Yet, I continue to allow myself to get comfortable. I let myself feel secure and safe, when the reality is that anything and everything can be taken away at a moments notice.

The only thing that has been certain all of my life is uncertainty.

This year has been one long lesson. Teaching me, the hard way, that I truly have control over nothing. And once I think I’ve learned enough, the universe laughs and says “You wanna bet?”

I like to think I could never be the type of person to lose faith or to quit. That it’s just not in me somehow. But I’ll tell you what, give me one more thing that I am in love with that I cannot have, and I’m thinking I just might find out what it feels like to give up.

I have always loved with all I have. I’ve never learned how to tamp it down or hold back. I’m in, or I’m out. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve always known that in the end I pay a price for it. But my heart and soul come in one piece, not just a little here and a little there. It kills me to feel now that I want to be able to filter it all somehow. To at least reserve some of it so that when the walls come tumbling down on this house I’ve built I won’t be obliterated.

I let myself believe I wouldn’t lose these things. I let myself believe I valued all of these precious gifts so much that they could never possibly be taken away. I left myself wide open for this. And again, there is no one to blame but me.

Choices

Today I needed to go to the grocery store again.

I needed to make Easter baskets, and fill eggs.

I couldn’t have done that today without the help of my ex. She came here after working all day to watch the boys so I could get out and get the necessities, and then hide in the grocery store parking lot filling 100 tiny Easter eggs for the boys.

When I got home she kept them busy while I put together the Baskets and hid those in the car as well. She’s down in the basement doing her laundry and playing dodgeball with them as I write this.

I was sitting here getting some last minute work done and all I could hear was our son laughing his biggest laughs, and giggling so loud it was traveling up two flights of stairs and through just as many doors.

At first my mind started to drift and think about how nice it was to hear that laugh. How grateful I am that she is still able to be here and help us when we need it, especially right now.

My second thought was that I have ruined my sons life. I thought, how could the choice I made for myself possibly be the right choice for my son when I haven’t heard that laugh, that specific laugh in so long? How could something that is so hard on my child be the right choice?

I don’t have those answers.

What I do know is that if we can continue to work together as parents, if we keep doing what is best for ourselves, that will have to be enough. Those choices will have to show him that mommies love him, and will always come together to do whatever it takes for him.

We are lucky. We are gifted with what we still have. Twelve years doesn’t just go up in smoke. It evolves. It morphed into a new normal.

One in which we are all still learning how to navigate.

Today I am reminded that I married my best friend. And while much has changed over the last year, that friendship seems to pull through the darkness and continue to be a foundation on which we are able to write this new chapter.

I did not do endings.

I was “Ride or die”, to a fault.

I did not do fear.

I was “Never Let Go”, for fear of the unknown.

I did not do self-care.

I was “I’ll get to it later”, until there was no more time.

I did not do alone time.

I was “Please don’t leave me”, so that I didn’t have to be with myself.

There was a lot that I didn’t do.  There were so many fears in my heart, soul, and mind that I was almost paralyzed into standing still. Please don’t be fooled; the past tense here seems to imply I feel fearless today.  That is quite distant from the truth.

Today, I feel the fear. Frankly, I’m terrified but I acknowledge it.  I don’t run from it or try to hide from it anymore.  I don’t purposefully act in any way just to avoid feeling fear.

Here, on the eve of an ending, the precipice of fear and alone-time, I choose to take care of myself.

I choose to do different.

 

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