Another Day

     Today I found myself crying again and I absolutely  hate it. There was a time in my life that I was so much more resilient. So much stronger than my circumstances. But since my mother died in  2013 I realize it is taking longer for me to bounce back from the stresses of life. Not that I do not want to get up and go, but my body is physically rejecting the notion. In my mind I'm like the little engine that could. I keep telling myself "You can do this. Let's go!" The best way I have been able to explain it to people is like being in a fog and watching things happen around you and wanting to participate, but something has a hold on you. On occasion, I get sick to my stomach. I can't focus.  

     Earlier this week I read a meme: People don't want to hear about your trials until you have overcome them. It was like someone stabbed me in the heart. This is practically how I have lived most of my life. Giving my testimony after my trials were over. I was in my mid thirties when my mom told me she didn't think I ever went through anything negative because I never complained. I didn't complain because I didn't see any value in it. After all, everyone is going through something. I realized there are a number of things wrong with that thought process. One of them is people will tend to believe you're living a perfect existence. Another is the idea that you have to overcome these obstacles alone. 

     Another reason why I didn't complain or share what I was going through is because I lived in a dysfunctional family. Yes, some people are ashamed to admit it, but I came to terms with it almost twenty years ago. It always seemed like someone else's dysfunction was more pressing than what I was going through so I learned to keep everything inside. Deal with things as they came and moved on. My husband tells me I'm living the residual effects of that trauma because I still tend to hold things in until they become overwhelming and then I explode. Lately, though, I haven't been able to hold much. It all comes spilling out in tears.

     This evening while eating dinner I couldn't even pretend to hide my sadness. Kayelle asked me why was I crying. I couldn't even formulate the thoughts to explain. She said let's go into the bedroom to talk about it. She took my hand as we walked. She climbed up on the bed and I went to sit down. She said Mommie get me some tissue please. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and handed them to her. She carefully tore away one sheet and then began to wipe my tears, comfortingly saying "It's going to be okay. Stop crying." I responded okay and then I wiped my eyes. She gave me a hug. She put her face close to mine and looked me in the eyes and told me "I'm here for you" and then she hugged me again. That just made me cry even harder. What's crazy is out of the number of times I've heard those same words from various people over the past couple of months she is the only one I truly feel is sincere. The 4-year-old. 

     I knew I had to get myself together because Kayelle started to become sad and she said, "Mommie, you said you were going to stop crying." Then she said, "Mommie, please stop crying. If you keep crying you're going to make me cry." Another reason to try to hold everything inside. So your daughter doesn't want to cry because you have to. I wiped away my tears again and told her I was okay. She asked if we could read a book. I said sure. I asked her what would she like to read and told her to go get a book. She looked at the bedpost above my head at the two bibles I keep there: hers and mine. She said she wanted to read the bible. She stood up on the bed grabbed hers and sat down next to me. For the next few minutes we read about the sacrifice Jesus made for us. 

     She was saddened at the idea that Jesus died and then happy again when we read that He rose and went to heaven. I smiled. I smiled at her innocence. Things are so simple for her right now. I wish it would stay that way for her. I wish she could encounter a world never having heartache, never struggling, never wondering how she would make it from one day to the next. I don't ever want there to be a time when she is sitting on her bed while her 4-year-old wipes away her tears.