It's been a year. A year of staying at home as a mommy. A year of financial uncertainty. A year of major mistakes and lessons learned. A year of depression, and medication, and continued depression. A year of many joys staying at home and nursing a beautiful growing baby girl. A year of loneliness and of yearning for the companionship of other adults, while at the same time wanting to crawl into bed all day. A year of denial, regret, some acceptance and lots and lots of reality. Did I mention it's been a year?
I am hoping that by the end of this year I can get my ducks back in their row. That next year will be filled with the happiness of a bright future. I hope that I can get out of this funk, that I can turn to my Heavenly Father again for help. I hope that the dark days are replaced by the acceptance of my situation, that I will not have the strong desire to escape, but that I will have the strength to forge ahead. That I will use my running shoes for their proper purpose. That the smile on my face will be real instead of forced. That the desire to do the right thing will come from inside of me rather than knowing my children deserve that much. That the depression will be ultimately medicated, if not gone. I just hope that next year I know what the heck I am supposed to do with next year.
These are the thoughts in my head. It's crazy to write them out, because they are dark, and they are scary. But it's therapeutic. Writing has always been a comfort to me. Even when I was young, I would write to get out my feelings. Many letters went unsent. Some were sent and never arrived to their intended. I write words in my head. I talk to myself all the time. In writing, I hope to find the answers I am looking for. I hope to sort things out. And it helps a lot.
Someday I hope to look back on this year and be able to say that it was a catalyst to something better. That the struggles and the heartache and the tears were worthwhile. I hope that my children and my sweet husband have not been forever affected by my difficulties this year. I hope that they know that they are my main motivation for getting out of bed every morning. They are the reason I know that there is still a Heavenly Father who loves me, and who is waiting for me to get back down on my knees. They have been my light in this year of gray. I love them more than anything else. More than any job, more than my house, more than a title and a paycheck, more than financial gain or security, more than I love myself. Oh, I hope they know that.
I am hoping that by the end of this year I can get my ducks back in their row. That next year will be filled with the happiness of a bright future. I hope that I can get out of this funk, that I can turn to my Heavenly Father again for help. I hope that the dark days are replaced by the acceptance of my situation, that I will not have the strong desire to escape, but that I will have the strength to forge ahead. That I will use my running shoes for their proper purpose. That the smile on my face will be real instead of forced. That the desire to do the right thing will come from inside of me rather than knowing my children deserve that much. That the depression will be ultimately medicated, if not gone. I just hope that next year I know what the heck I am supposed to do with next year.
These are the thoughts in my head. It's crazy to write them out, because they are dark, and they are scary. But it's therapeutic. Writing has always been a comfort to me. Even when I was young, I would write to get out my feelings. Many letters went unsent. Some were sent and never arrived to their intended. I write words in my head. I talk to myself all the time. In writing, I hope to find the answers I am looking for. I hope to sort things out. And it helps a lot.
Someday I hope to look back on this year and be able to say that it was a catalyst to something better. That the struggles and the heartache and the tears were worthwhile. I hope that my children and my sweet husband have not been forever affected by my difficulties this year. I hope that they know that they are my main motivation for getting out of bed every morning. They are the reason I know that there is still a Heavenly Father who loves me, and who is waiting for me to get back down on my knees. They have been my light in this year of gray. I love them more than anything else. More than any job, more than my house, more than a title and a paycheck, more than financial gain or security, more than I love myself. Oh, I hope they know that.
