My standards and expectations for me are so different from my standards and expectations for others. Is that normal? I've been told on more than one occasion that I don't seem to look at the world like the "normal" person does. I'm not sure what to make of that... it's not a compliment, it's not a slam... I'm really not even sure what the difference is. If I'm not seeing things like everyone else is, how much am I misunderstanding that's happening around me? Deep thoughts.
Back to it. Today, my deep thought was how much I despise personal weakness. I expect and find little to no fault with other's weaknesses, but I despise it in myself. I don't want to share the things that make me stumble. I don't want to fall apart of someone else. I don't even want to lean. I'm fairly certain those traits existed pre-loss. I know for a fact that they're amplified post-loss.
I don't want to show that there's something I can't handle for so many reasons. 1- I know most situations could be worse. 2- I don't want to give the enemy an opening. 3- I don't want an audience to the demise. 4- I don't want to look invested in a failure.
I don't want to fall apart on someone else. Everyone is fighting their own battles. I tend to believe that my problems aren't necessarily worthy of someone else's time or mental energy. Let's face it, I've stood in places where real problems existed. My insecurity, fear, or inconvenience is not a "real" problem. I don't ever believe that someone could actually be interested in the goo that passes through my head on a normal day. Maybe that's what counselors are for. I'm not really feeling that either. Plus, I don't want to fall apart. Falling apart implies that something isn't healed yet, when the reality is that some things just don't. Showing all this to someone else involves others in the piece of history that I may not want to taint them with. It also displays that there might be some weakness I still have. I'm not afraid to cry, but I don't think it accomplishes much. What's done is done. Tears didn't help then and they won't help much now. (On that note, I now hate anything in my life that leads to tears. Movies, people, situations I could've avoided. Hate hate. Set on fire, hate. Hate myself for allowing it to get there, hate.)
I don't want to lean. This isn't new. It's not even necessarily true. I love leaning... but I have leaned before. My leaning now is so selective. I am so stinking gun-shy of leaning that it's embarrassing. I seriously won't ask for something unless I'm almost positive the answer is going to be yes. I don't want it to appear that I was in need. I hate the idea that there are items in my life that I need help with. I hate that I'm closed off in some regards. I hate that juggling has to take place. I hate feeling like I'm standing in the field alone at times. My parents are crazy rocks. They pitch in and run kids and make meals and check schedules. It's not stinking fair. I guess the good thing is that it's not right, but it's okay. It's all working out. It's all getting done. It's all taken care of. Help is in place. My children don't seem to see the cracks. It's not the envisioned picture though. No where was this the plan. Leaning sucks. The fear though... that might be worse.
So, we're three years out. Three. Dreams are still haunted. Life is moving on. Legacies are still intact. Headstones are finally being dealt with. That damn headstone. The only task that wasn't knocked out in the first 48 hours... the only one I could put off. It's time now. Gross. You know, talking to your kids about cemetery plots and headstones isn't discussed in the baby books. Dark humor with Mommy!!
Three years. Smells are fading. Voices are fading. Hallucinations are gone. A lot of defiance has crept in. Cognitive effort has to be made to think about reactions now. Anger shows up every now and then at what he's missing. Knowledge is rooted in God having a plan and there being no accidents. A boyfriend who presents a calm voice of reason and a position of honoring is something unexpected. Children who seem to be flourishing in their environment, don't use their loss as a crutch, remain real and kind and free... It's so much more than I could hope for.
So, I sit at the three year mark asking myself what I want. I want to feel loved. I want stability. I want to be surrounded by people that see the good and seek to grow it. I want big-picture vision. I want to be in sync with another and know that we're working for the same things. I know that respect for pasts and vision for future is essential. I'm terrified of falling... not as terrified as I am of not trying though. I feel rushed to find answers. I feel like it's imperative that I know what grounds me though and that I don't look to anyone to fulfill that. I'd love to lean on someone, but I also know how incredibly hard it was to realize I couldn't lean on Aaron and I don't want to be there again. Sounds kinda lonely when I look at it in print.
Back to it. Today, my deep thought was how much I despise personal weakness. I expect and find little to no fault with other's weaknesses, but I despise it in myself. I don't want to share the things that make me stumble. I don't want to fall apart of someone else. I don't even want to lean. I'm fairly certain those traits existed pre-loss. I know for a fact that they're amplified post-loss.
I don't want to show that there's something I can't handle for so many reasons. 1- I know most situations could be worse. 2- I don't want to give the enemy an opening. 3- I don't want an audience to the demise. 4- I don't want to look invested in a failure.
I don't want to fall apart on someone else. Everyone is fighting their own battles. I tend to believe that my problems aren't necessarily worthy of someone else's time or mental energy. Let's face it, I've stood in places where real problems existed. My insecurity, fear, or inconvenience is not a "real" problem. I don't ever believe that someone could actually be interested in the goo that passes through my head on a normal day. Maybe that's what counselors are for. I'm not really feeling that either. Plus, I don't want to fall apart. Falling apart implies that something isn't healed yet, when the reality is that some things just don't. Showing all this to someone else involves others in the piece of history that I may not want to taint them with. It also displays that there might be some weakness I still have. I'm not afraid to cry, but I don't think it accomplishes much. What's done is done. Tears didn't help then and they won't help much now. (On that note, I now hate anything in my life that leads to tears. Movies, people, situations I could've avoided. Hate hate. Set on fire, hate. Hate myself for allowing it to get there, hate.)
I don't want to lean. This isn't new. It's not even necessarily true. I love leaning... but I have leaned before. My leaning now is so selective. I am so stinking gun-shy of leaning that it's embarrassing. I seriously won't ask for something unless I'm almost positive the answer is going to be yes. I don't want it to appear that I was in need. I hate the idea that there are items in my life that I need help with. I hate that I'm closed off in some regards. I hate that juggling has to take place. I hate feeling like I'm standing in the field alone at times. My parents are crazy rocks. They pitch in and run kids and make meals and check schedules. It's not stinking fair. I guess the good thing is that it's not right, but it's okay. It's all working out. It's all getting done. It's all taken care of. Help is in place. My children don't seem to see the cracks. It's not the envisioned picture though. No where was this the plan. Leaning sucks. The fear though... that might be worse.
So, we're three years out. Three. Dreams are still haunted. Life is moving on. Legacies are still intact. Headstones are finally being dealt with. That damn headstone. The only task that wasn't knocked out in the first 48 hours... the only one I could put off. It's time now. Gross. You know, talking to your kids about cemetery plots and headstones isn't discussed in the baby books. Dark humor with Mommy!!
Three years. Smells are fading. Voices are fading. Hallucinations are gone. A lot of defiance has crept in. Cognitive effort has to be made to think about reactions now. Anger shows up every now and then at what he's missing. Knowledge is rooted in God having a plan and there being no accidents. A boyfriend who presents a calm voice of reason and a position of honoring is something unexpected. Children who seem to be flourishing in their environment, don't use their loss as a crutch, remain real and kind and free... It's so much more than I could hope for.
So, I sit at the three year mark asking myself what I want. I want to feel loved. I want stability. I want to be surrounded by people that see the good and seek to grow it. I want big-picture vision. I want to be in sync with another and know that we're working for the same things. I know that respect for pasts and vision for future is essential. I'm terrified of falling... not as terrified as I am of not trying though. I feel rushed to find answers. I feel like it's imperative that I know what grounds me though and that I don't look to anyone to fulfill that. I'd love to lean on someone, but I also know how incredibly hard it was to realize I couldn't lean on Aaron and I don't want to be there again. Sounds kinda lonely when I look at it in print.
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