I am WAY behind on a couple of things I've committed to.
In 20 years, I've fallen into John's mantra, "If you wait until the last minute, it only takes a minute to do."
Given, that's working good enough for me these days. But, the Type A/Recovering OCDer in me still cringes. A lot. This is not how I pictured my life. As a woman or a wife or a mother.
Kelly's Walking With You is perfect for me. I'm two weeks behind in it, but you know what? I'll get to them. I'm just going to go back and do the ones I've missed. I think this week's is important:
"Mothers often fall into the trap of comparing ourselves to one another. This is a trap many women fall into. We compare our families, mothering styles, fashion sense, careers or lack thereof, bodies, etc. Even mothers with babies in heaven compare the way we grieve our children. I know…sad…but we do it, if we’re honest enough to admit it. So, how can we find freedom from this? Sharing is a start…telling the truth…admitting the struggle. I think, then, we will see that we all love our children, regardless of how we choose to remember and honor their lives…whether publicly or quietly…with big parties or simple moments of remembrance. Be real on this week’s post, and let’s free ourselves from the trap of comparing!"
Yes. Oh my word, yes.
I say I don't compare, but I do. I almost always find myself feeling very...
This morning, I needed to put some makeup on because I've been sick and I had appointments for Luke to go to and really, I just wanted to look somewhat presentable.
I don't even know where my makeup is.
Don't get me wrong—my arsenal is pretty small anyway.
But crap! I am sort of in this pit these days where I do.not.even.care.what.I.look.like.
Yesterday, if any of my neighbors saw me when I checked the paper, they'd have seen a leopard print pajama top and an orange and green flowered bottom.
Because I have not done laundry for myself in 3 weeks.
Nothing fits me anyway.
I hate the way I am looking in clothes. I've lost a lot of weight. I know, it's my fault. I don't eat well.
Yada yada yada.
My face looks sunken in again. Sickly. I know it. I hate it.
I'm just not motivated enough to do anything about it.
People are very kind to me online. They tell me that I look great or I have such a pretty smile, and honestly, I can't say how much I love hearing that and hate hearing it at the same time.
Trust me when I say there is no false modesty here. I know I don't necessarily look my age. I know that there are some pictures I take and even I say, "Wow...I don't clean up too poorly."
But really...for a long, long time, I've been feeling pretty defeated.
Mostly because I am stuck in this ugly, ugly, ugly comparison trap.
I am SO not a great military spouse.
I am SO not a fashion plate.
I am SO not the friend I WANT to be.
I am THE.WORST.MOTHER to those poor little babies I've lost.
I am SO not SO many things that I see in other women all.the.time.
I don't feel motivated to do anything to remember Matthew. Like publicly, I mean. I do every year for his birthday, the Pie Challenge, but I'd do that anyway. I'm talking like parties or foundations or books or even much writing anymore unless it's something I've committed to.
I remember him.every.single.second of every.single.day. That takes more toll on my heart sometimes than I can even muster. Doing more? I just don't have the energy.
Talk about guilt—comparing myself to others who are such advocates of so many different things.
Want to know something else? I don't even want to.
Honestly. There are more days than not that I feel like I just should close this blog and close facebook and stop writing anywhere because I don't like how it's evolved.
That people look to me for anything or rely on me for anything.
Truth is, it's hard enough just to muster the energy to be the mother I want to be for Luke. Or the wife I should be for John.
I don't know if it's just who I have become since Matthew died or if it's just this season right now that I am reliving a year ago and the new little life I had inside of me...but honestly, I just feel selfish.
I just want my world to revolve around Luke. John, to the degree that it can right now with him gone. Anyone or anything else is just too much.
I think part of my inclination to just hermit up is the whole comparison trap.
I always fall short. Always.
Not busy enough. Not tall enough. Not fashionable enough. Not witty enough. Not motivated enough. Not grateful enough. Not healthy enough. Not managing my time well enough. Not doing enough to give back. Not doing enough for John. Not doing enough for Luke. Not doing enough for Matthew. Not doing anything for poor little forgotten Trey.
Just not enough.
And yet—I know many people think so differently of me. I'm not sure why; I live as honestly as I can. Yes, I post a lot of rosy posy posts on Facebook, but they are honest. They are true.
I'm also not about to post that I've showered 3 times in the last 7 days, have probably eaten 3 meals in the last 7 days, have let my kid watch more tv in the last 7 days than he probably has in the last year, and that I *just* sent off a package to John and it was a cruddy one at that.
I already feel crappy enough! Why post that jazz?
To let anyone who reads and has any expectations of me know that I am a real person.
I've not done anything to my toes since November...and that was just tipping off nail polish that was still there from MAY.
My dresser drawers are so ridiculously out of order because I basically wear the same 5 things every week, there's no point in really even having them.
I wear the same pair of shoes all the time. Day in, day out. Sandals, no less. I know I look weird. They are comfortable.
I do not get anywhere near the sleep I should because I am watching some dumb trash tv show late at night. And by dumb trash tv show, I mean House Hunters. Honey Boo Boo and Sister Wives and Amish Mafia are on earlier in the evening.
I have not cooked my poor husband a meal in probably 7 months. Or more. Who knows?
I know a thing or two about dysfunctional families.
My sister was told last week that she needs a heart transplant and I've yet to get in the car and drive the two hours out there. In defense, we've been sick and I can't get her sick, but part of the reason I am sick is my own fault—I don't take good enough care of myself and if I did, I'd have been able to be out there helping her more.
I don't like it when people tell me that, either—that I don't take good care of myself. I know. I'm very cognizant of it. Telling me obviously doesn't change it.
I don't put Luke in flannel or fleece because no matter how often I vacuum (daily, really), there is dog hair all over him all.the.time. I am grossed out by it. Yet, he eats off the floor all the time and I think nothing of it.
My bathroom counter is a mess.
There are a lot of people I.just.don't.like. I know I need to love them like Jesus does, but I don't. I don't ever let them know that, but I hate that *I* know it in my heart.
There...there's a lot of sharing there, huh?
Not sure how free of the comparison trap I feel in sharing all of this, because the reality is that I just won't ever be SO MANY THINGS, and I'll probably always compare myself to what I am not.
What I am, though...it's good enough. Just fine for me.
I'm a woman who loves her husband and though he drives her nuts sometimes, wouldn't know what to do with myself without him.
I'm a woman whose sun and moon revolve around the most amazing little gift in the form of a 2 year old named Samuel Luke.
I'm a woman who struggles with a God who goes before me and stands beside me, yet let my babies die.
I'm a woman who knows that I'll never understand how that can be, and so I just don't ask. I look at Luke and know that the God who let my babies die is the same God who gave me such a treasure. I don't understand, but I am grateful and willing to trust and believe.
I'm just me.
WIP: Windsor Lane Style
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