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Faith. Food. (In)Fertility.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

It's not me. It's you.

I totally went off the deep end for a while. Have I mentioned that? Depending on your true presence in my life-oh, sometime between February and July 4th, 2012- you may or may have not noticed. You may or may have not been exposed to my hormonal (or lack thereof) (or, which dose will I take today?) (or, I hate this pill! I want another!) fluctuations or my generally dysfunctional recovery. But if you would have noticed (and not many people did, or if they did, they didn't typically bother to acknowledge it) you probably would have gotten an earful. And it probably would have been your fault.

I guess I hit a bottom of sorts that I didn't know I was plummeting towards until I did a face-plant. It totally sucked. Some things were good, if not better than ever. Other aspects of life were painfully severe and heavy. It was hard to get through a day without rage or tears. I took aim and fired at the easiest targets. July 4th marked the day of an awakening of sorts. I was that crazy person that needed the intervention, and I got it.  

I'd like to give a hearty thanks to a barrage of supplements, as well as months of a consistent level of (fake) estrogen  in my body, for a slow and steady wave of stability that I've attempted to surf since the end of July. I'd also like to thank my husband, who was kind and loving enough to hit me with the truth after several rocky months.  I only saw what I wanted to see: him retreating and our marriage suffering.  While I never doubted we would endure, and God would see us through the hard times, the ugly reality was that I wasn't right, and I pushed him and pushed him away until he gave it to me.  I needed it. 

July 4th has a special meaning for me.  Particularly, July 4th, 2004.  It was the day after I took a break from my ex-husband, as the marriage was about to fall apart. It was the day a wise man told me with certainty that a year from that day, I would be with a man who loved me more than anything.  He was right, and every July 4th since that one, I have driven down that old road in my mind, and thanked God for sending me Mike. 

When Mike and I went out to watch fireworks this year, I was in a particularly foul mood and blaming him for the distance between us. I was so frustrated by him, and by what I perceived as his intolerance of poor old me and my suffering. He'd never pulled so far from me. One certainty: no matter how much I hated myself or how unhappy I was, I knew Mike and I would be fine.  I knew God had his hands on our relationship.  I didn't like where we were at, but I knew it would be a short trip.  My head knew, had known all along,  in that place in your mind that just "knows" and believes, but my heart wasn't able to feel it. 

So, I picked a fight with him this past July 4th, for the bazillionth time since my surgery, sitting in our car, watching fireworks on the side of the road. I spewed anger, cried, the works.  Mike told me something then, and it rocked me. He told me he was sorry. He told me that he was sorry, but that it wasn't him, and that it was me. I pushed him away. I rejected him. I was not ok.  I was hit by a brick, a surreal jolt of the truth. I can't explain how instantly I understood the weight of what he said.  It was a flood of unbelievable acknowledgment, insight, shame, and deep remorse for how I'd treated him for months. Instant. And now, I had to pray that he'd forgive me.

Five months have gone by since then, and ten months since my surgery.  Mike and I? We're solid.  And I'm much more solid.   Praise God from whom all blessings flow! I think I thought I was better when I wrote my last blog post, but I was still in sufficient pain.   I'll likely look back 6 months from now, God willing, and be even stronger. There is damage that lingers in another relationship that took a nose dive. My marriage is what matters, though. Sometimes, attempting to make amends and repent is unsuccessful.  Sometimes, you do what you can do, and it's not enough. Sometimes, there are people that cannot empathize or even sympathize, can't or wont forgive. It's heartbreaking, but it is a work that has to be left up to God.

I have a beautiful new infant client I was treating the other day and I completely zoned out holding him. I mean, I was just lost in his smell, his eyes, his sweet noises, even fussing he was just beautiful. I snapped back to the present, hoped no one noticed that I went to my own little fantasy land for a bit, and gave the baby back to his mommy.  In about 6 months, I have to give my exchange student back to her  parents, too.  I already know I'll miss her terribly. I think I may be getting more out of her time with us than she. In the mean time, a part of the hole in my heart has been filled by that blessing, and I'll treasure it as long as I can.

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