Today I met with my mind doctor. She listened wide-eyed as I detailed the events of the past month, asking lots of probing questions to which I had pretty mature and thoughtful, if optimistic, answers.
I feel like I am back in the "getting well and moving on with life" bit of my wee mental illness. I have amazed myself with my strength, faith, understanding and resiliency. I am feeling mindful, I am feeling bright.
I wonder sometimes how we ever really expect to connect our lives with those of our mates, and later our offspring. I try and figure out what good bits I want to pass on to my kids, and how I might go about passing them down - considering most of my best features were borne of hardship and loss. I wish it were possible to raise pampered kids to be competent adults, because I want to give my children the world. But pampering people does nothing to teach them how to live and contribute to the world - what a waste.
I made a choice when I had Sebastian to stay home with him until he was school-aged (by which point we would have explored his education options and have an idea of what our next step would be). It was important to me to be here to witness things my own parents likely missed out on because they were busy splitting up and working to keep a roof on my head, food in my belly and clothes on my back.
When Rigby was conceived, I automatically stretched out my time-line. It felt like it was the obvious thing to do and as such, when I began to mourn the loss of my original vision, I felt terrible. Why should I resent another child? What right did I have to resent it? What kind of terrible mother would feel such resentment towards a future child?
So I pushed on.
I stopped contemplating the unknown future because it had proven itself fragile and flawed. If thought of the future were explored, they were grandiose and implausible. It was easy to shoot high and stand still, after all, I have kids and a house to care for and a family to run, what else could I expect from myself?
Suddenly, I saw what I was really doing. Letting my dreams wither and fade while blaming my position as wife and mother. Resentment had grown, my husband, my son, my luck, my friends, my family... my dreams shifted to ones where I'd run off without looking back.
Staying would be into a kind of suicide.
Leaving would too.
Incredibly, it was something passionately frightening that opened my eyes.
Living is hard sometimes and incredible always. So is family. Especially a family like mine.
We're nuts, and inexperienced, and tend to talk a big game. We're peas in a pod, the four of us, and we're wicked lucky to have stumbled together.