Introspection

Some days here at our new house I am filled with such happiness that it almost scares me.  I've been working on the whys of my emotions, and while some are post partum and hormone ridden, some come from another place, a deep place where fear comes to steal my joy like a liar. 

Part of this introspection led me to the realization yesterday that sometimes I'm afraid to feel joy because I don't want to ever forget how hard it can be.  I don't want to lose the compassion or understanding for other people who are going through a hard situation, perhaps one I've lived through, and simply be the one who says, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

I don't want to see the struggling mom, who is worn thin and never gets a break because her husband works away all week and say to her, "this too shall pass."  I want to always remember to be her help.  Because it might take six years to pass.  Or more.  I want to let her know that I know how much she loves those kids.  That she wanted every single one.  But that it's okay to feel what she's feeling.

I don't want to see the mom with the sick child who feels beaten and broken and afraid of every fever, cough, pain, or injury and tell them that "we lived through it and they will, too."  I want to always have the compassion to climb into the miry pit with that mom and sit beside her until she is able to rise up out of it.  By the way, I'm still the mom who fears every fever, cough, pain, or injury.  It never used to be that way.  They never used to look so fragile to me...

I don't want to be the one whose joy is real next to the one pretending it's all okay, and not have the courage to tell her that I see her.  I see her making magic for her kids through her own pain and self doubt and she is winning.  

So, while I'm over here fighting to let the joy take over where the fear and anxiety have lived for a great many months or years, I just want to say thanks to my people.  To the ones who sat beside me in the miry clay.  The ones who saw me making forced magic when theirs was real and assured me I was winning the race.  The ones who physically helped me with life and kids when I was worn too thin and Mike was away working all those years.  

It's a balancing act to let gladness in where sadness has lived, but I see it's glimmers and the promise is beautiful....

It's in the husband reading our Bible lesson over lunch and knowing what we're learning, because he's able to be here.

It's the gladness of the son who got to run cable with Dad at work because we were near and it was easy to get him there.

It's the sweetness of the moments of sisters loving each other.

It's in family activities and evenings spent together.

It's in Christmas traditions not being rushed because family time is more than an hour a night.

Everyday a little more of my joy feels real and not forced, and that's both scary and exciting.  Maybe there will never be 100% freedom from the anxiety and fear that have lived here for so long, but I am trying, when I can, to let joy win.  

Please know, if you aren't there yet, I see you.  You are not alone.  And, while I can't let your sadness take over my joy completely, I can sit in your pit beside you until you are able to get up again.  But if you can and when you're ready, don't you forget, too, to let joy win.  

Until then, I'll be here.