Things Worth Saving

I wish I could say that I have a good relationship with my family. The truth is I just don’t. I can’t have a civilized conversation with my mother for more than 5 minutes, neither of my sisters speak to me, so that leaves 2 brothers. One who talks to me occasionally and the other who doesn’t. My father passed away suddenly 11 years ago.

For years I wished things were different. While I seemed to grasp that logically, emotionally there was still a sad little girl who wishes we aren’t so fractured as a family. My husband has learned that some holidays I tolerate better than others and that  some are altogether un-salvageable. Which 1. Made me think I married a pretty awesome guy and 2. Made me wonder how much my sadness has affected the family I have now. It’s a sobering thought. It made me uncomfortable, because my sadness is my responsibility. If I’ve focused on my sadness, then I’ve not been giving my best to the family I’ve created.

I’ve heard that I need to “live in the moment” or “walk out of your upbringing” and lots of other colloquialisms that seemed trite and never really resonated with me. I mean seriously where is the instruction manual?!

I was in my 30’s before I started cooking regularly, because I thought that cooking for 1 was a waste of my time and cooking for 2 was also a waste of my time.  I outsourced my housework, laundry, dry cleaning, and sometimes cooking, because my time was worth so much more than those menial tasks.

A few months ago, by accident, I realized that I save things “for a special occasion”.  Saved them for a time that’s more important than now, where I will be prettier, thinner, happier, more satisfied. Endless tomorrows that never seem to come.

What I suddenly grasped was that life is ordinary. It’s made up of lots of menial tasks, a million ordinary moments, and a few extraordinary ones. There are no special tomorrows. Yes there will be special times, but I think that the point is to see the beauty in the menial tasks and ordinary moments.

Maybe it’s time to wear that outfit I’ve saved, or to use the crystal or china that’s been sitting in the cupboard for years gathering dust. Maybe it’s time to stop looking at the past, and letting it overwhelm me. Time to realize and accept that I’m never  NOT going to be sad about it. Being sad is a normal reaction to terrible events. It’s time to make peace with it, to realize it’s never going to go away, and for lack of a better term, acknowledge that it walks along with me whether I like it or not. Acceptance.

I don’t like cleaning but I love a clean house. I HATE folding laundry, but I love the smell and feel of fresh sheets, towels and clothes. I’ve learned to enjoy cooking because I like to know what I’m feeding my family. These menial tasks, they have become a huge part of my life.

Ideally you get two chances at parenthood. You get the ones who gave birth to you, and the ones you become in whatever form that takes. My past is sad, but I’m aware that I need to put it aside, stop saving things for a “special occasion”, give my fullest attention to my family, and both work toward and allow myself to hope for a better now.

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Its been a few month since I started acupuncture. I researched, found a guy whose education and belief system I liked. Hes fantastic, really kind and caring. That was in November. The effects were swift, it helped me to relax, and more importantly it helped my body get ready for IVF. I started sleeping better, things bothered me less and generally I was just coping with stress better.

I spent a month or so feeling like I was finally climbing out of a really dark place that I’ve been in for a long time, and by long time, I mean at least 4 years. But finally a tiny flicker of hope, like a breath of fresh air, that I protected the way you cup your hand around a flame in the wind. The fact that the flame was so tiny, made me feel vulnerable, constantly on the verge of tears, raw. I was afraid of it, because while I am sure most people don’t wander around with a thick turtle shell on, in my world it’s never ever been safe not to. Incoming can fall at any time.

A few months ago I had a counseling session with my husband where for the first time we were talking about his Aspergers, coping mechanisms and expectations with the therapist. I felt hopeful, like I was doing it well, understanding and dealing with his brilliance, and his limitations. When out of nowhere he took a kind of right turn, started talking about his daughter, and how I really wasn’t a very good mother because of my upbringing. That I compared my family to hers. That wasn’t true. It infuriated me that he said that, and it sent me crashing to the ground with a hard humiliating thud.

After talking about it later, what he says he was trying to say was how far I have come in the 11years I’ve been in her life. How far away I was from the early times when I really probably wasn’t a very good mother to her. But the nature of his Aspergers leaves him sort of stuck on a single thought, sometimes for a long time. So he never got there.

To be honest, it threw me. I mean walking around in the world, all squishy and raw, it’s just not my strong suit. Add the holidays, my fractured family, that I’m not really feeling great about myself, and the fact that I am anxious about starting IVF, and what you have is a recipe for slime.

You saw Ghostbuster‘s right? That fat greedy, nasty, needy, little monster i.e. me, who is all emotional and vulnerable, has a conversation that spins off in the wrong direction and slimes you.

The slime is just some weird concoction of tears and snot so while not really hygienic it’s also not going to kill you. It’s just yucky. And so are all these feelings.

I’m trying to come out the other side at hope. Because yes I said it. I want a baby. The entire idea of procreation is one based in hope. Hope that you will be successful and that the baby will come out healthy. Hope that you can successfully raise the child without the scars your own parents left, and without too many new ones that you left. Hope that the world is kind enough to this child that it flourishes and doesn’t see the hard times you’ve been through.

At some level you hope it will redeem you. That it will be the truest love you have ever felt or given. Hope that everything will be alright. This is a child’s phrase, but in the end isn’t it what we all hope for? That everything will be alright?