The Anchor

This morning at 5:15 I began writing about moving forward without an apology- forgiving without the hearing the words, “I am sorry.” Specifically, accepting an apology which was never given. I’ve had this topic on my mind for a while, mentally recording what I want to write. As I typed, I was interrupted by our normal morning routine. Little feet shuffling down the stairs and snuggling on the couch. They gravitate to a soft warm spot, tucked in under my arm. Only today was not normal. Today was the morning after another complete disaster of an evening and my nerves are/were raw and my house is in recovery mode. This post is for every mom who has ever felt defeated, depleted and alone. Because you are not alone. And truth be told, as crappy as you (we) may feel, defeat isn’t happening today. I have remained private about details of our daughter’s (and our journey) with chronic/advanced Lyme. Many know she’s been ill, but the extent is only known to a few close friends, family and the team who guided us through this wild journey. While she still has some residual physical issues (like minor joint swelling and pain) they continue to dissipate as she heals and I am so very thankful. We are lucky- this is treatable. Tinnitus, brain fog, headaches, dizziness, insomnia, vision and gastro issues are a thing of the past, but one ugly piece that remains is the rage- it is a switch that gets flipped, unraveling our sweet girl. It’s getting better, fewer episodes.... but I won’t lie, motherhood is hard. I am tired and I am so damn sad. There is a heaviness in my heart knowing she is struggling. I often say Alessandra is magic, and I am not just saying that because she is my daughter. She is this incredible little human that has brought so much joy to the world around her. She’s an old soul, often giving me pause for fear that she is too sweet for this hard world. She feels, loves, engages and dances through life like a gentle song. She makes my heart skip a beat. But when we have nights like we had last night, where she is screaming, crying, scratching and kicking, triggered by a stressor, I retreat, like a wounded animal. I can’t get out of my own head and my world seems to become cloudy and grey. It’s so incredibly sad to see your child in distress and not be able to help. We hold them close so they can be calmed by a heartbeat, only to feel their body go completely rigid with rage and anxiety. This is part of the journey that people do not speak of- the down in the trenches shit storm moments of motherhood. (Sort of like labor- when people gush about the beauty of delivery and newborns etc., forgetting to mention you will soon be wearing an adult sized diaper, breasts engorged with milk, finding inner thigh stretch marks once hidden, but now visible. Agh! ) These are the moments where as a mother you feel like you’re failing and falling and can’t find solid footing. As awful as this feels, this is where you are in your prime. This is where you shine. This is what makes you a mother. You are safety, you are a rescuer, you are love. Because in those darkest moments you know your child has you to fight and dig deep when she is spinning and can’t settle. You are the anchor in the storm. Their little body and mind sways, being rocked by waves of emotions too big for them to process. But you keep them anchored, braving the storm with them, tethered by love, knowing this storm will pass. That’s motherhood. The raw and beautiful truth. These are my thoughts from a 5 mile- 90 degree heat run. I needed to run and clear my head. I am tired, my nerves are frayed, but tomorrow like you, I will suit up and Mom-on. We can’t quit, but would we really want to?