You Do Not Work Alone
It's been 4 weeks since I went under the knife. 4 weeks of sleeping. 4 weeks of pain, albeit lessening now. 4 weeks of lying down or reclining. 4 weeks of putting the care of my children, my home, and our family meals in the hands of other loving friends and family. I still have many weeks to go before I am fully recovered. I have weeks to go before I am allowed to pick up my children, sweep the floor, wash laundry. It sounds like every woman's dream, but for me it is becoming a waking nightmare.
I knew going in to this procedure that it was going to feel like I was submitting to becoming paralyzed. As my surgery date was drastically moved up, I didn't have much time to prepare. I did all that I could to prepare my home: washed carpets, laundry, grocery shopped, meal planned. With the help of my husband we made a sanctuary for myself so that I could avoid stairs but be near a bathroom and in a central enough location to not feel isolated from the family. I pulled weeds in my gardens and pruned my beautiful flowers. I told them I would be back and thanked them for helping me relax and feel centered. As a family, we prepped and prepared and prayed and then we did.
4 weeks have passed now and I am starting to feel more mobile. So much so that I was able to walk to my kitchen un-assisted a few days ago and fully take in the state of my home. It didn't go well. I stood there in shock, dismay, and heartache. What I saw was a mess. It felt like ALL my home was a mess. I felt like a failure as a mother and a wife. I KNEW my family was doing everything that they could every day to keep up with the demands of therapies, work, childcare, and ME. I KNEW they were doing their best but instead of being grateful, I lost it.
Unfortunately, I directed that frustration to those around me...my oldest son and husband. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I could see the affect of my words on their faces and I kept going. I could see the tears starting fall from my sons eyes, and I kept going. And going. And going. When I came to my senses, I realized the damage I had caused.
Was the kitchen area a mess? Sure. Was it hazmat worthy? No. Was is going to take some effort to clean up? Sure. But not nearly as much time or effort as what my reaction would suggest. I hurt my boys. My words hurt them. I didn't stop. And then I crumbled.
I hobbled back to my prison/sanctuary and crumbled to a corner and sobbed. I wanted to disintegrate back into the earth. I wanted to hide, to cease, to just not be. Oh how I wanted to take back every word! But alas, the damage was done and I was paying for it.
My super amazing brain decided that crying and feeling bad wasn't enough and so it started thinking of how much better my family would be without me. I started to listen to Satan's loud speaker in my mind telling me how worthless I was. How unlovable I was. What a useless waste of space I was and EVERYONE would be better without me.
All I wanted to do was run, but I couldn't. All I wanted to do was leave the house and go for a walk, but I couldn't. All I wanted to do was get in the car and drive, but I couldn't. I thought of other ways to disappear. but the restrictions for recovery were keeping me from all of it. I was stuck to feel these dark feelings, to feel the shame, to hide in any corner I could find.
I finally made it upstairs to my bed. I was scared. My husband was scared. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't face my son. He didn't deserve my censure and I didn't know how to apologize because it just didn't feel like it would be enough.
So, I did the only thing I knew how to do from past lessons. I turned on a silly TV show and tuned out the world. Every time I came up for air and looked at my husband, I would start to cry again. I did this binge watching until I felt like I could pray. I was too ashamed to pray in earnest. All I could manage up to that point was "Father, I'm scared!"
Blessed sleep came as did the morning and I was able to REALLY pray and apologize and rest.
A few days have past and this all seems like a nightmare that I was able to wake from. But the reality is, it happened. And that is scary.
I don't remember the words I said to my son or husband, but they were not so bad that they were angry or permanently wounded and they forgave me easily...but I still feel a bit shattered. I think that the emotional outburst came from my feelings of isolation and uselessness as I continue to heal in bed. I can do so little and it feels so insignificant. My family keeps telling me all is well and sends me back to bed if they see me walking about. They love me and I am so grateful.
Today, I was putting together lesson plans for school and it was becoming mentally taxing. I wanted to DO something but I am limited by many, many factors and it's hard. I was also trying to plan an 18th Birthday trip for my son and trying to NOT speculate on what is being planned for my 40th 5 days prior. On top of that, I was trying to 'parent' from my recliner and it was not going well.
I stopped to take a breath and I felt prompted to open my Gospel Library app and stumbled upon a video. Since at this point I was kinda tired of reading, watching a video sounded like a great diversion. As I watched, I felt the Spirit whispering a message of hope to my heart. I wasn't actively thinking about the major event of the previous days. Actually, I thought I had successfully dealt with/buried it enough already. But the Lord knew what I needed to hear. He always does, of course.
As things tend to go for me, the intended message was about calling/'jobs' in my Church specifically relating to Family History work. Of course, that was not the message I heard. Instead, I heard a message relating to my calling as a Mother. I let the peace of the message wash over me, and then I played it again, this time just listening to the words. Again, that feeling of peace came over me.
Ya, I can't do much...at all. But I am still a mother and I am still important, worthy, and NEEDED.
Certain phrases sunk deep into my soul and I could feel the salve of healing balm being spread over my aching wounds.
"You are called of God."
"The Lord knows you."
"He chose you."
"He chose you."
...and then the ultimate message.
"There will be times when you will feel overwhelmed. One of the ways you will be attacked is with the feeling that you are inadequate. But you have access to more than your natural capacities and YOU DO NOT WORK ALONE."
"There will be times when you will feel overwhelmed. One of the ways you will be attacked is with the feeling that you are inadequate. But you have access to more than your natural capacities and YOU DO NOT WORK ALONE."
Yes! That was it! The key to open the door of healing. This was the moment I realized that what I am doing IS important. Healing is my job right now and when I am done healing I will be better than ever. I will be able to play and enjoy my role as a wife and a mother better than I have been able to for many years. I will not be alone. I will be able to struggle through this period of time but rise triumphant at the end. I CAN do this. I CAN seek forgiveness and heal and I WILL be ok because I am NOT ALONE.
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