Invisible. Unseen. Unknown. Most days these are feelings
that I think only apply to others, but occasionally, and almost always on
Mother’s day, they apply to me. I LOVE my mother and the many women who have mothered
me throughout my life. I’m grateful to see my family and friends with their
families and wouldn’t take anything from them on this day of celebration. But I’ve
finally decided to own the emotion I feel – I give myself permission.
As I face these emotions, and their causes vary case by
case, but on this day it’s what I lack…the family I’ve always dreamed of (and I’m
still working on the husband – the children are another thing entirely, but so
wanted). When I share this sentiment I’m immediately bombarded with, “Oh, that
day will come,” “You’re a mother now,” and “I know how you feel” (most
frustratingly heard from people who were married and had children early in life).
I know that day will come, eventually. I know and recognize my opportunity to mother
children in my life and I don’t take that for granted; they all mean so much to
me. I’m not even tackling the third one. I know people mean well, I do. But the
day wears on and in general, if you don’t have children, people skip right by
you. Invisible. Unseen. Unknown. Words go out the window.
I love listening to Al Fox Carraway and how she approaches prayer.
She is real with Heavenly Father. No sugar coating. No blocking. No pretense.
In the past, I’ve tried to hide my real emotions (which is totally stupid, I
get it) because I was afraid of not being grateful, that by acknowledging my
pain I was somehow disregarding all my blessings.
Today I made it to my car before I completely lost it (which
is not to say there weren’t tears earlier in the day), and I mean completely. I
probably should have pulled the car over as I was hyperventilating, my head was
splitting in pain and I really couldn’t see straight (see, prayers are answered…I
made it home safely). I was greeted by my dog who promptly demanded dinner and
then I went to the couch, my head still splitting, my emotions getting the best
of me. I start talking out loud - to no one - and I don’t stop. Tears are running down my face as I
share every thought I have and, once again, I’m hyperventilating. I’m frustrated
that no one is here to help me or reassure me; not a reassurance that these concerns
will one day be “corrected,” but that I truly am seen and known. That I have
value. That it’s okay to feel what I feel.
But I lay alone, my dog wiping (licking) the tears from my
face. I start praying, I tell Heavenly Father everything I’ve just said. I tell
him exactly what I’m feeling, how frustrated I am, how alone I feel. I ask that
enough peace will come so my headache will go away. I don’t even ask for the
heartache to leave – I can dwell in that. I can own that. 45 minutes pass and I
realize I’m no longer crying. I start to take inventory and realize my headache
is gone (both a miracle and tender mercy) and decide I can get up and make
myself some dinner and prepare my seminary lesson. As I say another prayer, I
thank Him that my head no longer hurts and then thank Him for all my blessings.
I acknowledge all the good in my life, and there is SO MUCH GOOD, including a
special visit from my favorite neighbor-girl – a major highlight of good in my life.
And here we are. There’s no change in circumstance, no
prospect of change on the horizon, but I know who I am and more importantly, whose
I am. I’m listening to a fireside for women on YouTube with a few of my
favorite speakers (Al just spoke too, so that really lifted me up). I tune out
when there is too much talk about being “mommy” because I’m just not there
emotionally, yet. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week…one day soon this inadequacy
will go unnoticed in myself again and I’ll smile, and it will be real. I choose
to be firm, steadfast, and wait on the Lord. In the meantime - until all my dreams are realized, I will live life
to the fullest. And one day, on a Mother’s day in the future perhaps, I’ll find
myself at another keyboard writing and crying about the frustrations and trials of motherhood
and reminiscing of the good old days when I only had my fur babies. Where the
only person who leaves dishes in the sink, doesn’t put away the laundry, or
sweep and mop the floor is me. Maybe one day.
