There are times where I am not certain that I have anything good to share, anything worthy of your time. It’s probably true. But it’s also potentially that pesky Devil trying to rear his head in a place that he is not welcome. So I will write.
I teeter on the line of oversharing and not sharing enough. Letting myself actually be vulnerable enough to share real life arguments and times that I could slam the door and not come back again (except, if I slammed the door I would regret it immediately and not ever even make it to my car. I would be lost without my husband and boys. Lost.)
So I need you to understand that there may be weeks that my posts are short and they may be uninteresting and that may be me fighting myself off and feeling like my words aren’t good enough or full enough to share with strangers.
There may be weeks (like this one) that are filled with anxiety and a lot of restlessness that comes with the holidays. This time of year I feel like an implant in this family- not because of anything they have done or said to me, or even how they have acted. It’s all in my head. But it’s there. It is hard to mesh my world with theirs and not receive any sort of backlash or negativity from it. It is hard for me to conform to all of their traditions and ways and not feel defeated.
It bubbles up this feeling and this overwhelming reminder that the reason this is hard is because this isn’t the way families were meant to look. A family is supposed to be formed after man and woman marry and then the family is born. The kids come. There are no steps. There are no halves. There are just mom and dad and babies. But when we live life according to our own wants and desires, step families are born. It’s hard because this isn’t what God had for us. (I don’t mean that God didn’t intend for my husband and I to be together or that we are sinful or that we aren’t doing what God has for us. I mean that we both have acted in ways that led us to this messy family.) Kids shouldn’t have to figure out whether or not it’s okay to love a “new mom” or whether it’s alright to love your new half brother the same as you do your full blooded one. Kids shouldn’t have to figure out our dynamics.
Sometimes, I have to make time to rest and make time to pick apart our craziness and see who we are beneath it all. I have to replay moments and remember when 12 laughed at my joke or defended me to his MOM or to his brother (who is famous for the “you’re not my real mom” talk.). I have to replay when 8 comes and sits by me or pulls on my arms and wants to be silly. Replay the times we stand in the hallway and SCREAM to relieve ourselves from stress or chaos or whatever it is. I have to replay the times where 17 has gotten excited over gifts I’ve found just for her or has liked the clothes I’ve worn… anything that lets us connect. Sometimes, during these weeks, I am overwhelmed and exhausted and can’t hardly do more than go to work and come home and do laundry & dishes and head to the couch.
I might be asking for mercy in this long,drawn out post. Writing blogs is enjoyable but sometimes draining to relive arguments or hurtful things that happened. It might even be draining to revisit the exciting, happy times. Please just stay with me and bare with me as we battle the ever-so-present SADs.
Merry Christmas mommas.