For as long as I can remember, I can assuredly say that things came fairly easy to me. I always had a lot of friends and acquaintances, I was athletically inclined and even excelled at many sports, I was smart, I rarely encountered grief or tragedy of any kind, I received a top rate college education and graduated with a 3.8 without much effort, I married the love of my life straight away, bought a house, got a great job, started grad school, started having babies. I can safely assume many people could find a fault in that. Heck, from an observers perspective, I would be a bit envious myself.
Along with the ease that I seemed to float through life, also came strong opinions, great confidence, a 'no room for bull' attitude, and a toughness that can only be acquired by one who decided what she wanted and went after it with no excuses. Ironically, I was compassionate, giving, and generous with my time. I didn't need people helping me with anything, but I always loved to help others out with things. If there was something I needed taken care of, by golly, I did it myself. I never whined. There just never seemed to be a reason to.
If you've read this blog for any amount of time, you would know that after the arrival of Betsy, some of the above changed. Oh, I was still tough as nails, still impenetrable, still tried to figure things out myself or with the help of my husband or parents. But, NEVER...NEVER would I reach out to anyone else. My friends, even my own sister, didn't need to be burden with my junk. Especially, when there was no magic answer.
What did change was the fact that I found myself needing people. Needing an "are you okay?" phone call, an "I stopped by just because" visit, a "Come one over for a glass of wine" text. And you know what? I rarely got any of those things.
Do I blame my family and friends? Of course not. I know it's my stuff that I carry. How can you blame someone for not coming to your aid when they don't even know they're needed?
In life, EVERYONE has crosses to bear. People who always seem to have a rough go of it, and even the people who seem to come by everything easy. EVERYONE. The thing is, we all have a different way of carrying our cross. Some shout and cry out for help every step of the way, some complain it's too awkward to hold and insist on help, some just look ahead and continue on knowing it's insanely heavy but since there's nothing to be done but move forward, they keep there mouths shut moving one foot in front of the other no matter how slow the pace. {Can I get a 'holla' for run on sentences?}
For the most part, I'm the latter. But every now and again, I break. I feel sad. I feel defeated. I feel like if no one steps in I might not make it. Even in these times, I find it so difficult to reach out. To tell a friend that I need them.
When Betsy came to us, I know that many of my friends and family thought that if anyone could handle it, I could. I'm thick skinned. It is what it is. Beth is tough. If anyone can figure out a good defense to this game changer, she can. I suppose that in many ways that's true. After all, I've spent a lifetime perfecting the 'nothing gets me down' attitude. Only show your strengths, not your weaknesses.
I've even heard the famous line, "God couldn't have picked a better set of people to be the parents of a child like Betsy." Of which, I completely disagree, and could argue the point quite well, but I have to trust His divine plan for me, and am secure in the knowledge that it isn't about to be altered because of my humble ideas. Of course, I try to be the best parent I can be to all of my kids, but trying to be the best and being the best are two completely different things.
Now, at 32, I'm stuck. My I-can-figure-it-out-myself attitude that has worked brilliantly for me in the past, is starting to steer me wrong. The older I get the more I feel like I want to let people in a bit more. The problem is I'm not sure how, and I'm scared to need people like that. I don't want to put people out or be whiny.
Here I sit, isolated and stewing in my own junk. Wanting a hug. And, I know my man or my momma would happily oblige, but sometimes a hug from your husband or your mom isn't the same as from someone else.
So, that's my poor me fest.
Did you loathe it as much as I did?
I swear there won't be another one of these for a looooooong time. Just since typing all of it, I feel like a big, fat baby who is crying over stupid crap. A few paragraphs later, and I'm already thinking of everything I am so grateful for. One of which
are my family and friends. And those littles of mine. Man, oh man. They're the greatest blessing of all. Maybe God does know what He's doing, after all.
Duh!
