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I’m Not Good at This

I’ve wanted to smash everything. All day.

I’ve been on edge and angsty. Despite a lovely coffee break with friends this morning, I left feeling lonely, lost inside myself. Even when my husband bent to kiss me when he returned from running errands, I didn’t feel like I deserved kisses or love or the presence of everyone. I pushed him away; I tried to push myself away.

I listened to angry music in my office while I worked. That didn’t make it better. I listened to happy music. That didn’t make it better. I listened to sad music and then I cried.

Yesterday evening, I watched Booey inside the room that will be his classroom — his world for eight hours a day. He played happily with the puppets. He walked around the room. He found Froggy books. He talked to his teacher. He happily found an old friend, learned another firefighter kid will be in class as well. He’s oh-so-ready.

So Ready

I am not.

I bit my lip as I confessed to his teacher that I was struggling more than I expected to; I mean, I’ve been through this already with BigBrother, so I should be a pro by now. She nodded, admitting that she’s having a rough season of transition as her son heads off to college this fall. I nodded, watching him play so happily.

I didn’t cry in public. We went out for ice cream with two happy boys, ready for the next stages of their lives.

I sniffled on my run, but choked back any real emotions because I’m brave and courageous and everything will be just fine. People tell me that all the time. “You’re so brave.”

Except I’m not very brave.

Or courageous.

Or good at this. At all.

I’m going to miss my baby boy so much that my stomach physically hurts right now. And quite honestly, I am tired of missing my children. I feel the ache of missing so deeply, so keenly right now. The missing and the hurting and the worrying and the fear. All of this likely compounded by the length of time it has been since I last saw my daughter; all of this compounded by the fact that life is what it is, that it can’t be changed, that the reality of my mothering is grounded in loss, in missing.

“You’re so brave.”

No, I’m just a mom, doing what she has to do. And today, that involves crying and hurting for everything I miss.

With the Boys

 

29 replies on “I’m Not Good at This”

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
? Brené Brown

It’s totally okay to have lots of sad, smashy days. Hang tight.

Of my three children, sending the youngest to school was the hardest for me. By the time I got inside my house, I was crying the ugly cry. I’m not sure why. I guess it was an end of an era, or something. It was also the beginning of a new one, but it was hard to see that at the time.
I hope your days to come are less sad, at least most of them.

Hugs!!! While it’s pre-k this year for us, I’m still dreading the day. Two thumbs up for being courageous and sharing your sadness and hurt. You are not alone! <3

P.S. – You ARE brave. And amazing!

A big hug. Guess what, you are human. It’s ok that this hurts. You are brave, but more than anything, you are real and that is one of the things I love most about you. You do hurt, and you are brave enough to share that so that others don’t feel quite so alone.

Feel all there is to feel, this too shall pass although never at the pace we think we want it too, always at the pace we need it too.

It’s Friday. There will be pizza tonight and maybe some wine?

There was pizza! But no wine, alas.

Sometimes I forget how I feel better when I share the gunk inside, so I let it sit too long and it comes out in a post like this. Thanks for being here.

Yesterday, my daughter got her exam results and confirmation that she will be moving hundreds of miles away in just a few weeks time. I sat across the kitchen table from her and all I could see was the tiny little girl she was on her first day of school. She’s ready; I’m not. I hope it gets easier for us all.

I think the hardest thing is that they do form their own worlds, that we are not a major part of. We are so used to their world and our world revolving in each other and then poof – they have their own thing going in. I wish I could tell it gets better, but it doesn’t. The tears may not come as often, but the heart strings are pulled a lot!

I’m crying now. Thanks for that ;)

I’ve been feeling the same feelings too and I know you get where my loss comes from better than anyone around me as well. All these milestones, they just feel like bittersweet moments, and others they feel like giant kicks in the teeth. Multiple kicks.

I’m here. With wine. And when you send him off, I’ll be here too. Promise you’ll be around the day I send my kindergarten (gasp! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN!?!?!?!?!?!?) too, in a couple of weeks.

It just never gets easier, eh?

Kindergarten is 8 hours for you guys? Holy smokes, that’s a long day! Of *course* you will be missing him. I’d worry if you didn’t love him enough to miss him that much. There will be a kid-sized hole in your heart for many days when that little guy is off in his other world. But the “welcome home” hugs? SO wonderful! Hang in there, Jenna. You’ve given him what he needs to be good at this, even if you are not so sure about your own self.

Sharing your vulnerability and fear with us is ABSOLUTELY brave!

Mothering is a series of letting go’s, and I don’t think they ever get easier. Hugs to you as your family goes through this transition, and I hope your son has a great year in school.

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