There are simply no words to describe todays exhaustion. Every sense begs for release and rest. Every nerve tingles with sensitivity. You may think (so people have said to me)..."I think I am tired and I don't even have children!" Let me be clear, I think everyone hits this point. Single, married, kids, grandchildren...every person feels the heat of their tears when they evaluate a bad day. Every person searches for answers where there are none. Each and every one of us grasp the thin, dry air of our sanity as it slips through our weary bones. No one is exempt from sorrow. No one is lacking their very own ragged, dirty baggage. We've all had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (or week, or month, or year, or 3 years).
Emotionally, I am spent. My beloved tear ducts used to be nicknamed Old Faithful. Now, they've run dry, unable to physically produce the evidence of the condition of my heart. This isn't woe is me. This is my effort to be real. And there is no need to display the messy details. I'm just trying to remember, it's ok if you want to put on a happy face but more importantly, I don't always have to be ok. When I am not ok, that is where the growing and the stretching happens. That is where the secret doors of my heart are found. That is where character is able to be fed and flourish.
Physically, I need to work out. Between the lost sleep and the skipping meals, I may be down in weight but I have never felt more unhealthy. My nails are pealing and my hair is falling out. I look like a hot mess and occasionally I will put on something (somewhat) clean and leave the house. I used to read those magazine articles about how to keep looking great after marriage. One of the tips said, "Occasionally, don't wear your sweats to the dinner table. Put on nice clothes and you will feel more confident." When I first read it I was a newlywed. I laughed and thought...I don't even own sweats. Now...I still don't technically own sweats, but I just wear Bran's. ALL. THE. TIME. I think that might be worse. I need to take care of myself. For me. Only for me.
Mentally. Yikes. I hate to admit how impatient I have become for babies who don't understand that I don't have four arms and a toddler who just wants to know why I said Ok "like that". I am so starved for adult conversation that I carried on with the Duke rep who called to schedule an appointment, the mail lady, and the check out lady at Kroger. Seriously guys...it was sad. I need a job out of the house that I can feel a tad bit of normality. All of you amazing stay at home mommas are probably cringing inside to hear the truth from my fingers...but I just need a break from the insanity that ensues. Every single night. And day. And mid morning.
So, sorry to be Debby Downer. I just felt like sharing my personal struggles in hopes that writing them out would give them less power.