Struggle

Life is a struggle at times. It carries on from day to day, and with little or no warning, a storm begins to brew. Sometimes this storm starts as a light summer sprinkle and takes days to turn into a full fledged storm. Sometimes the storm just starts as a tornado, and ends as quickly as it began.

Sunday was a tornado for my husband and me. It was a definite struggle to even survive through the winds and downpours. But we came out the other side. Scarred, I am sure. But we are both here, alive and breathing.

We've decided to seek counseling. I think it's the best thing for the both of us. It's not going to be easy; anyone who's gone to a counselor or therapist (or whatever you call them) knows that it gets much worse before it gets better. But what is the alternative?

I'm scared. I'm nervous. But I'm happy. And I have faith that this next step will calm the storms.

Motherly Love

My son is presently going through a "Mommy phase." If I'm in the room, he must be near me. If I leave the room, he either cries or follows me. If he bumps his head or stubs his toe, he runs for me. It's adorable, honestly, though I doubt Daddy thinks so. I try to explain that it's just a phase, and pretty soon, my adorable little boy won't want anything to do with Mommy since she doesn't know how to play ball or catch a frog. I'm trying to enjoy the moments now while I have them.

Friday I got off work early. I picked up my son, and instead of going home like we usually do, we went to a park. We played for an hour and a half. Who knew a 14 month old could entertain an almost 29 year old so well. It's supposed to be the other way around, isn't it? He ran under the structure so I'd have to duck and run after him. He played on the steps, with my help of course. He sat on the bouncy seats, and Mommy helped rock him, though he was constantly trying to shove my hands away. He's an independent little bugger. We even slid down the slide time and time again. Sure, I got my cute booty jeans wet and a little dirty, but it was worth it to see the smile on his face. To know that I made his face light up is worth every pair of cute booty jeans I own.

Discarded

I feel discarded. Thrown away. Tossed aside.

For some reason, most of the people in my life that I grow close to use and abuse me from time to time. Sometimes it's just something little, and I get over it and move on. Other times I am cut out of their lives completely.

This time I feel discarded. I feel like I was used to ease tremendous pain, and when I wasn't good enough to help the wound heal anymore, I was dumped. I was a wonderful friend to someone in need. Someone who I wasn't even supposed to be friends with. I went against the wishes of friends and family to be there for him. I knew he needed me, so I stood by his side. And he thanked me many times. And then he effectively said goodbye, but not in such nice terms. I guess that was my last "thank you."

I don't get it. I really have a hard time understanding why this keeps happening to me. I am a wonderful person. I'm not tooting my own horn here. I really AM a great friend. I'm caring. I'm honest. I'm one of the most open people you'll ever meet. I have no problem dropping everything of mine to pick up something of yours. Yet I get shit on. Repeatedly.

Am I too kind? Do I allow people to get too close? But honestly, I don't see a point in life if you don't break down those brick walls and let people in. You've got to lead with your heart to get any enjoyment out of this wicked, evil, twisted thing called life.

So I suppose I'll keep going. I'll move on. And I'll continue to keep those walls from building around my heart. I'll get hurt....again. But at least I'll love as well. Not everyone can say that.