A macbook pro is on my lap, tons of papers scattered about, son to my right – laying damn there underneath my thigh. I hear the twist of the doorknob; it’s my husband. He smiles at me, kicks his shoes off, and drops his book bag where he stands. He doesn’t even realize that I just cleaned the house, and probably doesn’t care.
He forces his legs between the table and the couch so that he can make space to dive into my face with a kiss. I start a conversation about a great article that I read early that day. One that inspires me even. He knows that I have been down, and am fighting my way back to some kind of stability.
He reaches down to pick up the chubby-cheeked miracle that is laying next to me. I look up in his direction trying to make eye contact. He is swirling around with his bundle of joy in his arms. Of course, it’s the right thing to do, but the connection is lost between him and I, but vibrant and alive between he and our child.
My shoulders sink and I can feel my heart break. “Am I alive? Am I here? Am I heard?” I think to myself.
I’m in my home office with my face in my hands for the 100th time. Tears are pouring out from my eyes in buckets. I am blabbering words that no sane human-being could understand, but praying that God can somehow make out what I am saying.
“I didn’t mean to quit my job. I am so sorry. I wanted something better. I couldn’t be there anymore. It was draining me. Please God forgive me. Please give me my financial freedom back. Please get me out of this mountain of debt. I am trying everything I can to make it. I don’t want to be like the rest of my family. Broke. Poor. Begging for spare change. Barely able to get myself the basic needs.”
I am able to catch a breath for a half a second and then I continue.
“Please God, I don’t want to depend on my husband anymore. I want my own money. I’m glad he’s here, but I need to feel independent. I’ve poured my heart and soul into my books and tons of people are reading them, but no one is buying them. I tried everything that I had the strength to try. Please God. Please. Am I alive? Am I here? Am I heard?” I question as I wipe the snot from my nose with my sleeve.
I’m flipping through the pages of a catalogue and my eyes come across a beautiful set of candles. I smile. Why? Because I love candles. They lift my spirits.
I run my hand over the glossy page of the catalogue as if my gentle caress will somehow generate a wormhole for the candles to appear. I’m ignited for a second when I notice what catalogue I’m reading. “Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It’s not that far away; maybe 15 minutes at most. I can make it there,” I think to myself with optimism.
My eyes drift to the right. There’s a stack of mail sitting there. There’s a letter addressed to me with big bold letters that reads CREDIT SOLUTIONS INC. I know that it’s another bill, from the same people who wrote me last week, demanding all the money I owe them.
The letter lovingly (sarcasm) reminds me of the fact that I don’t have the money in my account to purchase the candles anyway. I close the Bed, Bath, and Beyond booklet disgusted with myself and the world in general. “Can I just admire something without feeling guilty. I just want some damn candles. It’s not too much to ask. Am I Alive? Do My Desires Matter? Am I heard?” I think to myself.
It’s a week or two after my birthday. My sister shows up to my house with one of my favorite people (my niece). We all sit down in the living room and chat for a few. After a while she says, “I have a birthday gift for you.”
I’m shocked, because I really didn’t expect to receive anything from her. I sit back with anticipation as she reaches in her black oversized pocketbook and pulls out a $25 Children’s Place gift card.
“It’s not about you anymore,” she says with a laugh. “It’s all about the baby when you have kids,” she finishes. My shoulders slump and my heart breaks. “I didn’t know that having children meant I wouldn’t exist anymore. Does she see me? Does she care? Am I alive?” I think to myself.
Freedom Friday’s are all about releasing the things that hurt us the most. It’s about freeing up space to allow the new things to enter your life. It’s about being completely honest about the things that are hurting you to the core, making you doubt yourself, and causing you to lose hope. On Freedom Friday’s we have the space to let it out. To say it. To release it, and remove it from our bodies and minds.
Here today, I confess that I have been having a rough few years. Despite it all, I still put on my hat and go to work. I don’t mean a physical work place. I mean doing what I can to improve myself, continuing to write, continuing to try to see the good in things, and continuing to put myself out there no matter what. Something in me will not let my dreams die. The voice inside is much different than my own critical voice. It’s compassionate, patient, accepting, and comes up with ways to try and help me move past this rough patch. Writing is one of the ways that I am able to let it out.
I don’t know what the details of my future are, but I do know how I want to feel.
If I just have that little piece, I have a step.
Going forward I would like to feel,
Abundant, Appreciated, Considered, Important, Blessed, Forgiven, Seen, Supported, Inspired, Comforted, Helped, Acknowledged, Aligned, Fruitful, Relieved, Financially Stable, & Gifted.
I let out a long deep breath and allow my heart to send a message out to All That Is.
I can’t do this alone.