I’ve done it before. A daily post of thanks. A weekly post of thanks. Photos, emotions, physical stuff. I’ve sat and read these posts, and each and every time I have thought why aren’t people just thankful every day.
And the reason is because that’s bullshit.
We are human.
And when we wake up in the morning, whether we have to tell ourselves to get up, convince ourselves we want to live, perk up with just the thought of coffee, or hit the ground running… we’re human. There is just no way we can possibly see all the light that surrounds us 365 days a year.
Or find the light in the dark. Because some days it is dark.
November is the month we give thanks publicly, we try to not let the painful things in. We want to be thankful, grateful, caring… We want to be all the things.
But we can only be us.
So here is some truth. My depression has crept back in- since I stopped breastfeeding and had some medical issues. With Addie’s casts coming off and her recovery being more than physical- I didn’t consider the emotional toll this took on her. On us.
Some of the hottest tears have burned my cheeks. The most biting words have crept past my lips. Spitting and bitter. In the face of my husband, who never falters- never missteps. He firmly wraps me in his arms and kisses my head. He reminds me that I am loved. He does not make excuses for the things that I spew forth.
His admission of his faults are all too plentiful when I am like this- even though he’s done nothing wrong. Words that sound like regret and threats freely flow. Sometimes I am too mad to even cry. I just shake until I fall into a fitful sleep, waking still tired. Still sad. Still dark.
And I am always me.
But he’s never let me go.
For this I am thankful.
The worst part of my past is that much of my decision making- all the things that seemed like independence- were often forced. I left my home, friends, and city life in DC on a basis of threats and empty promises. And when I fell on my face in Providence, the pieces seemed too shattered to show up on the steps of my friends 450 miles away.
Instead I lived in fear. I ate too little… taken in like a feral animal by the most caring, gentle man. Someone who wanted nothing in return. Nothing. He held me when I asked and gave me space when I needed. He carried me up the stairs in wine stained jeans when I slid down the back hall during a party. He fiercely defends me from myself- my harshest critic.
I live with depression. I live with regret. Let’s not pretend that the human condition doesn’t allow for the less than beautiful emotions we have. The feelings of jealousy, pity, fear.
There are a million things in my head… thanks being one of them.
I’m grateful for my family, for being atypical in all the ways and for the love we have regardless. Parenting is hard. Marriage is hard. Remembering to be thankful some of the days? That’s pretty easy with this crew.