Somedays, I can’t keep the sadness inside any longer.
I carry around a heaviness in my heart that I’m scared to release because I’m afraid I will drown in my tears. Scared that I will sink to the floor and not be able, nor care, to stand up again.
Do you ever worry that if you feel everything you could feel that it would break you? I do.
My sorrow is around my sons. My eldest went to live with his dad when he was twelve and my younger son joined his father in London about 18-months ago.
I miss them both, deeply.
I wrote a couple of years ago about how getting new plates opened up a deep, deep well of sorrow. This week, it was buying a birthday card for my younger son who turns eighteen tomorrow.
I couldn’t stop the tears.
I tried but they kept coming.
I have moments when I am sorry and sad because life has not turned out how I imagined. I never thought motherhood would be so difficult, especially with divorce bringing unfamiliar dynamics that I was ill-prepared to deal with.
There’s sadness and then there’s guilt.
I know, with my logical mind, that guilt is pointless.
But try convincing your heart that you made the best decisions you could make at the time when you worry that you’ve screwed up two souls in the world. You run through fruitless scenarios of what you could have done differently – if only I’d done this or if only I’d been more like that.
You can’t change the past, I know that.
But when the cracks appear and the flood waters begin to trickle, all the logic and reason in the world are swept away. You are left with raw emotions and the suffocating feeling that you’ve failed.
Failed those you love. Failed yourself.
I remember hearing my family pass judgement on mothers whose children chose to live away from them.: “What kind of mothers can they be?”
I am one of those mothers.
And those remembered words taunt me and weigh me down with failure.
The tears I lock inside are because I don’t want to feel the pain I may have caused my children through my own shortcomings. That is what will break me.
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