Last night my four year old son had one of the biggest tantrums I’d ever witnessed. He yelled, he kicked, he hit, he screamed. It was overwhelming. I finally had no choice but to pick him up and carry him to the car which was no easy feat.
The thought that struck me as I strapped him into his car seat still kicking and fighting, was that he was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing.
I wanted to yell.
I wanted to kick.
I wanted to scream out loud that I feel so lost and will never be found.
We finally got home and were both much calmer. He told me he was sorry and I said I was too. He went off to bed and was asleep in minutes. But me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. My nerves were still raw.
I wanted to reach out. I wanted to cry.
There is a lot going on these days. My hours are full with projects and possibilities, with headaches and healings. I am trying to process so much and I’m trying to do it on my own. Until finally I can’t and I have to ask for help.
My husband is also my best friend and last night I wanted to look to him. I wanted to see my pain reflected back with sympathy and solutions. But he couldn’t. He threw his back out last week and struggles daily to walk, sit or even sleep.
And so laying in bed, feeling all alone, I finally had to work through the fear and go, and reach within.
It’s a scary place. Because within there is light, within there is infinite love, within are all the answers given in due time. It’s a place consisting of everything I don’t think I deserve. And last night, out of sheer desperation, I went there.
It wasn’t so bad.
I felt loved, heard and understood. Drama, guilt and shame faded slowly and I was left with peace. I breathed deeply, found sleep and awoke with a new resolution.
I’m starting a new relationship. We’re just at the beginning…holding hands, sharing stories. But this is it. This is the love I’ve been looking for. This is my lifelong partnership.
And it’s been here all along.
And when I forget, it will still be here.
This is the start of a new way of living. I’m willing…just a little. But I feel all is well. I’ll still stumble, I’ll still cry, but I’ve met the love of my life. So I know where I can always turn.
Thank you, God.
We’ve met.
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