The fat lady has sung...

I'm getting this out a bit late, but Happy Mother's Day to any moms out there! I got cards from my darling babies, one from the three older dogs and one from the new baby! My littlest one has bonded to me, much to the dismay of my other half, but he's only 5 months old, so maybe that's kinda natural. He kisses me all the time and wags his entire body when he sees me. Seriously, his tail is wagging so hard that it brings his butt up near his head! I call him my little wiggle worm. I also call him Hooty because he is a hoot! He makes me laugh all day long. My hubby says I'm confusing the little guy when I call him all these different names, but heck, I don't care. He'll learn his name one day.

This is the first time I have experienced Mother's Day since the big changes in my life last year. Even though I thought I had worked through this, I find that I am still a little sensitive about never having kids. The events that led to the changes occurred over a period of two or three months, but I have decided on July 1st as the beginning of this next phase of my life. That is when I left everyone and everything behind to go on a three week sabbatical. I went to the mountains to try to clear my head and recover from the difficulties I was experiencing. Getting away from it all was wonderful, but it wasn't the answer. Between work and home, I had so much stress and emotional upheaval that I had to quit work. I also went into post menopause possibly due to the stress. I'm am seriously still so confused about what is and isn't menopause. My doctor used the term "post-menopausal" to describe my hormone levels (basically non-existent), but I've also heard/read "menopause" used to describe the time when things stop happening (same thing?). No matter, whatever I'm in was not a good place to be. During that very emotional time, I had to deal with the fact that I no longer had the ability to have children. Now, don't get me wrong, I never gave it much thought prior to this. I never had that longing for a child. I really think the fact that my own mother wasn't nurturing was the reason. I love babies, but having one of my own just wasn't something I wanted. My hubby was teaching elementary school at the time and had kids around day long, so he wasn't too disappointed. So, my doctor had told me earlier in the year at my annual physical that since things were slowing down, I probably had three or four more years before I stopped having periods. Then, wham, bam, thank you ma'am, six months later it stopped. No warning. Although it is different for every woman, there does seem to be an average time of three to five years of "slow down" time. I was so stressed and emotionally wrung out and could not--absolutely could not--wrap my head around this newest development. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was mourning over this loss. It didn't matter that it had been my decision, I still had this sense of complete emptiness and failure as a woman. I don't feel as bad as I did back then, but I do feel down today. I'll be fine tomorrow.

As I should have expected, I really had a hard time finding an image that represented the day, so I just gave up and went will how I felt.

(Image is entitled "Feeling Empty Inside" and is by Gilfling at Etsy.)

Too little too late...

I'm finally getting over the exhaustion after my meltdown on Sunday evening. That was some night. My other half was truly shocked at my explosion of emotion. I certainly hadn't planned it, but I guess it was a good thing since it opened his eyes a bit.

Last night I saw a commercial for a hormone replacement center that helps treat "those who have lost the joy of life." After the experiences of last year, I definitely lost that joy. Going through the struggle with constant bleeding, all the tests to determine what was wrong and finding out I was post menopausal probably due to the extreme stress, a kind of forced post menopause. That pretty much made me lose it. The loss of joy, I mean. I really struggled for a few months trying to accept that what fundamentally makes me a female was dead. And it wasn't a silent struggle. I know I talked to my other half several times. However, interestingly enough, last night he once again proved that he and I are miles apart.

After I saw the commercial, I made the comment that maybe I should try to make an appointment. He asked me why I needed help with my hormones. I asked him if he truly didn't know, and he said, "I'm really sorry but I don't." Knock me over with a feather.

I'm married to a man who doesn't listen to me or hear what I'm saying. And all I really feel is sadness for the years I've given to someone who hasn't been there.

(Image used is entitled "Listen to What They Tell You" and is by lineanongrate at Etsy."

And in this corner...

I had a rather impressive emotional meltdown last night. We needed to get the garage cleaned up for an inspection, and it turned into one of our oldest arguments. In the past few years, my arguments have gotten less emotional and more to the point as I have gradually felt less and less emotion for my husband. As a result, his arguments have escalated into yelling and throwing objects out of frustration that I'm not responding to his tactics. Our age-old discussion relates to my purchasing, finding or collecting what he calls trash. He also seems to believe that I am hoarding stuff. I believe I talked about my house decorating in a previous post, mentioning that I use antique things as I find them and often in ways that they weren't intended to be used. I also use these same things in creating art. For example, I have a wall assemblage that includes a window frame, tin roofing, and a shredded curtain still on the rod, all of which came out of my abandoned grandparents' home. Much of what is in the garage is from their home, and needless to say, I will never get rid of it regardless of whether I ever use it or not. What isn't from my grandparents' home is still interesting, and I may want to use it in a project. He thinks if I haven't done anything with it in a year that it should be tossed. He doesn't get that inspiration doesn't have a deadline.

I calmly left the garage to go get ready for bed but decided I would apologize for something I said that was rather nasty. However, as I tried to lead up to my apology, he went off on several tangents and avoided answering questions as usual. Or his answers actually proved what I had said. I finally reached my last straw in trying to make him at least see my point of view. He didn't have to like it, just see it. Well, my emotional dam burst, and I kind of went hysterical. I actually scared him. Somehow, amidst the heavy sobbing, I told him that I had been rejected, pushed away and gotten rid of so many times that I was simply afraid for it to happen again. I said that my heart had been wounded so many times that it wasn't mending and that one more heartbreaking incident might just do me in. I said that I wanted to go somewhere that no one, not even him, could hurt me. He said that I wasn't being realistic, that there was no place I could go that there wouldn't be any people. Is it me or is he not listening? I told him about the things he had said and done to push me away, which he remembered but didn't seem to think were hurtful. I have never told anyone everything that has happened over the last 20 years with my family, my husband or jobs and even a bible study. He thought I was upset because I was holding in too much anger and should demand apologies. I am not holding in any anger, and I tried to make him see that apologies wouldn't change how I feel about what happened. I tried to make him understand that hurtful words can't be taken back or attitudes changed. What was said was said and my heart broke. Period. My hurt is not the same thing as anger. He argued that I seemed fine most of the time and that even when I was with my family I seemed okay. Although I've tried to tell him many times that I am putting on a "smiling face" and really am not doing well, he obviously doesn't listen or believe me. In the end, I'm not really sure he understood what I was saying. That he hadn't understood had been one of my earlier points of discussion. For all that we have been married for almost 25 years, he doesn't really know me.

And that, for me, is the saddest thing of all. There isn't anyone close to me who knows the real me, and there aren't many people close to me. The thing that scares me is that if they do know me and pushed me away, there must be something really bad or wrong with me. If that's the case, I don't want anyone else to know me.

(Image used in this post is found at digitaljunkies.net, a company providing freelance digital art and design, and is entitled "Hysteria.")

Circling...

Looking at my previous post has made me realize that I might have made my mom sound a bit like the wicked witch, and she is nothing like that at all! She is everything good and nice and kind. She does so many good things for everyone and asks for very little in return. So my apologies, Mom, for painting you in a negative light.

There is a verse in the Bible that talks about the sins of the father being visited on the sons. I take that to mean that actions and/or reactions always have far-reaching consequences. We may not see them in our lifetime, but at some point there will be a reckoning. I am suffering the consequences, my mother suffered the consequences and her mother suffered the consequences of a life filled with nothing but difficulties and hard work. I've had time to look back at my mother's and grandmother's lives to better understand my life. And I've found that there is a circle of life.

In my case, it's a circling, funnel-shaped cloud that sucked everything in and whirled it around and caused a lot of damage. And when the house landed, we were all under it.

(The beautiful beaded art doll image used in this post is by HeathersHaven. It's entitled "Tornado" and is found on Etsy.)

Ignore that woman behind the curtain...

I've come to the conclusion that I may never find answers in this world. Sometimes I'm not even sure of the questions. But there is something in me that begs to understand the events of my life. Looking back, it's a crooked path, to be sure. I wish it were a straighter one. I think that the straighter the path, the easier the time spent on it. Or maybe that the one who walks it is stronger. Or better. Some might say a crooked path means life has been experienced, that there have been twists and turns that give it meaning. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm behind the curtain just looking out at life, desperately wanting to change it but having no idea how to do that.

Maybe I'm really hiding.

(Image used in this post is entitled "The Search" and is by SpecialBuy found at Etsy.)

Fighting struggle...

Thankfully, things have been a little less rambunctious around here. Once I finally got the ladies settled down from their little blogger war, they have been on their best behavior! I really do not like conflict, especially when it's between people who hold a special place in my heart. I guess that has also been a big part of my past struggles. When emotions run so high during conflict, I am completely distraught and consumed by it. I'm even affected by conflicts between people I don't know! Don't ask me how or why that happens, but if it can, just imagine how much worse it is when I do know the people. Keeping everyone happy seems to be both my goal and my struggle.

The artist of today's image quotes the following about struggle: " 'there will always be a pull, tugging at you from every angle. fight it, and you will lose. give into it, and you will be home.' "

Easier said than done, I think.

(Image used in this post is from TinaCrespo at Etsy and is entitled "The Struggle."

Falling...

Pain and heartache have been with me for as long as I can remember. Not physical pain, emotional pain. There were times when I thought I would die from it. Too many disappointments and failures piled up over a lifetime. Now I am here in The Place, and something has died. A part of me. Something that defined me in a certain way. Does that death constitute a failure? I'm told it is a natural thing, certainly an expected thing. Why has it been something with which I was not prepared to deal? Too much left unsaid by those who should have told me. Too many circumstances that brought this too early. It has created its own pain and heartache, and along with what was already there, I fell. I think I am probably still falling. Alice says not to worry, that there will be a stopping point. Is real life like dreams? Will I die when I hit the ground?

(Image used in this post is by DarklingWoods at Etsy and is entitled "Down the Rabbit Hole, Falling.")