Sunday was a bad day. I'm not totally sure if I would have had such a hard time with the little things that happened on Sunday if I weren't plagued by the other issues...maybe if my stress level were focused on other things or different, less intense challenges....maybe I would have handled Sunday better. I don't know what it was. But it was bad.
My husband has been trying to get up early every day so that he can have some alone time to read scriptures or watch a quick TV show or just take an extra long shower or whatever before he gets to whatever he needs to get to during the day. On Sunday, he got up at that nice early time and went downstairs. That was the first thing.
I don't want to constantly beat him with the pornography stick, but that was my first thought. He left our bed and went downstairs. Alone. Where the computer is. He brought his iPad. He could be looking at pornography. But I need to trust him....even when I don't trust him. So I stayed in bed....a little bit miserable...checked Facebook and a few other things....and then got out of bed.
He came upstairs. We had a little tiff. Less than a tiff. It wasn't even a tiff. It was like a tf. He was just joking and didn't even realize that what he was saying was upsetting to me. He didn't even remember the conversation later. And really, the issue was a non-issue. I think in part he felt like he was just teasing me. I felt criticized. And my brain went to, "He's being a jerk...maybe he really did look at porn."
I got dressed and got down on my knees to pray. I really felt like I needed to. I didn't know why...I just really felt like I needed to. And at that moment, my son knocked on my bedroom door asking questions. I stopped my prayer, answered his questions, looked at the time, and rushed off to choir. I don't think my prayer was long enough or focused enough to really count.
I was late to choir and was already feeling isolated and sad. I had already taken a few steps down the road to the dark place, and from there, it is just a slippery slope.
When I got home, I was feeling frustrated. I went to my piano to "pound out my emotions." That's what I do. Music is my catharsis. I know it is a bit cliché...I have no training or particular skill....but sitting at my piano....playing and singing....it helps me. But on Sunday....something was off. I could hear it. The piano was not working right. It's broken. I was heartbroken.
I decided to make some herbal tea and get the diaper bag packed. And one thing after another started to break down. We were out of milk. The tea didn't turn out. The kids weren't ready. The Princess was crabby. My husband was not getting ready as quickly as I thought he should. And then I found out that, with 15 minutes before we were to go, he had just thrown his shirt into the washing machine. He though church started an hour later than it did. So we were going to be late no matter what. I pulled the shirt out before the spin cycle and threw it quickly into the dryer on Speed Dry. We got him dressed and ready to walk out the door when my oldest started to freak out about not having a Bible to bring. I tried to calmly explain that there was nothing we could do now. We could have done something an hour ago....but now it was too late, so he would have to go without. It ended with me yelling at him. As I was trying to get the Princess's coat on her, I heard him telling the same thing to my husband. I interrupted and yelled again.
We were finally on our way to church....even if I had to literally drag the Princess the whole way because she kept running out in front of cars but absolutely refused to hold my hand.
Except the main meeting hall was full. And the back was full, too. And the gym had been opened up and some chairs placed there. And those were all full, too. And the foyer was occupied by another family that was apparently also late.
And by this time, I was swallowed whole by the dark place.
Sunday school was fine. Relief Society was boring. A lady behind me kept hounding me to look at some book so that I can help her with some project that I don't really want to help her with...but I told her I would because sometimes I don't know how to say "no." And after the closing prayer was said, the primary president walked in....and I realized that I had forgotten that my son was supposed to have given a talk. And I felt like dirt.
And we started to walk home...and the Princess was fighting me again....and as I started to drag her out of the road AGAIN, I started to lose it and my husband picked her up to carry her.
I got home and sat in a chair. And I couldn't catch my breath. It felt like another anxiety attack, but I kept telling myself that it was because of the hill we have to walk up to get to our house. And tears fell from my eyes rather involuntarily. And my son asked if I was okay....which is so sweet and depressing at the same time....he shouldn't have to see me cry.
My husband went to his regular appointment with the bishop. And while I need and want him to attend those meetings....in that moment I didn't know how to be a mom of 3 kids.
I got some cereal. And I went downstairs to sit on the couch. I ate my cereal and felt like an addict. And I cried a little and felt pathetic. And I planned on writing this then, but didn't have time.
My husband came home right about then. He told me about his meeting with the bishop.
We talked. And I cried some more. We had one of those good talks. I felt so much better.
But I realized that "getting better" isn't a straight line from "bad" to "good." It's more of a zig-zag of ups and downs, bads and goods. The bads get gradually less bad and the goods get gradually more good. I thought that I was getting over it. I thought I was moving on. But I still have wounds that need to heal. And once in a while, salt or sand is going to get in there and irritate those wounds. Once and a while they are going to sting again.
I think my true healing is going to be when the little stings don't drive me to the dark place anymore.
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