In May of 2011, I wanted to die.
With a demanding career taking up more than its fair share of my time, energy, and emotions, the time spent at home was not with my husband and kids, but in failing to catch up on dishes, laundry, vacuuming and other mundane household tasks. For me, time became my enemy. I was fighting the clock constantly, trying to schedule all of the events and travel for work as well as all the requirements of family. I tried to tell myself, "I'll sleep when I'm dead", and I wanted to die.
I knew that I couldn't give up because I love my children more than life and I refused to leave them without a mother. I lost my mother at 24, when she had been there for the most important years of my life. She was able to help plan my wedding and teach me as a 22-year-old baby, how to care for my own brand-new baby. Losing her, even as an adult, taught me that having a mother who loves you helps give you a sense of balance and well-being. I could not take that away from my children - and I definitely wasn't going to take it away on purpose to leave them wondering if I had ever loved them at all.
For nearly two years, I had begged God to allow me to be fired from this company that was sucking the life out of me. I pleaded with him to let me find a way to stay at home with my kids because my heart was dying without them. Every day on that interminable 40 minute drive to work, I would pray for God to wrap his arms around me and protect me through that day. To keep my husband and children safe on their journeys. And if firing wasn't in his plan that day, to help me find favor in the eyes of my managers so I wouldn't be berated and undermined.
It was not in God's plan to have me fired. Not at that time, not for what seemed like forever. Throughout the four years I spent with that company, he had me promoted. Over and over and over again. Moved up and up and then to a brand new department. Doing things that I had only dreamed of doing. (sidebar: I had been an Admin Assistant or in Customer Service since I was 18 and had always dreamed of being an Events Coordinator) God took this dreadful company and created my dream job there and dropped me right into it.
Then he proceeded to teach me several very hard, but very important lessons. And then came that Saturday in May 2011. The day I truly wanted to die. Like most Saturdays during this time, (at least the Saturdays when I wasn't traveling) I was laying in my bed trying to hide from everyone and everything. Trying desperately to ignore the devastation in my home and my heart. And then my boys came to my bedroom door. I don't remember now what they were asking for, but I know that I yelled at them. I did that too often during those times and this time was nothing different. I'm sure they were asking for something pretty simple, like a snack or to play a game with me or to go outside, but for me, they might as well have been asking for me to lasso the moon. Such tasks seemed monumentally challenging and going outside and facing the world was simply not an option.
They did what they usually did when I yelled at them, they lowered their heads and walked away down the hall. This time though, that broke my already cracked and bleeding heart. As I watched my 9 and 3-year-old sons walk down that hallway, I started to cry. No. Not just cry. I wept. I mourned the loss of love, peace, and happiness in my home. I thought, what difference would it make if I was gone? How could they possibly be worse off without me than they are rightwith me here? How can I go on as broken as I am right now?
At that moment, everything changed within me. I was scared. For them, for me, for my poor husband who had been putting up with this crazy woman that used to be his vibrant, beautiful wife. How could I have sunk this far? How did I let it get this bad? In that moment of awakening, I made a choice. I decided I wanted a different life. I was tired of being afraid. I was always afraid. And I reached out for help.
----to be continued---
No comments:
Post a Comment