Balls and Walls

I'm watching ER and it's the most poignant story about the profound love that a parent has for a child. To the point of literally giving up his life so that the child can live. It made me think.

And then I read this on Cecily's blog. Reading this post made me think about breakthroughs and walls.

In two days, we will honour the memory of my brother on the sixth anniversary of his suicide. And that's making me think.

I'm waiting for my period to start so I can start the next round of clomid. It would appear that my period is taking it's own damn time starting. So of course, I have time to think.

Yep, I've been doing a lot of thinking today. Thinking about my life, my future, my past.

It feels like there is really something big getting ready to unlock itself for me. And I'm kind of excited because truthfully, things are pretty good for me. I've done my share of working through my shit over the years. Licked the bottom of my personal barrel a few years ago, and worked my way back up. Part of how I know that I'm back up at the top of the barrel is how I'm dealing with things emotionally today.

Last night was one of the first times in a long time....well, almost six years in fact...that I was able to talk about the day I received the phone call about my brother, and not cry while talking about it.

Then today I had lunch with a former coworker, and almost casually told her about our latest miscarriage. And never even felt a catch in my breath.

Which brings me back to the reflection on walls and healing. When my brother died, I was the strong one. For a full year, I did not cry. I listened, hugged, coached and helped. But I did not cry. We joke about how I actually got kicked out of grief therapy when the therapist told me to come back when I was ready to talk about me and not everyone else in the family. I haven't been back yet.

I had those walls up so high and thick that nothing could penetrate through them. And man, was I terrified. When I finally did get into therapy with a woman that I really respected, I remember comparing my emotions to a ball of elastics. I pictured it as a great, big ball of elastics that someone had been collecting for years and decided to store it inside me. And if I twanged just one of those elastic emotions, the whole frigging ball was going to explode, unravelling, completely out of control, and I'd need years to get it back into an organized ball shape again.

So when I finally did twang the elastic band ball, it did explode. And I was a mess. And I couldn't get all the bands back into the neat, tight, controlled ball.

Thank God.

Because that ball was so constricting. There was no room for the elastic band to curl, or flip, or be a different shape. It was just a heavy ball.

Today I know that I am allowed to be. I can feel all kinds of things. Joy, anger, sadness, frustration, happiness, delight, surprise, amazement. I have learned to acknowledge these feelings as they come up for me. And I've broken down the walls around my heart. What a difference.

That difference is what allowed me to speak of my brother's death last night with some peace. And to share the reality of our last pregnancy disappointment without anger or frustration today. Tomorrow might be a whole different story, but today I truly felt peace. For once I wasn't playing at it...being the strong one or the martyr. I truly felt peace.

And for that I'm very grateful.

I'm not sure that any of this makes any sense at all, but it felt good to write it down and get it out.