This season has left me drained. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
Physically, I feel every one of my forty-four years, which to some seems young and to others, ancient. Each day begins, and I know that my daily ab workout should happen or that yoga is necessary or a walk would be beneficial, and then I fizzle out. Maybe tomorrow, I muse, as I rub White Oak Lavender Deep Muscle Jelly into my aching lower back.
Emotionally, I think there are not enough years of therapy to repair the damage that has been done. To me. By me. I drag myself to yet another appointment with my husband of 23 years, because we need help with parenting. Again. Still. I sit in my own appointment weeping for my inner 10 year old and her wounds and pain. I return home to the messy house fallout that happens when younger siblings are left with their adult brother who is home for a visit.
Spiritually, I feel a disconnect, yet continue to reach out to God, crying for what I need.
My daily bread, and it’s always provided. On good days I can recognize the provision. Be thankful. Most days are not good ones. I remain hopeful.
I am tired. So very tired.
I know that the answer to tiredness is rest, but there is always more to do. More to clean. More to engage. More to process. More to earn. More to feel. Just more.
I describe to my therapist the internal knots that need to be loosened and untangled as similar to the yarn my girls use for loom knitting. They pull out a skein to load onto a loom and come upon a big knot in their favorite cozy color. It takes time to loosen, unwind, and figure out the knot before rewinding the yarn into a ball. The temptation is to just grab scissors and start hacking away.
Knots and noodles my ten year old calls it, laughing, her impatience, more often than not, resulting in scissors and a dead end piece of yarn at an inopportune time in the project.
On a good day I can join in her laughter as we create names for a knitting company and its creations.
Knots and Knoodles Knitting Kompany, Knots and Knoodles Knitted Kreations we joke, my dislike for clever spelling, the misuse of k and cutesy names shining through. It’s an inside joke.
On a good day I can laugh in the tired.
But the good days feel thin, lately. The load is heavy. I work too hard at the knots and end up pulling them tighter instead of relaxing and leaning into them and letting go. Unwinding.
I judge tired.
Instead of being present and kind in it, allowing space for rest and a reaching for the light burden and easy yoke, I condemn tired. Punish it. Punish those around me through my tired.
When all I need to do is allow the tired to whisper, put down the scissors, quit forcing the issues, forget the knots and noodles, and rest for awhile.
Julie McClay lives in Virginia’s beautiful Shenandoah Valley with her high school sweetheart (and husband of 23 years) and 5 of their 8 children. She is learning that while it can be painful to face the past honestly while living in the moment and looking towards the future, it can be healing and lead to eh the hope of a brighter future. She digs through these thoughts and feelings here.