Sundays are the hardest days for me.
I feel it from deep inside. A desire to hide. To crawl into bed and never get out. To cry and cry and cry. To open up some valve inside of me- the valve that protects my pride, that tells me not to cry in front of people, that says, "Alright now... keep it together." To just open up the floodgates and allow the outside to match the inside.
Instead I wear a full face of makeup, heels and an ironed dress. Fresh dyed hair and shaved legs. Maybe if the outside looks good enough I can almost trick the inside. We got this! We are bold! Beautiful! Confident! This doesn't hurt a bit!
Sunday is a long, tiresome, lonesome day. A day where I worship, where I plead for help from God, where I am surrounded by my church, my community and friends. A day where I have a mandatory napping period (self imposed!); a day designated for rest, understanding, and healing. Why is this day the one that sends me reeling, crumbling, begging for it to be over?
Perhaps I feel so strongly on this day the hope of what could have been. The hope of a life together built around family, God, community, love, forgiveness, growth, healing. A life of connection. A life of belonging.
But.
When I feel my lowest, help arrives. My friend who takes my baby in the hall during church so I can at least catch one nugget of truth from the speaker. Help arrives from my sister who calls me and asks me if I want to come over last minute for dinner. Help arrives when I come home from that dinner to a slice of chocolate cake on the porch. Help arrives when my friend comes over to borrow some nutmeg and she asks me how my day was and I burst into tears and she gives me a big hug and then goes down to the jewelry basement with me and helps me crank out 40 orders so I won't be behind tomorrow.
A life of connection.
A life of belonging.
Thank you, friends, for carrying me through this Sunday.
I feel it from deep inside. A desire to hide. To crawl into bed and never get out. To cry and cry and cry. To open up some valve inside of me- the valve that protects my pride, that tells me not to cry in front of people, that says, "Alright now... keep it together." To just open up the floodgates and allow the outside to match the inside.
Instead I wear a full face of makeup, heels and an ironed dress. Fresh dyed hair and shaved legs. Maybe if the outside looks good enough I can almost trick the inside. We got this! We are bold! Beautiful! Confident! This doesn't hurt a bit!
Sunday is a long, tiresome, lonesome day. A day where I worship, where I plead for help from God, where I am surrounded by my church, my community and friends. A day where I have a mandatory napping period (self imposed!); a day designated for rest, understanding, and healing. Why is this day the one that sends me reeling, crumbling, begging for it to be over?
Perhaps I feel so strongly on this day the hope of what could have been. The hope of a life together built around family, God, community, love, forgiveness, growth, healing. A life of connection. A life of belonging.
But.
When I feel my lowest, help arrives. My friend who takes my baby in the hall during church so I can at least catch one nugget of truth from the speaker. Help arrives from my sister who calls me and asks me if I want to come over last minute for dinner. Help arrives when I come home from that dinner to a slice of chocolate cake on the porch. Help arrives when my friend comes over to borrow some nutmeg and she asks me how my day was and I burst into tears and she gives me a big hug and then goes down to the jewelry basement with me and helps me crank out 40 orders so I won't be behind tomorrow.
A life of connection.
A life of belonging.
Thank you, friends, for carrying me through this Sunday.
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