My Own Trip South....

In my own desperate, frantic, and vehement attempt to discover who exactly I am, and to regain control of my life, my actions, my emotions, my household, and reconnect with the basic building blocks of my marriage, I have begun to read again.

I have always researched, devouring any and all information I can get my hands on for almost every aspect of my life. Everything from the decision of my first piercing to pregnancy to spiritual understanding. So it was just an obvious and instinctive action when I realized, and admitted I was hitting rock bottom, to make a journey to the library.

I made this journey almost three weeks ago. I love walking into a library, the calm, orderly way everything is presented. The smell of paper, and even the stale, musty almost stagnant aroma that many libraries have, is refreshing. The first thing I always do when entering a library to check out books is to run my fingers across the spines of the section I am looking at. To feel the textures tingling my finger tips, some smooth with the plastic coating, others rough with an older harder cover, then there are the soft paperback books that almost escape the touch altogether, being lost amongst the larger books.

This awakens so much in me. All that knowledge stored in one place, the vocabulary waiting to be discovered, the many worlds waiting to be explored. It takes my breath away, all the decisions, the options available. Some views of mountains or oceans leave people breathless and without the ability to describe how they feel; this is what happens to me when I check out a library book.

I left there that day with many books, some on anger such as "The Cow In The Parking Lot"; some focusing on emotion and meditation, "Emotional Awareness a Conversation between the Dalai Lama and Paul Ekman,". One book was "If Mama Goes South, We're All Going With Her" by Lindsey O'Connor.

This is a Christian viewpoint on family life and the growth of women.

As I write this, I am in the semi with the kids and Nathan. It is Saturday, September 4th. We are on our way to Dalhart, Texas with a tanker of milk. So I am reading and handwriting this to type later.

Why do I mention this? As I mention the current actions of my children, and to understand the mind frame I am in. I wanted you to know I am emersed with my family in a small space, with many interruptions. A small, safe haven resort from the majority of my demanding responsibilities and intrusions of the outside world.

Now back to my centered thought I wish to express tonight.

"When Douglas Teri and his colleagues conducted a study of fifty mother and baby pairs and fifty-four mother preschool pairs, they found high rates of insecure attachment among the children of depressed mothers. Eighty percent of the babies and eighty-seven percent of the preschoolers were insecurely attached when their mothers suffered from depression." page 23.

I know this information, have studied such writings from similar research, even witnessed it. Why then do I feel a stab of nausea overcoming me? Sometimes we need to see in black and white what we already know in order to connect it with what is happening here and now with our own life, our family, our mind.

Logan alone does not want anyone touching his mama. Nathan, sis, the dogs, no one in no shape or form of any physical connection. Even here in the semi he is in the car-seat in the front with dad and Sandra with me on the bed in the back; he is crying. He wants his mama, crying reaching, needing me. He will eventual quit and enjoy the ride, but if he hears my voice or sees me, it starts over.

Then there is Sandra, she wants to sleep with me at night, sit on my lap as I type, hold my hand as we eat, sit in the tub as I shower.

They feel mama has gotten to a low desolate point. This takes away their security, they do not want me to leave them alone, nor journey my path of self destruction or rediscovery alone.

I too remember doing this with my own mother, with repeated mom, mom, mom. She responding with "what", I then responding with "nothing". I always said it was my way of knowing she knew I was there, and I knowing she was beside me. Research says I am right.

As I read about a mother's role to educate every step of the way, in all we can to help shape and point our own children in the right direction, I feel validated. This has always been the driving force behind all my decisions with my children and who I hope they will be as a person when they leave my arms for the real world.

I only hope that these babies of mine, will be educated, resourceful, accepting, and open minded. I believe ignorance leads to hate. I want my children to accept the fact this world is made up with many faiths, cultures, and lifestyles. While they may not agree with these numerous differences, I hope they will be educated enough to understand and accept them, no to become bigots, closed minded, and hateful.

I want them to love themselves and believe in who they are and remember their mom as a person of love and encouragement. I want to show them all the paths available for them to journey on, and the tools and skills to do so; that way they are not to fearful to take the path THEY choose to take.

My heart is filled with warmth as I look at my daughter sleeping. I am going to put my pen down and crawl next to her. Perhaps we can share a slumber with the sandman together.

So, I am back to reading, finally. A long nap, some frustrating no's, and dinner in our belly. I am exhausted. Between my children, my urinary tract infection, and Nathan's frustrations, I am just exhausted, blank.

"There's a reason to grow besides just for our personal benefit-it's the idea of growing to give, of living for something, someone, besides ourselves and for someday besides the here and now."

O'Connor goes on about living for God doing his will, and so on. While this later part speaks to many, and I understand what the author is saying, and how many relate to it, I catalog it for reference, but that is all. My focus is on the giving, the living for something, someone else. I agree, we all need to be kind, giving, and loving; however, right now I have nothing left to give. I need to be me, discover who that is, love me, truly love me. I am not sure I ever have loved me. Once this is accomplished, I can give, love, and be the person those around me can rely on, be proud of, love. I know my mother is proud of me, all mothers are of their children. I want to be sound in mind so she can be proud of how she raised me, even though she should already be proud of that.

I have given so much of me, and neglected to nourish my intellectual, spiritual, and emotional being along the way. I just hope that I have not, nor will become to selfish in trying to regain my self perspective.

The author goes into a lengthy explanation about receiving God's grace. I know this is the route many take, and it works for them. They feel that instinctive, undeniable, and unquestioned idea of God, the bible and all that goes with it. I do not. I need more proof then a book written by "men through God", yet I understand it and admire those who have that fire within them to live and believe in that. It amazes me, their faith amazes me.

I do however have a spiritual connection of my own, mainly with nature. I have begun to take more time with her, bask in the life she provides. I will take what the author has said to heart and apply it to my own belief system. In what little I have done this already, I know it helps clear my mind, to feel enriched.

As I go on my journey through the desert, seeking for water and crops, I will remember I am not alone, I have to make it through. If for anything, and the most important reason, for the sake of my children. I must be here in order for them to be the people I hope they will be.

"When you become a mother, you stop being the picture and you become the frame," ~Army Wives, Season 1.