I am feeling really drained lately. I’m not sure where the leak is or in what direction the trickle is headed or what the fluid is that’s being siphoned from inside of me. I just know that something is pouring out of me and I don’t know if I want it back or if I need to just go ahead and move forward without it, even if I’m only half-fueled.
Sometimes I think I have nothing left to say. Surely I can’t just keep writing about songs that make me cry and movies that make me cry and things that my kids do that make me cry and how my heart feels like it’s either being clamped or being ripped from my chest and how my endless pursuit of peace seems more like a war most of the time and how this river keeps moving me farther along, sometimes tumbling me violently over jagged boulders and sometimes letting me float for a while, but mostly getting me very, very wet. And coffee. I write about coffee a lot too. I am tired of writing about these things. And sometimes I think that people who read these things I write about might not know that I am actually a pretty happy person, deep down. But alas, I can think of nothing else. It seems it has all been said already.
I think that life has slowly but surely pushed me into a new chapter. And I’m not sure if it’s one that I can write about. The last chapter was writable. I found a great release in writing, actually. But now I am finding that although there is much going on, the things that I am able to say are limited. My kids are getting older. They read this blog sometimes. They are beautiful and complex, each of them uniquely made by a creative and loving God. And the energy required of me to navigate these waters is huge. It surpasses whatever I had in reserve that was driving me to come out of my shell for a little while.
I am realizing that my moments are less and less my own these days. And in those rare moments, I am having more of a desire for solitude than for openness. I’m not even finding much time to get the camera out or work on music these days. And the truth is, I’m really tired of talking. I feel like I’ve talked more in the last two years than the whole rest of my life put together and now I’m ready to quit. Only I don’t really have that option. Because there’s a lot that must be said. If nothing else, I must continue to respond to almost all sentences beginning with “Mom….” And I will respond to most of them. Late into the night. Even though I’m so tired.
I guess all moms everywhere go through periods where they are intensely aware of their capability for destruction and the responsibility can sometimes seem impossibly overwhelming. I guess that’s when I’m really thankful that these precious lives were never really mine to begin with and I can move forward with confidence in the only One who really knows what He’s doing around here. And I am moving forward. Even if it’s by a strong current that’s not giving me any choice. It just keeps bouncing me along, pulling some loved ones toward the ocean with me and leaving others farther upstream, allowing them to enjoy their own refreshing water without me. And still others have passed me and gone on ahead, around the bend and out of sight. And that’s okay. The less people that are around me, the less I’ll have to talk.
I just wonder if there’s a way to stop the leak that I seem to have sprung and refuel.