Hopes and Dreams (Again)

I wrote this post nearly a week ago – I published and then, worried about the way it sounded, I pulled it.  With a few gentle nudges of encouragement, I’ve decided to put it back up. 

Here’s the thing.  I’ve been writing here for two and a half years, and yet… I feel like I’ve only let a small little bit of myself grace these pages.  Mostly because I’m afraid.  Of what?  It’s hard to explain.  I even created a new space where I hoped I could be more daring – but I rarely write there.  Again, it’s hard to explain. 

But that fear?  I’ve decided that instead of letting it discourage me from writing, from being truly myself – I’m going to try and let it be my fuel.  I’m still not going to edit this post – nor will I link to all the things I reference, although I know I should.  I’m just going to hit publish, and beat fear with triumph. 

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Three years ago, I was on the cusp of realizing a dream of mine.

I was finishing up the certification process to become a Childbirth Educator with the International Childbirth Education Association, and was preparing to teach my first class.

I had a gig all set up at The Birth Center, where I had both of my girls, teaching Natural Childbirth classes one evening a week.

I was 7 months pregnant, my baby and I were healthy, and I had an amazing 3 1/2 year old daughter who was thriving at preschool, and I was married to my best friend in the world.

And then my life flipped upside down.

I hemorrhaged after having Blythe and then nearly died two weeks later when it happened again.

I struggled to recover.  My family and friends were an amazing help, but still I struggled.

At two months of age, my happy and content baby started having strange spells where her whole body seized up, and she would scream and cry, unable to be soothed.

At four months of age, it got even worse.  She went from being able to sit up fairly well when assisted to not even being able to lift her own head.  She was ahead developmentally, and then, suddenly, she was so far behind that her body movements resembled those of a newborn.

Her screaming and seizing got worse, and there wasn’t a doctor at our (expletive) HMO who would help us.

And then the economy took a dive, and the company my husband worked for decided to shut down its plumbing division.  We had two choices: look for a new job in a flailing economy, or start our own business and take over the unfinished contracts from the old company.

We decided we’d take the contracts, so overnight we became business owners.  Just like that. 

And while I know it’s the American Dream to own a business, it wasn’t my dream.  I exchanged my own dream for someone else’s, one I didn’t really want.  But I feel bad for being ungrateful.  

I miss my husband, my best friend.  I miss talking to him about things other than work, I miss lazy Sunday afternoons, and I miss the carefree way we used to laugh.

One day, my hopes and dreams were right there in front of me.

And then they were gone.

My health, my baby’s health, my dream job… just gone.

It’s hard to describe what was left in their place.  Post partum depression, resentment, confusion, stress, more depression, and a lot of tears.

I am trying so hard to stay positive, but it’s hard when so much of my life changed in such a short amount of time.  When so many dreams were shattered, and I didn’t even get a chance to process the changes and accept them for what they were.

I am trying.  I struggle every day, but I am trying to fix my attitude to one of acceptance and embrace what is, not what could have been.

Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. ~John Lennon

So true.