Heartbroken: overcome by sorrow.
I have been asked, by someone(s) that love me, if I think I am depressed. I pondered this thought, I didn't take offense or jump to conclusions. I slept on it. I prayed on it. I know what depression is; I talk with women and I screen and I advocate for mental health for my mamas all the time. I am not against this idea. I just don't take it lightly.
I sleep great (when babies aren't born or my kids aren't singing Christmas carols). My weight hasn't fluctuated and I am maintaining my same diet and exercise. I did have a stretch where I was easily distracted at work; but that could be because I was getting phone calls from the Principal...maybe. I think a lot. I pray more. A friend said to me last week, "Why wouldn't you be depressed?"
I love that she asked me this. Truthfully, I have been low on hope lately. I realized this as I was waiting in the carpool lane outside the kid's school last week. Etienne walked past our car and he blew me a kiss. My heart leapt; he blew me, his mama, a kiss! As I smiled, I watched him continue to walk along the sidewalk. Blowing kisses to every car. That was a kick in the stomach. I do feel like yelling "ITS BEEN 3 FREAKING YEARS!!!!" How long won't he love me? How long before he won't push my hand away when I try to hold it or stop lying to me about the littlest and biggest things? How long before it stops hurting? When will he say "I love you too, Mama"?
I decided in the car pool lane that I am heartbroken. I feel like loving this boy carries the weight of all the orphans in the world. I'm not a saint. I cry 6 nights out of 7 (and I am married to this saint that keeps telling me "he doesn"t know what love is"). I'm so, so over the attached parenting model. My feelings are hurt over and over at this little boy that still doesn't really buy this family thing. I am heartbroken, but I am not depressed and I am not out of hope. Paul wrote in Ephesians 1: 11-12
"In Him we were also chosen; having been predestined according to the plan of Him who works out everything in conformity to the purpose of His will, in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of His glory."This verse was part of the sermon on Sunday. I listened as we prepared our hearts in Advent. I walked out of worship a little less worn down. As we went to pick E up from Sunday school, the teacher said the dreaded "Can I talk to you in private?" The six year old used the word sexy and wanted help writing it. Vomit in my mouth. We listen to KLOVE for heaven's sake. Gross, gross, gross. I felt anger but I as we drove (Ryan making a list of consequences, me stewing), I realized I didn't care what the teacher thought about what kind of family we must be. A little tiny piece of my brain was recognizing that he wanted to write something down (don't judge, I know its a disgusting, ugly word). Words and letters! This is called hope.
My hope isn't in attachment parenting. It isn't in time (3 YEARS, PEOPLE, 3 YEARS!!!). I don't have hope in bonding. My hope isn't even in how patient I am or if he ever gets to the point where he loves me. My hope is in that promise that began with the Israelites, the same hope that guided the shepherds and comforted Mary. It absolutely stinks right now. I am frustrated, tired and discouraged but my God's got this. And this is why I "wouldn't" be depressed.