Rock Bottom

A few months ago, I started writing a book. I'm not sure that it'll amount to anything in the end but I wanted to get some thoughts down on paper in a more organized way. And I conned Dave into writing with me so the thought of sexy-coffee-shop-writing-dates spurred me into action.

The intro, gave a broad sweeping look at our current family life. And I used back then an analogy of being on a precipice not far from Rock Bottom. Life seemed dangerously out of control with many unanswered questions when I started writing it.

And now, I have to laugh at myself for being so... naive? Dramatic? If January me could have seen October me, January me would never have imagined my rocky ledge so close to the bottom of the cliff. January me was living the high life compared to October me.

Even early September me was better off. More hopeful at least, with a wish of sendings kids to school and finding time to focus on me and my health.

But in the 2 weeks, 2 of my kids have ended up in hospital with severe anxiety. One was thought to have had a seizure... just a panic attack... and the other spent 3 days in hospital as we worked with his Paediatrician and Psychiatrist to sort out his medication and help him chill out.

But things still aren't working. We have counselling in place and medications purchased and diets and yoga and scented candles... and still we have tantrums and holes in the walls and screaming and tears. Still we struggle to make it through every hour of the day.

And as I sit, crying on the floor, after having dodged a fan thrown at me, I beg God for mercy and wonder what's going on.

After being accused of serving puke for dinner and told that I'm mean and the worst, awful-est mom, I call to God for strength and wisdom.

And I think for a fleeting moment that maybe, this might be my Rock Bottom. Maybe this is as bad as it gets. Stage 4 Breast Cancer, kids with pretty severe mental health disorders and a horrible lack of date nights or alone time.... this could be it... the bottom.

But even if it is, I'm still ok. Because there's a whole lot of people holding the rope bringing me up again.

The sticky kisses of 6 year olds. The tentative I love you's from teenagers. The butt grab from my man. The dog walks, the coffee dates, the talks on the beach, the ice cream with friends, the surprise visits, the prayers...so many prayers being said for our family.

While my heart is being broken in a thousand little pieces with the grief of each day, at the same time it is being glued back together with the love being given.

So I can sit here, angry and frustrated, at the bottom. I can wade through the murky, stinky, shit filled waters because that rope is tied securely around my waist and every time I stumble, the strong tug lifts me up again.