Thank you ever so much for your comments, emails and concern.
It has truly made the difference this week.
Why is it so easy to hide in the closet, hurting, alone - when it's SO nice to be loved and cared for?
I haven't figured that out.
I'm going back after I post this blog post, and I'm going to answer your comments, in the comments.
I'm starting to feel a bit better, and I'm most certain it's because I don't feel alone anymore,
or I don't feel like I have to fake it until I make it.
There IS strength in weakness.
I'm not feeling terribly sad anymore, but still so emotionally raw.
I cry now because I'm grateful.
I cry because I think of Aaron, and I think he's the most beautiful, brave boy I know.
I cry because I know I'm loved.
I cry because I think my friends are beautiful people.
I cry because the fields are ablaze right now, and it's so beautiful to behold.
It's good core work, all of this crying.
Too bad I've been eating meals as if they were my last lately!
It hurts to make a fist.
I don't know how y'all eat processed food.
I'm feeling so bloated and inflammed.
There are such glimmers of hope - I see bits of the old Jayme coming back, but in a much more 'new and improved' way. I seriously don't feel that I need to work myself to death anymore. I'm really over that. I'm over the fact that the house isn't perfect, and I don't care if anyone sees the cobwebs or dead ladybugs anymore. I feel that I've come to know my limitations, and I'm starting to realize that it's much more fun to sit at Starbucks with tea and a book than it is to stress over the minutia of a life of perfectionism.
I'm living gloriously in the moment, I'm being kind to me - and sisters, it's feeling pretty flipping good.
I am enough, I have enough and I do enough.
I started revamping the mailbox garden and it feels good.
Want to cleanse your soul? Get your hands dirty.
And best of all - Clarence and Marilyn stopped by yesterday for a three hour visit. Clarence is the 86 year old grandson of the man, Mathias Weis, that built this house.
He gave me photos of his grandfather, and family - standing here in front of the house. I can't wait to share them with you - and share the story of the house, what I know thus far. I've always said 'if these walls could talk' - and by golly - they done did.
Thank you again - I find it funny how often I feel like George Bailey from "It's a Wonderful Life' - when he realizes how loved he is at the end, and what a beautiful life he does have.
I'm believing that it's the payoff of living life vulnerable and open.
Hurts like a mother sometimes, but in the end?
I'm going to make it after all.