Tears heal. Last night I broke down. I carry a lot of responsibilities and I have very high expectations of myself. So do others. My stress level has been through the atmosphere recently. Most of that is due to being a full time nanny for three beautiful children. Knowing that I am responsible for their well being is overwhelming sometimes. Being a nanny also requires me to sacrifice a lot of myself and a lot of times I feel like I am a maid, referee, chauffeur, and a motivational coach.
My “me time” happens around 8pm and by then Im ready to dive beneath the many soft layers of my bed and drift to dream land. Sometimes I can scrape up enough energy to see Lucas since ya know, he is a big part of my life. By that time, we are pooped and I’m usually very irritable. I am finding that I am taking out all of my pent up frustration on the person I love dearly- what the heck?! It is not fair on him or I. I will also occasionally squeeze in a quick lunch with my Mom here and there with the kids in tow.
Please do not mistake this venting as a complaint. I am merely expressing my deepest fear. The fear of loosing myself. If you have read my recent entries you know that I do receive all kind of blessings from this responsibility. I am getting a preview, a taste test if you will, of what all Mothers experience. It is a scary experience and I give all Moms mad props.
I love the children I nanny dearly, it is such a honor to serve them and I will continue to with all my heart! But I must invest in myself as I go along. This blog is a part of that investment. This blog is also part of the reason I broke down last night. Because, anytime we examine ourselves deeper than just the surface issues, we peel back the scabs we all bare. The scabs and scars that we desperately try to conceal and hide from. Not just from others, but ourselves. Why? Because we are deathly scared to discover what we don’t want to see. Our brokenness. I don’t know about you, but I am a professional expert at pretending to have it all together. I am so good at this that I can even convince myself…for a period of time. And until I begin to examine what is truly going on in my heart, I am a dead (wo)man walking. Not until I pick at the scab, do I regain life and truly feel that I am in fact, a living breathing organism that is called to breathe life into this world.
Last night, as I drove home, I cried my heart out to my Creator. I was brutally honest. It was painful. But after I got out all that I had been covering up from myself and the last few wet tears dried on my face, I was enveloped in absolute peace. Tears are powerful, life-giving healing droplets.
This morning I woke up with new found life. I got up, drove to Starbucks and bought my favorite 2 things: Caramel Macchiato with only 2 pumps of the vanilla in a REAL mug (the only way to do it in my opinion) and oatmeal with steamed soy milk, nuts, brown sugar and dried berries. I’m enjoying them as I type in a bustling Brentwood Starbucks, watching the people around me sip on their overpriced coffee beverages, talking to friends, reading and blogging on their Macbooks. (There are 4 others, and I sorta feel weird that Im one of those people). Sitting here, I feel that Im not the only one on this journey. All of these people in this room are on their own journey trying to figure why the heck they were put on this earth. I might not know a soul here, but I do know that we are connected to our Creator. Some might worship a different shade of the one I do, some might not at all; but we are all connected by our brokenness. And that sounds like a wonderful promise to me.