finding my center

15 10 2008

Back in the day – I went to a baby shower or two.  They can be painful experiences for sure.  I never minded seeing the loot the midget was pulling in for no good reason other than being born – but the games gift-givers had to endure until we were given cake were sometimes torturous. The one I would most grit my teeth through was where each woman would write down some pithy piece of advice to the new mom.  Who ever listens when there are presents to open?  There is no frame of reference for the poor girl.  Maybe baby showers should be given when the kiddo is 6 weeks old – new mom would be all ears.  

After a time or two, I learned  to memorize my lines so that in each situation I wouldn’t have to think and could use the same statement for one and all.  “If you get your teeth brushed and/or get dressed by noon, you will have accomplished alot and can call it a productive day.”  I cannot tell you how many people have come back to me after a year to say that they remembered my “advice”. There was no wisdom to it except for years of knowing it was true in my own experience.

Sitting here, no toddlers or infants in sight, showered but in the same clothes I took off, teeth not brushed, hair hasn’t seen a brush – it is 1 o’clock in the afternoon and I wish I was still in bed.  I have places to go today – none of which are particularly motivating to me at this point.  Maybe after a nap?

Finding my center is no small task these days.  I know it’s in there somewhere – but there is still alot of stuff swirling around me and I keep wondering if I could just lay here like I feel like doing – would things take shape again?  I think I’m really afraid to try – thinking that maybe they wouldn’t. How long could I allow myself this indulgence?

From the very little bit of experience I have working with brain injuries I know that the brain has to heal itself and it knows what to do.  It likes dark, it likes quiet, it likes little stimuli, it likes rest. Am I describing clinical depression here or the normal grieving process?

I’m convinced that we don’t know how to stop in this world of ours.  Time rushes on and we are right on its heels.  “Get over it…get on with it…get a grip.”  What would happen if we let ourselves stay “fetalled” in bed when we need to…would we be healthier?  Instead, it gets pushed down, and we get busy.  After all, that’s the American way, right?