Sunday, May 17, 2015

My people are talkers.  If something bothers us we talk about it.  We might even yell about it.  But we get it out, get it over with, and move on.  Secrets are exhausting and take away from living your life.

I'm baffled by the secret-hoarders.  I don't understand this mindset.  The excuse of "we didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry" makes no sense to me.  It means I never ever stop worrying.  Because apparently everyone is sitting on their own secret ticking time bomb and they're just not going to tell anyone until it explodes.

And so I'll write even on the crappy days.  Because my people are of the "it needs air to heal" mindset.

Kids are exhausting.  I love them all.  I love them so much it makes me dizzy.  I want to love them, and I want to know them.  I heard today: "To be loved but not really known is a weak comfort.  To be known but not loved is our biggest fear.  To be fully known and still truly loved is our greatest joy and hope."   I wish wish wish our oldest would let us know her.  Let us love her for who she is.  The walls are intense.  Just...wall.

I don't like walls.  I don't like hiding behind a wall and not telling someone what hurts and scares us and what will help make it tolerable.  I really hate being locked on this side of a wall not being told anything; I hate being handed lukewarm assurances from someone clearly hurting and in chaos that, really, it's all fine when it's so clearly not.

I'm screaming from my side of the wall: "Help me help you.  Let me help you. Just trust me to love you through this."   WALL.

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