I didn’t really want to write tonight.
Actually, I haven’t been writing as whole the last couple of days, not even my daily journaling, which is unusual for me. My morning routine has been a little off, not quite the norm, but when I’m not writing, that usually means something is up.
I feel in process this week. Ever since we got back to the states, I feel like I have one or two days of productivity and feeling “normal-ish,” and then I hit a day that’s just a wall. A day when laying on my bed and binge-watching something sounds like all the brain power I can muster. I think it has something to do with simultaneously handling reverse culture shock, life transition, global pandemic, and the third trimester of pregnancy. I only have so much juice in the tank.
I have a hard time with grace. Sometimes with other people, but almost always with myself. Pregnancy has been an excellent reminder that I have normal human limits, emotionally and physically, and that recognizing those limits is beneficial not just to me, but to those around me. It really comes home knowing that my choices impact the little life growing inside of me. It’s yet another way that I’m grateful for this chapter. I have my suspicions that being a mom will be full of its own sorrows and joys, not the least of which is my need to slow down and be present. There is no way I will ever be able to do this job perfectly, but there is no one else who can do it as well as me. Perhaps because this role is so distinctly about being and not doing. No one else can be the human that carried my baby. No one else will be the person that starts their interaction with the outside world. Others will be important, most notably my amazing and dedicated husband, but there’s something I know I’m bringing to this equation that cannot be exchanged or replaced.
Maybe my lack of writing this week has to do with a desire to avoid the present. The present is painful, full of questions and uncertainty. A lot of people are angry, and I think they might be angry because they’re sad, or maybe I just think that because I am sad. I’m sad that the world is broken. I’m sad that the world my child will be born into is one where entire populations are racially and socially disadvantaged. I’m sad to give birth in a world where power and profit is more important than people. I don’t like living in a world with so much pain and so few easy answers. I feel restless because I see hurting people and I want to help, but other than repeating the same messages I see everywhere else I don’t actually know how to.
I guess I’ve been glossing over the discomfort with grocery lists and other daily details to keep my mind busy. To sit down with my heart and my pen and my God and ask the questions I don’t think have answers sounds more difficult than breezing through my morning and getting on with the day. But I don’t think that’s the path that leads to life. I think that’s the path that leads to numbness.
Early in this pregnancy I felt the promise of a return to a season of joy. What I’m learning as the months progress is that joy isn’t found in the absence of sorrow; it’s found on the other side. We have to walk through the dark before we see the sunrise. To try to delay just leaves us in the fog.
So I’m thankful I sat down to write tonight, and it reminds me of my need to sit down and write tomorrow. It’s funny; when I first started blogging, I titled my blog “Going Forward,” because I needed a constant reminder to keep moving forward. I guess I still do.