I lose my color and wither like the plants in autumn. I grow cold and bitter for a time. Numb. I wish I could hibernate, but end up staying awake and scrabbling for whatever sustenance I can scrounge up.
I know in my head that winter only lasts for a season, and that the sun will come back, and I will breathe the fresh air and welcome warm breezes and the soft, slippery earth.
But sometimes, I forget. I think that this winter will never end. I think that the wind will always sting and the ground will never thaw and I will never want to go outside again. I think that I cannot possibly trudge through another day. The snow is too deep, the path too hard, the burden too heavy.
Motherhood. Sometimes you make me weary.
I love my children. They are my lifeblood, my soul, my world. But I am not perfect.
There are times when I feel that I am not made for this life I have chosen. I am inadequate, I tell myself. I am exhausted. I battle guilt. Guilt about parenting decisions, guilt about being ungrateful, guilt about not trying harder.
I cannot weather it on my own.
But it’s March. I see my husband’s kind eyes and know that he is full of love and strength. He envelops me. I see my children- full of imagination and spirit- loving me still, despite my failings and misgivings.
The sun is coming out and the ground is softening. There is mud beneath my boots and twigs in V’s hair and dirt on J’s knees and sap running from the trees. The birds are singing their early songs. The weeds are popping up in the loose soil on the hillside- little messengers of cheer and ease.
And then I remember. Winter really doesn’t last forever. Not out in the world, and not in this heart.
We will not always cry. We will leave our miserable, stale rooms and run out in the open air instead. We will hug and talk and welcome the day with gladness. We will embrace life in all its messiness. Take courage, mama. Courage.
I will remember to cherish instead of hiding away. I will love. I will hope.
My spring is coming.