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Ocean of Emotion

It’s been intense, this past month. Awash with so many emotions – I had no idea it was possible for one body to contain so much internal conflict; love, pain, relief, sorrow, joy, gratitude and loss all at once. It’s overwhelming.

My children mean the world to me and I am so, so happy and deeply humbled by the sight of them playing with their other halves–their biological fathers. But the depth of grief and loss I feel for the girl inside me is almost unbareable. There really is no defining reason for my grief and for sure, it is futile to try and quantify these feelings. It serves no purpose to do so, perhaps other than to appease my confused and bewildered mind. Believe me, the temptation to make sense of these swimming sensations is still there. Instead, I try to sit with them all at once, and attempt to untangle them from each other so I can see clearly.

Why does it hurt so much to see my boys’ natural dad spending time with him. It’s their second meeting EVER and everything feels totally right with them. It makes sense.  They’ve hit it off instantly. I am so proud of my boy, and so grateful to his father for the gift of his presence in the world. I am unreservedly happy for them both.

Why then, when I am offered unconditional financial assistance to help me raise him (that I didn’t want, ask for or expect), do I feel such sorrow? Perhaps I have realised that the help has come too late to save us from the trauma of post natal depression, the struggle of poverty and the ravaging that chronic stress has wreaked on my body and mind.

I’m through the worst of it now. I’ve grown so much. But it appears that the loss of those precious baby moments is still caught up in the dark recesses of my being, and I haven’t fully released them to the wind yet. The sadness at never being able to retrieve my baby boy’s first two years is palpable in this moment of pure joy and harmony as I watch him play with his dad.

They look so alike.

Melancholy begins to seep into the yet unhealed cracks of my heart from multiple rejections and losses. I feel robbed, so I try harder to be here and now.

We’re all here; my son and his biological father; his newly discovered Oopa, big sister and her mum; my daughter and me. It feels strangely complete. Like all is right with the world again. But I feel odd. I struggle to describe it. I am all at once comfortable here with them all, and lost at the same time, like I don’t really belong anywhere. Floating in space, detatched and lost. I am the anchor for my children, the initiator and holder of their space here so that all goes well with the meeting. There is no one anchoring me though. I am drifting; alone.

Tears flow now as I crave strong, warm arms around me. Comfort. Support. Love. Security. I feel my energy field lean towards my boys’ dad, searching for a prop to hold me up, steady me and to stop me from floating away entirely – he is 6 foot 4 or so tall with an air of solidity and strength, and he is the co-creator of my child. But I also sense clearly that he’s not mine, and only was briefly all those years ago. So I try hard to steady myself and stand tall again on my own. An anchor in this ocean of emotion would be nice. I’m practised at going it alone, but I’d rather not, especially now.

I really just need someone to tell me it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

It bites into the core of my heart that I can’t find a soulmate to spend my light and life with. I question myself daily – Why? Does he exist? What am I missing? What’s wrong with me? I call out to the Universe, What should I do? I am reminded… this too shall pass. So I try not to fight… I lay back into myself and float in space. I wonder… is this it for me? Am I here for this? To be anchor for many, anchored by none? Am I destined to find a way to love myself enough for a lifetime of walking the world alone, passing near to fellow travellers but not close enough for anything lasting? The weight of resignation rests heavily on my chest.

I know I will transcend this too. For now though, I feel drained, exhausted and weird. The effort of being in the moment and riding the waves of this change has me in need of a lifetime of rest. Afterall, I’ve lived a lifetime or three in this body already. Body and me are weary.

Here I float
On the ocean of my emotion

And I’m bailing water
To stop myself from drowning

I could rest
Be calm beneath the waves

They still rage in my heart
Like monsters of the deep

It’s almost over now
Peace comes with the dawn


Drop in the ocean

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