I've gone back and forth over what to share and not share about my own personal journey through life. This being said, I always arrive back at the same conclusion; if I share something, and it helps even one person get through the struggle or joy or whatever that life has to offer, it's worth being out in the open for even a brief moment.
Because that's all it is, right? I pour my heart and soul into saying or sharing something, someone reads or doesn't read it, she identifies or doesn't identify, he cares or doesn't care...and everyone moves on.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
This may sound harsh but the truth is so very hard to understand, especially when the heart is involved. But, when is the heart not involved? When do you decide when to stop caring or let go or move on?
What makes the voices in your head stop?
I'm a caregiver and I use this term very broadly. Simply put, I've always been a caregiver in more ways than any one person could ever understand. Or maybe you, dear reader, do understand. No matter what line of work I have chosen in my life, I have always chosen to care. Sometimes, often times, too much. I've worked in customer service jobs where people would come in and find themselves sharing their life story with me. I listen. I always listen, and I have carried those conversations with me throughout life.
Is this normal?
Who cares, you may ask.
I do.
I remember what people say or don't say, what they do or don't do. I remember pain. I remember love. I remember hope. I remember joy. It's all inclusive of what my life has become and the type of person I've chosen to and strive to be.
I worked in Veterinary care for over 10 years. I watched and helped new owners learn how to care for their new puppy or kitten. I've been there for them when their beloved pet gets sick. I've held and cried with them when they've had to say that inevitable goodbye.
Time and time again I care and I carry these stories with me.
I've often felt like the substitute in peoples lives and perhaps they feel the same. Or maybe, it's just in my head, but I truly don't think so. I have to accept that this is something I most likely will never know. And that's OK. We all have our own lives to live, own joy to experience, our own battles to fight. If we're lucky, we have someone who understands and will share and be a part of this journey.
Life is made up of meetings and partings.
I think I read that in a book once.
When I decided to become a preschool teacher several years ago, I had no idea what was in store. I had no idea that I would literally fall in love with each child that came into my classroom, that I would think about them even after they moved on, knowing that I would be forgotten but hoping my lessons would stay with them throughout life.
It's hard. I never knew how hard it would be. I won't go into great detail but the hope of Andrew and I one day having a child of our own is still there. It's there when I wake up in the morning. It's there when I love and nurture a child that is not my own. It's there when I watch my friends and family members living their beautiful lives with their beautiful kids. It's there when I come home, sometimes feeling so empty inside because I still have so much love to give to a child that, I know, may never come to be.
But again. It's OK. I know with every inch of my heart that the love and friendship Andrew and I have for and with one another is so special. I know at the end of the day, it will always be enough. I know that the life we have made together is beautiful and beyond compare and I'm excited for the journey we have ahead of us (Spoiler alert: Oregon 2020....but I'll save that for another blog).
I know how lucky we are and I'm beyond grateful that our paths crossed and we took a leap of faith, jumping into yet another circumstance that could have potentially caused us even more heartache. We're survivors and most importantly, we aren't the substitute people to one another, in a world that treats us as such on a day to day basis.
He's my lobster.
I've been reading many different kinds of motivational and, shall we call them 'self-help' books?, lately. Something recently struck me so hard to the core that I almost don't want to share it; because words are like music. Sometimes, you just want to keep them to yourself because you know deep down that they couldn't possibly have the same meaning for someone else as they do for you. Because when you do take the chance in sharing something so personal, you are met with the conflict of wanting someone to understand your heart completely or knowing that they never will, or worse...that they do understand and it's no longer fully yours.
The truth is, words shaped into meaning are meant to be heard, so I'll just leave this here for you to reflect on.
"And have you ever wondered what Peter Pan really looked like? His creator, J.M. Barrie, answered that question for us back in 1911. For Barrie, Peter Pan's image and his essence and his marvelous spirit of felicity can be found all over the world, hazily reflected, "in the faces" of women who have no children"- Elizabeth Gilbert.
Do you feel that?
Maybe not.
But if you do, me too my friend.
Me too.
I never plan to stop caring.
But perhaps, I need to start learning how to let go of things that are beyond my control.
More on that to come.
As always, thanks for reading.
Because that's all it is, right? I pour my heart and soul into saying or sharing something, someone reads or doesn't read it, she identifies or doesn't identify, he cares or doesn't care...and everyone moves on.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
This may sound harsh but the truth is so very hard to understand, especially when the heart is involved. But, when is the heart not involved? When do you decide when to stop caring or let go or move on?
What makes the voices in your head stop?
I'm a caregiver and I use this term very broadly. Simply put, I've always been a caregiver in more ways than any one person could ever understand. Or maybe you, dear reader, do understand. No matter what line of work I have chosen in my life, I have always chosen to care. Sometimes, often times, too much. I've worked in customer service jobs where people would come in and find themselves sharing their life story with me. I listen. I always listen, and I have carried those conversations with me throughout life.
Is this normal?
Who cares, you may ask.
I do.
I remember what people say or don't say, what they do or don't do. I remember pain. I remember love. I remember hope. I remember joy. It's all inclusive of what my life has become and the type of person I've chosen to and strive to be.
I worked in Veterinary care for over 10 years. I watched and helped new owners learn how to care for their new puppy or kitten. I've been there for them when their beloved pet gets sick. I've held and cried with them when they've had to say that inevitable goodbye.
Time and time again I care and I carry these stories with me.
I've often felt like the substitute in peoples lives and perhaps they feel the same. Or maybe, it's just in my head, but I truly don't think so. I have to accept that this is something I most likely will never know. And that's OK. We all have our own lives to live, own joy to experience, our own battles to fight. If we're lucky, we have someone who understands and will share and be a part of this journey.
Life is made up of meetings and partings.
I think I read that in a book once.
When I decided to become a preschool teacher several years ago, I had no idea what was in store. I had no idea that I would literally fall in love with each child that came into my classroom, that I would think about them even after they moved on, knowing that I would be forgotten but hoping my lessons would stay with them throughout life.
It's hard. I never knew how hard it would be. I won't go into great detail but the hope of Andrew and I one day having a child of our own is still there. It's there when I wake up in the morning. It's there when I love and nurture a child that is not my own. It's there when I watch my friends and family members living their beautiful lives with their beautiful kids. It's there when I come home, sometimes feeling so empty inside because I still have so much love to give to a child that, I know, may never come to be.
But again. It's OK. I know with every inch of my heart that the love and friendship Andrew and I have for and with one another is so special. I know at the end of the day, it will always be enough. I know that the life we have made together is beautiful and beyond compare and I'm excited for the journey we have ahead of us (Spoiler alert: Oregon 2020....but I'll save that for another blog).
I know how lucky we are and I'm beyond grateful that our paths crossed and we took a leap of faith, jumping into yet another circumstance that could have potentially caused us even more heartache. We're survivors and most importantly, we aren't the substitute people to one another, in a world that treats us as such on a day to day basis.
He's my lobster.
I've been reading many different kinds of motivational and, shall we call them 'self-help' books?, lately. Something recently struck me so hard to the core that I almost don't want to share it; because words are like music. Sometimes, you just want to keep them to yourself because you know deep down that they couldn't possibly have the same meaning for someone else as they do for you. Because when you do take the chance in sharing something so personal, you are met with the conflict of wanting someone to understand your heart completely or knowing that they never will, or worse...that they do understand and it's no longer fully yours.
The truth is, words shaped into meaning are meant to be heard, so I'll just leave this here for you to reflect on.
"And have you ever wondered what Peter Pan really looked like? His creator, J.M. Barrie, answered that question for us back in 1911. For Barrie, Peter Pan's image and his essence and his marvelous spirit of felicity can be found all over the world, hazily reflected, "in the faces" of women who have no children"- Elizabeth Gilbert.
Do you feel that?
Maybe not.
But if you do, me too my friend.
Me too.
I never plan to stop caring.
But perhaps, I need to start learning how to let go of things that are beyond my control.
More on that to come.
As always, thanks for reading.
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