Poisonous joy.

It’s funny how much we grab onto the notion of control.  Over and over and every day in our lives.

I know I come back to this often. And often in times of great struggle.

Nothing pisses me off more than when I lose it.

Nothing hurts more than when I recognize my inability to capture it.

As people or plans or expectations are taken away…

It’s the crushing loss of control that causes your mind to crumble with confusion, pain and doubt.

And causes you to question everything. At least for me.

Since my dad’s death, I feel I’ve compartmentalized my life even further.  Boxed away the grief (mostly) in order to stay focused on all I need to take care of, all I need to do both at my home and his. Basically all the things I actually feel like I can control.

Unfortunately, I also recognize how much this compartmentalization has subsequently created a box of happiness that I don’t allow myself to open much either. Perhaps in my additional attempt for control, to almost make my fingers grab some tangible feelings of joy. As though this will help dictate how happy I'm allowed to feel.

Truth is, I turn to busyness in times of great struggle.  When I’m emotionally or mentally taking a beating, I generally choose to beat myself up further by creating very little time or space for me to face or sit with thoughts in my head, the feelings in my heart.

Do you recall how literally insane I went diving head first into every rabbit hole imaginable when chasing Aspen’s diagnosis?  

Rather than accept my lack of control in providing for her growth and development, rather than succumb to the suffocating fears I had for her future, I actively chose to spiral out in my quest for understanding which I’ve now realized, will never really come.

In truth, this next chapter of my life feels uniquely lonely without him.

Despite being surrounded by others 99% of the time.  Including many, many others I care a great deal about.

So then I have no choice but to acknowledge where joy forcibly, fantastically creeps in.

Where, without my consent, I watch happiness seep through my angry and defeated cracks.

I suppose when it's forced in, I have no other choice but to receive it.

This comes from my girls when their teenage selves genuinely want to hang with their cranky, witchy mother.

This also comes when my husband pours me a very large glass of wine and offers to rub my feet.

And ironically, this definitely comes when I pour my rage and fire and passion into my fitness classes and I evilly watch you sweat, swear and shake, body and fists, back at me.

You know what also makes me happy as hell?

Rocking Aspen to sleep.

Yes, she’s almost 3.  Yeah, I realize bad habits blah blah.

Seriously though- is there anything better than having your little melt into you like warm butter?

The answer is no.  No.  There really isn’t.

I’ve often relayed to my friends and family that this experience with her has been so different in all the ways, but also in some of the most remarkable ones.

I’ve been able to have almost a proper goodbye to every season, every chapter that I experience with her.

From shifts to toddler clothes to food from boob, all of it I’ve watched with eyes very wide open.

All of it I’ve actively taken part in with my whole self.

None of it I’ve wished away.

None of which I’ve wanted to get to the other side of.

Nothing makes me happier than holding and rocking her to sleep with the thought, the belief, the permission, I suppose, I give myself to just feel happy.  Just feel safe.  Just feel sure.  Just feel … connection and love.  Without anything darker pushing itself in.

It’s strange to feel as though joy is almost poisonous right now.  Harmful in the sense that it only seems to shine light on its counterpart.

That dark, crushing sadness that envelopes me the second things are quiet.  The moments where I’m not frantic.  The periods where I’m not insanely busy.

Again, something I don’t have time for. Something I need to limit, need to control.  

So while I will likely continue to choose to duct tape my box of grief to unpack my box of busyness…

And keep the crazy swirling in my head to silence the sadness…

I will also try really freakin’ hard to un-pry the grief grasp on my heart and let myself wade deeper into places that feel good. Aka, that rocking chair in Pen's room with her snuggled up against me.

Because my god, why the hell would I try to control or limit my time feeling that?

-B xo