that my trigger is when he leaves.
It happens 5 mornings a week, I’m left to care for the kids on my own while he goes to work. And while I view it a privilege to stay home with my children, to spend my days with them, playing, correcting, feeding them. While I see it as a blessing to our family and a righteous call on my life during this season — the trigger remains.
We learned the hard way that anxiety can cripple a person. That it can steal your breath and your mind, cause your heart to race and your days to melt into one after the other impossible to discern one from the next.
We learned the hard way that his leaving is a thin thread that weaves its way deep into a messy pile somewhere inside me, where everything is tangled up in a wadded ball and the more you pull to untangle it, the tighter it winds its way around itself. Where being left wasn’t just a simple act of my husband needing to go to work each day to provide for our family, but rather the painful recall of abandonment I endured years ago now being thrust upon an undeserving source.
And he learned the hard way that getting out the door in the mornings may be a monumental task at times. Because sometimes it means he has to sit down on the floor with me as I’m crying — in the place where I’m desperately trying to pull myself together so he can leave, but I remain stuck in the tornadoed overwhelm of the impending day’s tasks and the emotions of my feeling aloneness.
And he does.
He sits with me. Hand resting on my knee, ready to make eye contact when the tears finally clear my eyes and I can see him again and not just feel his presence. Reassuring me that I’m not in this alone, I don’t have to do it all, I am enough even in my brokenness.
And slowly the thread unravels. Loosens up ever so much, and freedom begins to creep in. I’m able to catch my breath.
I am grateful that God uses people in our lives to draw us to Himself. And I am forever grateful that one person He has chosen to place in my life as a consistent showing of His hands and feet and voice to me is the man who stood at the altar with me five years ago and promised to love me. And he loves me well. In sickness and in health.
So, I say we learned the hard way, but maybe we are simply learning the only way and it just feels hard because this part isn’t easy…