I wrote this the day before I turned 41.  I ended it with “I’d rather 42 never came.”

Well, 42 came yesterday.

Things are quite different than they were a year ago.

I still suffer from a great deal of physical pain and a mental disorder, but I’m doing much better.

Thanks primarily to my 17yo son, I’m starting to realize that I am the best mother for my children.  And they do love me and need me like I need them.

I met a man about 8 months ago who can only have been sent by God.  He’s been witness to many of my mental meltdowns and has stuck by me, being about the only one who has said he knows that the nutcase I become when I have a meltdown is not the real me.  We’ve split up about 6 times, but can’t really stay away from each other.  I drastically hurt him a few weeks ago by breaking up with him quite abruptly.  I had realized that I needed him, and it terrified me and made me feel like I was being too weak and not relying on God enough.  Then I realized that needing someone wasn’t a bad thing and oddly enough, he still wanted to be with me and so we’re back together.

I am, however, 42 and not doing much.

I am doing better at maintaining a relatively clean home.  I’m doing a little better at being involved in my kids schooling and activities.

But it’s still not up to my satisfaction.

However, I’m much more able to be forgiving of myself for having to do absolutely everything in tiny baby steps.  I think that makes a pretty big difference.

Having to do things small and slow doesn’t make you weak anymore than needing someone does.  Actually, I think it makes you smart.  Jumping in the lake head first and seeing if you can swim probably doesn’t work very often, and quite honestly, that’s how I often tended to do things; which probably accounts for my many, many failures.

So, for now, I’m just going with the flow, trusting God more and trusting myself more.

I still wish I could see some type of a future for me; a future that involves some type of accomplishment.  I still see nothing ahead of me.  I’m starting to wonder if my only accomplishment will be to have my kids like me enough that I can move in with them when I get old.

I can honestly say, however, that the lack of future foresight isn’t quite as scary or depressing as it was a year ago.

Even at 42, God isn’t finished with me yet, and I’m far less finished with me than I used to be.

Maybe that’s an accomplishment in itself.



About Sharon

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One Response to 42

  1. Pingback: 42 | From Inside the Borderline

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