My husband told me recently, not in an unkind way, that I truly have a hard time being content. I am either manically happy or desperately unhappy. He would love for me to just be at peace and be content with who I am and where I am and everyone around me. He would like for me to be present in the moment rather than wrapped in worries and thoughts. He is hoping that my time at home will help me to somehow find that peace.
So am I.
I do not disagree with him. I carry around a deep pit of anxiety with me every waking hour. I am more than ready to offer up the anxiety, uncertainty – this feeling of, well, dread that hits me full force every morning when I find myself fully awake. If I knew how to release it, to do an exorcism and rid my life of it once and for all, I would.
My youngest looked at me the other day and said “Mommy . . . what’s wrong with your eyes?”. I looked at him, curious and unsure “What do you mean?” I said.
He put his hand on my cheek and he said “Your eyes are so sad, even when your mouth is smiling”.