Rocks in a Backpack

Today was a rough day for me. Every time I think I can't possibly sink any lower, I manage to surprise myself and do it anyway. I've grown adept at the art of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

I was bummed to find that Logan was beginning to show cold symptoms, tired from watching him suffer the side effects of the treatment. Brokenhearted to realize that although my own hearing loss (because I still haven't regained the hearing in my right ear) is temporary, his is permanent. I was even more bummed when I got a pretty major rejection from a site that I've been writing for since 2007. Okay, that's a lie. I was crushed. I cried, and when I finished crying, I realized I was hyperventilating and had to lie down and close my eyes to keep from passing out. Good grief, self, I thought. You're such a wuss. Get over it.

The thing is, I don't have a lot of pride. I don't have a lot of self-confidence. I don't think I'm particularly special or great or unique. I'm just me. A wife, a mom, a woman who happens to be dealing with an extraordinarily difficult lot in life right now. When bad things happen -- even stupid, trivial bad things that don't amount to a hill of beans -- I can't just deflect them anymore. Instead, they accumulate like rocks in a backpack. It's like I'm trying to walk up this mile-high mountain with this rock-laden pack strapped to my back. Every rejection is deeply personal. Every one screams see? You don't matter. You suck. You're not good enough. You'll never be good enough. You weren't a good enough mom to keep Logan from developing cancer. You're not a good enough mom to intercede for him and help save his life now. You don't matter. The same voices I've been hearing my entire life, out in full-force. All because I'm down, and down lower than I've ever been. And no matter what I do, I just can't get up again.

I'm not deliberately trying to hold on to all of the stones. Really, I'm not. Yes, I know: The tiny, Bible-beating theologian who lives in my head tells me that I should just hand the backpack over to God. But who am I kidding? I'm the mayor of Snatch-it-Backville. Even if I give it away, I'll just wind up taking it back again anyway.

But I guess none of that means I shouldn't at least try to give it away, right? Because it would definitely be easier to scale the mountain I'm trying to climb without an extra backpack full of rocks weighing me down. Of course, it would be even easier if I could somehow zap the mountain and turn it into a pleasant, flower-filled meadow, but for whatever reason this just isn't a flower-filled time of life for my family. For my sunshine.

Oh well. Thank you for your prayers. I wish I had the energy to write out a great list of requests and a heartfelt, meaningful entry. But I don't. I'm really just a shell of who I was right now. I hope to be back again. Someday.