Sometimes he carries the team.
I can not undo what my brain is hardwired to do, or unlearn how I have been conditioned to love and be loved. So I overthink it and he lays out the facts.
I can not part with my experience of trauma because she is a part of me. So, I hold her tight and I carry her. And he holds us.
I can not forget the feelings and the memories of postpartum. So I put them in my pocket and I carry them. And he zips up my pockets.
I can not abandon those who left too soon, who I grieve for. So I carry them in the fabric of my being. And he helps sew in the stitches.
When I was inadequate, when I felt I could not meet the measure, when I have failed or have been failed, I sleep with that. And he sleeps beside me.
The dishes that I miss, the laundry pile that keeps growing, the demand of carrying each item, each baby in your body, each child in your arms, the physical weight of it all gets a little heavy and gets you thinking-
“Boy, what a lot to hold.”
But he helps me carry it. I do not carry it alone. And for all the things I know that “I can not”, there is one thing that I do know for sure-
It would be heavier without him.
Without someone who loves me when I’m broken, and enough not to fix me.
When I wince, when I rest, when I’m weary, when I can not hold the weight of it all alone-
he is with me on my team.
And for all of these things that I continue to carry…
It is him who carries me.
– Wallflower Writing