In My Defense

Your outpouring of support during Medicating Salvation has been a tonic and I thank you so much.  From sharing personal experiences to offering pats on the back to telling me about my amygdala, the almond-shaped set of neurons in my head that need to chill the f*ck out, well, you’re the reason why I put myself out there.  Here.

Sometimes however, like that time at your high school prom, putting out can bite you in the ass.  In the middle of a dialogue about my attack, my friend underestimated my vulnerability and called this blog, my words, a “portrait of depression”.

It made me think of my kids reading this blog, as I’m sure they will one day, maybe as teenagers but probably as adults and/or parents.  It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it and while I write for myself, I am accountable to them.  So please let me be clear:

Dear Children,
Getting to you was the hardest thing I ever endured but no sadness or stillness could keep me from you, and nothing, nothing could keep me from you now.  Labor and birth brought me to my knees but the purity of your entrances gave me the most powerful and clarifying experience of my life.  You and I are bigger than any pain or despair.  You and I are a phoenix.
Moving, engorgement, polar vortices, sleep deprivation, traveling husband, moving and moving again have been hard and sad and isolating, but you and I, my Darlings, we are resolute.  My love for you is stronger than anything that will ever happen to me.
While biking around yesterday morning, Farrah, you and I fell upon this playground and stayed here, alone, for more than hour.  What the hell?  Where is everyone?
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But on the way here, I kept jabbering as I am wont to do: “Hmmmm…..where in the heck are we?  What are we doing?  Where should we go?  Hmm.  Where are we?”  And Farrah Star, do you know what did?  You turned your head to look at me and smiling, replied, “MONTREAL!”  Worth it.  So many empty playgrounds.  Worth it.
Arlo and Farrah, all these words over all these years should tell you what I already know: the hardest work reaps the sweetest rewards. And in every single instance, in every single post here, you are not the work; being with you is not hard.  Being with you is the reward.  I’m not afraid of trials and heartache nor am I afraid of talking about them or you reading them.  You are perfect to me and we to each other.  It is only the path that has potholes.
This is my Portrait of Parenthood, not of Depression.  It is my testimony of a life well-lived and a life hard-earned.  How we got here is merely a story, but who we are is the Universal Truth:  I grew you and birthed you and there has never been nor will there ever be anything more perfect than what you and I are together.  The rest is just details.
I love you,
Momma
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