Love During Failure

I think we all go through those stages when we think we're going to commit to something, we feel really motivated towards our goal; like we could kick the world in the balls. No turning back this time! This time I'm going to really kick-ass!

Well, it's a fact that sometimes we fail. It's like one big punch in the stomach when we've finally realized that we've failed what we've set out to do. And we don't admit our failures when we slip up the first time....maybe the second time....or third. It's only when we're back to our old ways, when one day we finally realize that we're back to who we used to be. And that's when it hits us that we've failed. And that's when it hurts the most, and it's easy to let negativity and millions of reasons wash over you as to why you should never try again.

The important thing to remember now, when failure happens, is that even though we go through these different failures...maybe you've experienced this once, or maybe you've experienced this many times...maybe you're going through it right now....you need to remember that loving yourself during your failures is the most important thing you can possibly do. There is a reason you've failed, even if you don't see it, and you need to take the time to uncover what that reason is--before you try again.

Were you trying or working for your goal for the right reason? Was your heart in it for yourself or for someone/something else?

It's important that you find out these reasons before you begin again, because unless you do, I believe you'll fail again. Only true, passionate, real reasons behind your goals will accomplish success. Once you've discovered the truth behind your goal, you will realize how much you want to succeed. But you need to love yourself, your process, your journey, where you are right NOW, and love yourself in your vision of where you can be in the future.

Trust me, I'm one to talk. I say these things all day to others, and yet I struggle extensively with my own goals. The beauty of the human race is the diversity of the soul. We're all searching for the truth in ourselves. The reason why we do what we do. I'm consistently wondering why I can't commit to change. My childhood maybe? My experiences growing up? My marriage? I'm a master at the blame-game. The one thing that matters the most though, and that I can take comfort in, is that I do know these things I've stated, and that I know what to do to keep trying. I have the knowledge inside to remember that when I try and if I fail, I can always try again. There is nothing ever telling me that I can never do anything.

Life is only a series of thoughts--and thoughts can be changed.

And because of that, I'm safe.

Dealing with Death--I have no choice.

I have never felt so confused on how to feel in my entire life. As the days go on, I find that my feelings are changing rapidly about what's happened.

By what's happened I mean Mum dying.

And--side note--I really need to stop avoiding actually saying those words.

Anytime I talk about it, I find that I'll say "since it happened", or "since she...ya know...."....like I'm avoiding the topic. Like somehow that's going to make it better or easier to handle.

Well, it's not.

And it's not like me to dance around a topic. It's almost like I don't want to believe that it's true. In fact that's exactly it--I don't want to believe that it's true. It's too uncomfortable.

If I could think of words that describe how I feel about death, mum dying, and everything that comes along with it, they would be this:

Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

Those are my "death words."

I hate every little thing that comes along with death. It's a humongous experience that you're put through, and there's no hand out to fix all the damage that comes along with it. There are SO MANY EMOTIONS. I can't keep up with them all.

Honestly, I feel like every morning instead of drinking the coffee I'm used to, I'm drinking a venti depresso instead. I feel so upset about this.

Yesterday I went through all of Mum's clothes. It was a big task, because that woman had so much clothes it was ridiculous. I went through them all and sorted them into piles; goodwill, consignment, and trash. It was so strange seeing how many of her outfits that I had memories of. There was one that she wore to my son's first birthday. One that she wore to my husband and I's wedding. One's that I remember her greeting us at the door wearing when we went over for summer bar-b-ques.

I'll say it again---it's so surreal that she's gone.

Even going into their house-Mum and Dad's house--again, (which, by the way is weird to talk about too, because I don't know if I should call it "Mum and Dad's house" or "Roy's House" anymore. Just another awkward moment when you just don't know), was so very weird.

Whenever we would go to their house before we'd first get greeted by their two annoying-as-hell little puppies (one of which passed away right before Mum did), then we'd get shuffled inside and encouraged to sit and get comfortable, asked if we wanted anything to eat or drink, and then with this family you could count on the conversation to wander in any direction.

Now the house is quiet. Too quiet. Only one puppy. And there I was cleaning out the closet and sorting through Mum's clothes. Waiting for the Pastor to meet us there so we could talk about Mum's funeral.

 Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

There are those death words again.

I did NOT want to talk about Mum's funeral. I didn't want to plan it. I didn't want to organize it. I didn't want to help because I didn't want it to happen.

But I helped. And as it turns out, I'm actually going to be singing "The Lords Prayer" at the end of the service. I'm looking forward to doing that part, because in the past it has brought me a lot of comfort in other times of loss, and hopefully it will do the same now.

So.

I'm exhausted guys. I feel sad, angry, depressed, stressed, overwhelmed, tired, and a whole bunch of other feelings I don't think I can put my finger on. And I know it's a process. I know we all go through different steps of grieving and there's no particular order. I know grieving is different for everyone.

I'm just waiting for my "process" to let me move on.

Barf. Squirm. Run away. Leave me the hell alone.

Please.