I am having a hard go of things right now.
Physically I am spent, even though I have 11 more weeks to go with this pregnancy. I do not know how I am going to make it through these next couple of months. I hurt in places no woman should ever hurt, all thanks to the gortex mesh strewn hither and yon in my girlie bits and nether region. The diastasis symphysis pubis isn’t making things any easier either. The pain of my impending c-section will be bliss compared to this.
Intellectually, I am tapped out. I cannot put together one more cognizant thought about signature pedagogies in education research at the doctoral level, literature reviews in doctoral dissertations, content analysis, rubric design, or adult learning theories.
Spiritually, it feels like I am wandering in the desert. Alone. And the last of my water has run out.
Emotionally…aye, therein lies the rub. That is where I am the most shattered. Broken. Spilled out.
I can’t sum up the strength to talk about what ails me right now. I just break into random fits of tears and overwhelming grief throughout the day and night.
In short, I am struggling.
That’s a nice, polite, unoffensive way of saying that this crappy adoption grief feels like it never dies but lives on and become more compounded through the years, especially when it is ignored, stuffed, marginalized, minimalized… or talked about over roast beef and potatoes as if it is a natural price to pay for the sin of being a single mother.
That is all I have to say today.