For a long four months things seemed to be getting better. At first it was very hard to halt the chariot of destruction in my life. It took continued re-routing, self pep-talks and blatant scare tactics, but I somehow convinced myself that my reaction to life was my choice. That admission affirmed tantrums, meltdowns and anxiety freak-outs were now obsolete, since to choose to behave that way is simply insane. I reached new levels of health under this fragile new government of myself. Things were going swimmingly over here, in positive attitude land. And then one day the rage came back.
Was it inevitable? Is it impossible to simply do away with the emotional reaction to my life's circumstances by just not thinking about it? It worked for a while, why did it stop? Because I had a health issue rear its ugly head? Or does part of this inter-related world of weird illness encompass the rage? Quite frankly, I could sit here all day and ask chicken or egg questions, and never get an answer. What I really wanted was to get back on track, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how. I was just too damn mad and out of control, and did I mention mad?
I was driving in the car with my husband this evening when the realization smacked me across the face. Suddenly I knew what the missing piece was, and it wasn't information, the origin of my emotions or even illness itself. It was acceptance. More to the point, it was accepting reality for reality's sake. What is, is, slapped me silly, and reminded me that if I try to bear the burden of life all on my own little shoulders I won't get out of bed. But if I look around and accept my givens, and do my best with what is, I just might.
Thanks for joining,
Leah
