Good riddance.

You may have noticed that in my gratitude post for Thankgiving, I never mentioned specifically being grateful for my children. That is because I really struggled at the second half of 2020 to feel grateful to them, or to not feel guilty toward them. There were times—too many times—when I felt that I had made a terrible mistake and that I had been terribly prideful in deciding to have four kids. Who did I think I was? Clearly I didn't realize back when I was family planning that I would be such a terrible failure as a mother. I spent a lot of time in these dark thoughts, quite a few months.

Here is a poem I wrote that kind of encapsulates how I felt all too often during the second half of 2020.

Friends see what I share,

And it’s happy, happy, happy. 

If friends could see what is inside
They would surely stare.

“Die, die, die.
Mama, I want to die, die, die.”

Why?
But why? Why? Why?

The reasons change.

They shift. They meld. They disappear.

Anger sometimes. Sadness others.

And in between those?
Happy, happy, happy.

I share the happy with my world.
It is what I want to remember.

And it is real.
But it isn’t all.

Not nearly. Not even close.

Stop screaming at me.
Stop throwing things at me.
Stop hitting me.
Stop kicking me.
Stop tearing my heart out with your terrible words.

But deep down, I don’t think the enmity is actually directed at me.

Stop. Hating. Life. Please.

I’m in an abusive relationship.

With my child.

Happy, happy, happy.

Die. Die. Die.

How long is it okay to not be okay?

Be. Be. Be

Me.

So good riddance to 2020. There were highlights and good moments. I loved the extra time that I got to spend with our parents, and that's about it. 

Goodbye, 2020. Here's to 2021 where my kids keep doing better, and I keep feeling better, and fewer people in the world will die lonely deaths. That isn't too much to ask for, is it?