Am I the only one?
Am I the only one that lets the fear creep in? It’s not something we talk about, of course. It’s un-discussable. I don’t even discuss it with my very best friends. We don’t talk about it because it would make us sound strange and morbid … and a little crazy . We talk about everything, but not this. So, maybe that means I am strange and morbid and a little crazy every now and then. Not most days. Not even most-parts-of-some-days. It’s more like moments. A moment when I stop all of the million things that I’m always doing and let the fear creep in. It catches me in a vulnerable point, while I’m watching my babies and reflecting on how happy I am. Then, sometimes, it attacks. It’s like a bad seed planted in my head. It’s there somewhere whether I like it or not and it makes me crazy.
The thing is, I’m a happy person. I choose happiness and I don’t find it to be that hard. I was born cheerful. It’s a good thing. I’ve always felt blessed to have a natural cheerfulness. Right now, at this point, my life is SO FULL. I am just so stinkin happy. I have so much to be happy about. I’ve been blessed with a marriage that I thank God for every single day. I found my other half in this world. Together we are whole. It makes me happy and it TERRIFIES me. I’ve been blessed with not one, but two healthy babies. I carried them full term, having fairly uneventful pregnancies and labor with each. They are beautiful and sweet and everything I always dreamed they’d be. It terrifies me. If I stop and actually think about what that means, I’m left paralyzed. Caught in the realization of just how much I actually have to lose. Am I the only one? I don’t mean to do it. Yet, at times, I catch myself waiting for something bad to happen. Like, okay, I’ve been happy this long now, when is it all going to fall apart? What tragedy is going to find me? It’s gross, right? I’ve never actually said any of this out loud. But, I think about it. About how much I have to lose and what it would feel like. Then I cry. I cry for a loss that hasn’t even happened. Then, I snap out of it, push the fear away again (damn you, just leave me alone), and go back to doing what I do day-in and day-out.
I mentioned some of this to R one day. As casually as possible, I mentioned that I was afraid that maybe I was too happy and that it just couldn’t last, right? Could it? He didn’t say anything for a moment. Who would?! But, then he did. He said, “Baby. God wants you to be happy.” For some reason, I didn’t expect this response. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not something so simple, so sure. I let his words wash over me and seep into me. I let them comfort me and feed my soul. It’s been a few years since he spoke those words to me, but I still cling to them. When the fear tries to creep in, I take out those words, “God wants you to be happy” and I play them over and over in my head. God does want us to be happy. It doesn’t stop tragedy from happening. It doesn’t make all of the ugly go away. It doesn’t give me any more control. But, it makes me feel better. It does keep the fear away a little longer. It does provide comfort. It’s enough for most days. Still, I wonder if I’m the only one. If I’m not, then whoever you are, you should know … you aren’t the only one either.
Side Note: This article deserves a shout out to my dear, sweet friend Sara, who once-upon-a-time (when we lived closer to one another) would have listened and discussed such an un-discussable topic with me. She was never afraid to fess up about strange, morbid thoughts that no one else would admit too. She is a brave soul. I miss you, Sara!