Returning to my story has meant pulling out old journals and re-reading and re-visiting places I have been. It has meant peeking into word windows jotted down in moments when I could.
One such window illustrates how it felt not to feel. I came across it while reading to Steve one evening, and it seemed interesting enough to share.
From 2008. Son number three was five years old and the little friend in this window. (Interesting side note, in this season all 8 children were living at home. The oldest was 15 and the youngest was a baby.)
I was trying to be intentional with this little boy and had said yes to getting out paints. For those aware of my mommy struggles, this was a big deal! The exchange below was so profound and curious to me that I recorded it in my journal right when it happened. I remember.
K: Mom, I like painting. It’s so fun!
Me: That’s nice.
K: And I love you. *hug*
A first. Literally. First expression of K’s love for me. I’ve heard, I hate you! You’re stupid!
I want to feel this profound moment. A rush of something.
I don’t feel anything.
But my son loves me. I will try to believe that.
And so continued my quest to find my feelings.