Picking my way

Sometimes, just acknowledging that a day was emotionally hard helps me release the pent-up despair (because that is what it feels like) and make peace with what is. The magic worked this time. Today has dawned a much better day. Responses to questions regarding a rather large and complex project I have been assigned have finally begun to appear, and slowly I am picking my way through, figuring it out.

But last evening, after yet another meeting at the outplacement agency that led to exactly nothing, I made my way home, frozen to the bone and utterly dejected about my prospects. The way forward was anything but clear. I was having an emotional storm, the fear swirling so hard that as I walked through my door, the tears were on my cheeks, my knees trembled, my breath caught and I found myself whispering in the dark empty hallway, "God, please show me how." I was glad there was no one home to see me. In that moment I felt broken. I knelt next to my bed and cried from the pure stress of it, the not knowing, the need to trust in what I cannot yet see.

I do know that I am incredibly lucky. My husband's job is secure, and he covers our health insurance, although affording life in New York City seriously takes two. Still, I know that if we were to really hit a wall, my mother would help. But I dare not count on that. My brother keeps saying that he does not know how much longer she has, that she is weakening, and I feel an urgency to fully secure myself and our family so that she can have an easy heart. She worries about us so.

Oh Lord, now I am crying again.

But I'm actually okay.