Seasons of Winter
The love/hate relationship that I have with my old rusty Jeep took a sharp turn towards strong dislike today. My nineteen month old son and I were driving a fifty-six mile stretch across country highway, a route that is familiar to us. Our region of the map is experiencing some frigid weather right now with temperatures being in the negatives. The jeep has a soft top and leaks cold air like crazy. Normally, the heater is able to battle the weather and stay on the winning side. Not today. Heater or not, we were freezing. Cold air was flooding into the car. When we were passed by any other moving vehicle tiny bits of snow came sprinkling in making me have to actually wipe moisture off of my face as I drove. I pulled over and bundled my son up in his coat, my winter coat, a hat, a blanket and anything else I could find. He seemed content and toasty. I bought a cup of coffee simply for the warmth and after a short de-thawing in a Shell station we began our journey again. Now, I was really cold as my coat was bundled around the little man in the back seat. I stopped again and reached for the only thing I could find that seemed like it would help our situation out at all- a tarp. Here I stood outside of a gas station wrapping a tarp around my body as if it was a bath towel. People were looking at me and all I could think to say was, “How ya doing?”. They nodded awkwardly and moved on. It was a long cold drive, but we made it.
A few months after my son was home I began feeling anxiety. I was not sleeping well at night. I felt guilt anytime I was not giving my son all of my attention. I was confused about my philosophy of discipline. I felt exhausted, confused, and worn thin. I cried because I felt a sense of mourning for my old life, the freedom I used to have, and the memory of what it was like to not wear my heart outside my body. I cried because I felt guilty for even thinking those thoughts. I cried a lot because I felt so much pressure. I would look at my son and desire to fill him up with affection, attention, and affirmation but, although I loved him dearly, it felt forced. I went to the doctor. I finally broke down and told my husband. I called a dear friend. I prayed. My friend allowed me to sob on the phone. She said calmly, “This is a season.”
The miserable car ride home ended, we walked into our house and began to de-thaw. At naptime I tucked my little man into his bed. The anxiety, confusion, guilt, mourning were far from me. My son rolled over and smiled at me warming my heart through and through.
I left his room thinking of the car ride, the cold and winter, and how much I look forward to this season passing. It dawned on me that I made it through another season as well. For weeks I felt messages aimed like arrows at my heart telling me that I was failing as a mother. The truth is attachment, adjustment, and transition are all things that take time. I was forgetting this and allowing guilt to settle into my spirit. On the silly ride home just a few hours ago I ridiculously had to pull over and cover myself up in a tarp to protect me from the cold season outside. It was embarrassing to do this in front of others, but it was necessary at the time. Just the same when I feel a cold season approaching again on my motherhood journey I am going to ask the Lord to put a covering around my heart to keep messages of guilt and failure away. I am going to surround myself with friends, family, and those with wisdom who will not laugh at me, but will gently speak wisdom that the cold seasons will come and best of all, they will pass.
