I do not believe in God,
not that he believes in me, but there are moments that I can truly understand
those who do believe. When you feel the full burden of life with no one to share
it with – God, as I see it, brings a virtual relief. You can talk to him and he
doesn’t answer, that brings comfort. You can pray to him and ask for his
kindness, which in itself brings positive thoughts, it lets in hope. It’s a
passive hope, but it’s comforting and it facilitates convenience, which in
return gives strength to continue and to aspire and this hope will take you
further. There is something therapeutic about it, and it also takes some of the
responsibility away, since there is someone else to share your burden. There is
a higher entity and this entity might just help lift the burden. In an case, it
will not make me believe or pray, just feel a tinge of envy. A tiny surge of
envy.
I Guess at some
point, every adult feels the urge that someone else, for at least a moment,
will take responsibility on his life, something in the lines of “stop the train
I want out”, only it doesn’t happen not ever, not to anyone. Occasionally, but
only occasionally, I find my choice to homeschool my kids nearly impossible. It’s
not the fact that it is 24/7, 365 days a year plus an additional day every four
years (do not disturb me while I count). It’s not the almost impossible
responsibility that derives from the fact that it is mostly me, good or bad. It’s
not just the attempt to contain. It’s not just the attempt to stay sane. It’s
not just the need to find patience, when the tank is already on fumes. It’s not
just the guilt with every screw-up, and there are screw-ups. It’s not just the
erosion of a crazy routine with endless activities. It’s not just the fact that
there are no grownups to talk to most of the day. But it is also those tiny
doubts that your choice, that to outsiders seems so simple, holds. And those
doubts are not amorphous, those doubts are targeting your capability to fulfill
your decision.
I’m not unique,
parenthood, maybe more than anything else in the whole world, brings doubts. It
is hard to differentiate
between the way you perceive yourself and the way you perceive your offspring.
No matter what you do, you put yourself in anything your kid does, and it is
you that should be put outside of this equation. As a parent you need to
realize that you are raising a whole and independent entity, which is not you.
What a hard task it is to assimilate this fact. Raising kids pushes all the
right buttons.
There is nothing harder than your kids’ difficulties, it brings
competing with things you never dreamed of in your wildest dreams and brings impossible
challenges to your patience and
containing abilities, that of course given a state of emotional blackmail,
which is explosive though seems so innocent. If there is anything that can break
me to pieces it is the fact that I can lose it and even shout. When I shout I
get more stressed than the kids and then I go and kill myself once over by analyzing
myself to death while trying to figure out how not to do it again. While I
forgive my kids for anything, I find it hard to forgive myself and I do it stingily
and only after lots of self-convincing efforts.
And then, when sometimes I feel the burden is too much and I dare
complain, what do I get? The undying reply that makes me want to dance flying Kong-Fu
style kicking all around – “It is your choice!” True, damn it is my choice. But
if I were a doctor and dare to complain no one would say “but it is your choice”,
right? They’d understand my swollen heart and offer some support, lend a
shoulder to cry on. Those are the exact moments when I understand the solitude
of the one who does not speak to God, say me.
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