Life’s little lessons

Yesterday walking past my mailbox at work, I noticed an unmarked white envelope sticking out. This was a first. In about four years. Of course a smile plastered from ear to ear, I picked the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a beautiful note from K. I felt my heart lift with happiness. I reach home and stop to pick up mail. You guessed right. Another handwritten card and a beautiful letter. This time from Suman. I was a happy, happy person.

Sometimes the joys stack on till they overflow. I hardly question why I am deserving of so much happiness. Of being loved and surrounded by people who care. I mean this not in a saccharine sweet way though it does come across like that. It struck me yesterday that I never question my worthiness when it comes to all things happy, joyful, successful. All positive emotions. I take them for granted. In my mind I deserve all of them. Perhaps I do. Perhaps not.

To delve a little deeper into what directed the thoughts to my worth, I have to step back a few months. I made it public on here that we were adopting. I left the post open for comments and was overwhelmed by the comments wishing us luck and reassuring us we would make perfect parents. I lapped it all up though some of those that indicated that the child would be lucky bothered me. We were not doing this for altruistic reasons. We were in it for purely selfish reasons. To experience the joys of parenthood. Anyways, I will not dwell on it as that is fodder for a whole another post.

For the past three months, I lived in a distant land of day dreams and borrowed happiness. The agency we are working with found us a situation which matched what we wanted. The baby was due this week and all was well. Except when it came time to actually go bring the baby home, we realized it was not to be. I will not go into details here for many reasons.

The last week of last year and the past one week has been a time of great learning for me. All these years that I have blogged, sadness at being unable to be a mother crept into my posts. At times it seemed like that was all the identity I had. I defined myself as a person by the cross of sorrow I was lugging around. This past week I realized how much of it had seeped into my consciousness. I had lost my ability to see outside the narrow box I had enveloped myself in.

The fog lifted with the new year. In the wake of the intense pain and sorrow, I took to questioning why I had to experience what I did. What lessons were to be learned from that? Why did the Universe think I was deserving of so much sorrow. As the questions ebbed and flowed, I found answers in astonishing places. Like the mailbox or in the mirror as I looked back at myself. The perineal questions of my identity and what I defined myself as came back.

All of the past decade for me personally was in defying stereotypes. To create parallel identities. As a daughter, a professional, a wife, an aunt, a sibling, a woman. However, in my pursuit of that one identity of mom, I ignored my base premise that I was a composite person. Motherhood was just one other label. I let it become the only one that matters. To the detriment of others.

With the new year came new realizations. Mom or not, I have other aspects to me that I need to acknowledge. Motherhood contrary to my still recent belief does not complete me. Nothing will. Newer labels will be created. I will pursue other dreams. It’s time to stop staring at one door forgetting others that are open. This does not mean am closing any doors. Just telling myself I have stared long enough at one closed one.

Sometimes there are no reasons. It’s just the way of life. And that’s OK.