Arise, Awaken.

I miss my son. And when I say that, I mean that I am choosing to not be present with him and am missing out on him. I am choosing to be overwhelmed by life. I am choosing to value what other people think of me, value what a total stranger's opinion is of me to the point that I am an anxious, depleted wreck and then lashing out at my son for being "another thing to take care of." I am consumed by my ego, consumed by my need to fit in, to be accepted, to be okay in the eyes of others. I am driven to be enough, to be worthy and this need is exhausting me and leaving my son abandoned in my presence. I am always in my head, worrying about the conversation I had yesterday with my new coworker (did I sound smart enough, I wonder what she thinks about me), worrying about what my parents think about me (I had to borrow money from them again, I'm such a fuck up), still obsessing about what me ex boyfriend said about me three years ago (...your body is deformed). I worry, worry, worry. I have compusive, obsessive thoughts that keep my distracted from what is really happening in my life, right now, in the moment. Like, "They're going to think you're a total anxious wreck, Amber, if you write this," and "Don't you want to come off sounding like you've got it together?" I can't stop the thoughts and they suck the blood out of me, draining me of all energy. And then my son comes into the room and I'm annoyed because he wants me to play with him.

I hate to admit it but I have to admit it. I have labeled him a nuisance. A mosquito, flying around my head, buzzing into my ear and disturbing my stupor. I swat him away but he always comes back, wanting to drain the life out of me. I'm so ashamed that I've decided to see him this way. Oh, Jack, I am so sorry I've done that. And now you're almost two and I don't remember much of this year with you except that it's been hard. I remember wanting to get away from you and I remember wanting to just sleep. Sleep. But you always wake me up.

When you were tiny, Jack, everyone said to me, "This time is so precious and it goes by so fast. Treasure this time with him while he's small." And I did. I really made an effort to be present with you, even when it was hard. I guess hearing people say it, over and over to me, "treasure this time, treasure this time, treasure this time," I really got how important it was to resist the urge to be overwhelmed and instead savor the moment, every moment. I guess I still need to hear it said. Amber, treasure this time. I have missed an entire year with you, Jack.

Where did it go? To worrying about what people think about my messy house. To wishing I was thin. To complaining about my job and traffic and finding things to feel miserable about. And you were there, the whole time. In your carseat. In your crib. In your pajamas in my bathroom as I put on my makeup. How did I miss you?

You have always called me to be awake, Jack. You have refused to let me sleep and I have resisted you. But tonight I will accept your invitation, once again, to stay awake with y0u. I am so glad you're here to pull me out of my slumber, to slap me into awareness where you are, where vibrancy is, where Life is. I don't want to go through life sleepwalking. I don't want to miss out on you anymore.

I don't want to miss out on Life, anymore. I want to be where you are, where spontaneity and joy erupt without thinking, where a seashell holds great wonder and mystery, where there is no fear of what others are thinking so no experience is scary, where sharing my cookie is fun because I don't know lack. Where taking a bath is the biggest delight of the day, next to brushing my teeth. Where I'm free to squeal with delight when I see someone I love. And likewise, I can totally unravel and know that I am loved, still. Where unconditional love isn't my reality and only constant, unending love, is.

It's my intention to go there with you, Jack, and to help you stay there. Maybe we all have to step outside of it to know that we want it, again. And when you do, I'll be here waiting for you.