Wisdom brightens a person's face and changes its hard appearance. -Ecclesiatstes 8:1

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Compartmentalization

That's a big word, right?

It has big meaning. Something I don't truly understand. But it is something I do without realizing I'm doing it.

It happens every year on Mother's Day. At least every year on Mother's Day since we found out we were infertile.

I go out to dinner with my parents. I buy my mom gifts. I wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I am a daughter. It doesn't bother me in the least bit to do this with my mom.

But then I go home or somewhere else, where I am bombarded by commercials about Mother's Day or Mother's Day cards or anything of the sort. And there I am- still a daughter- but most definitely not a mother.

It seems to hit harder each year that I am childless. I can be with my family and celebrate the day without even thinking about it, and then once I'm not around my own mother, I realize how sad the day really is.

I don't know how I am able to separate the two. But it seems to be an internal defense mechanism.

My sister-in-law bought me Mother's Day cards from my furkids this year. She knows. She gets it.

I don't go to church on Mother's Day. I learned that lesson the hard way. You would think church would be the best place to be when in pain, but not on that day. They usually ask the mom's and pregnant women to rise and we recognize them in some way. They are given a flower perhaps, or just a round of applause. The children may sing a song or read a verse or poem. It is really sweet, unless you are only a wannabe-mom. Then it just plain hurts. So I avoid it.

On Mother's Day, I love being a child...but I hate not being a mother more.

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