I think I’m going to have to ban myself from the radio. Again. I have to now and again as music so deeply touches me; makes me think and feel even when I’m actively trying to avoid such things.
Linkin Park did it again. I’ve been off of my rock and alternative kick this summer, as summers are for country music. I tuned back into the Alternative channel on SiriusXM and caught “Iridescent” at the beginning and thus proceeded to weep on my steering wheel.
I think it is important to note that the “let is go” in these lyrics is not about letting go of my daughter. Or “getting over” this grief and loss. It is about letting go of that overwhelming feeling prior to placement — the one that I still hold against myself.
I wish I could properly verbalize what I felt at that time. Stuck on Level III bed rest in a musty basement apartment with little to no support. Communication lines between my mother and I were faulty at best; mostly broken and unresponsive from either side. I would sit in the quiet and re-read the few books I had brought with me, none of which were the typical pregnancy and parenting preparation type books. I owned none… not one. I was alone most of the time. I was scared all of the time. And alone and scared are never a great combination.
I have sat and pondered that time in my life. My anxiety was still undiagnosed at that point in my life. I wasn’t able to step outside of the situation at hand and say, “Hey, you’re snowballing things that don’t really need snowballed. This is manageable. Take a breath and move forward.” I was stuck in my situation. Stuck. Cold. Lost in desperation. Too used to my own perceived failures (see also: undiagnosed anxiety) to even dare to hope. Sadness. Frustration. No way out. I couldn’t see my now husband for what he was. I couldn’t see my mom’s anger or my dad’s silence as their own coping mechanisms. I listened to others who had agendas. I listened to others who had per-conceived notions about my state as an unwed mother. I couldn’t hear myself through my fear.
And I still harbor so much hate and resentment for myself for not being able to see past the immediacy of the situation. Hot, burning, deep hatred. That’s what I want to let go. I want to look upon myself with the same compassion and grace that I afford others. I want to hug the young, scared girl that I was and tell her, no matter what, she’ll be okay. I just want to tell her that she is loved — because I didn’t believe I was at that time. By anyone. I want to forgive myself — to let go. And I know that I need to. For me. For the Munchkin. For my boys. My husband.
For all of us.