One of my greatest fears is that I would have my mother's story. That I would share her fate because I am so much like her and there is so much of her in me.
We share similar facial features and singing voices and handwriting. We have the same passion for autumn and holidays and nature's beauty. I have found her in my playfulness and how tenderhearted I am. She is in my decorating and I hear her when I wear a pair of high heels, clicking through the kitchen before we leave for church.
Yet, I've long feared that someday I would face the things she had to face and make the same choices that she did. Leaving a path of destruction and wounds to others. Self destructing, leaving my children without a mother and with a web of lies they would battle for the rest of their lives.
I've been this way since she died twelve Decembers ago. It's exhausting to live this deeply in fear though it's not always this intense. Most days I believe that I am more. That I am not her and that I won't share her story or her fate. That there is a strength in me that she didn't have. That I'm different, because I am.
But it was my mom's second child that changed everything. It changed my story. It changed our relationship. It changed my parent's marriage. My brother being born with so many needs, so many health problems. I have often feared that I too would have a child like him. And what would I do? How would I handle it? Would I neglect my firstborn like she did of me? Would I be able to handle it and live through it? Would my marriage erode? Would it all finally do me in?
It's where I've been sitting for weeks. Trying to take my fears to God but feeling no peace or rest about anything. Begging him to let everything be okay. Wondering what I would do if I lost this baby, if they were premature, if they were sick and needed special care. I've been wrestling and struggling here. And I know it's bad for my health and well-being and baby and yet I keep on in it all.
Fear and worry woke me up the night before last. I felt panicked and scared. Fear seems to be following me around, robbing me of the joy I have of carrying life in me again. And God's voice seems to be getting lost in all of my anxiety and worry.
I don't really know what to do with any of this. It's where I am but far from where I want to be.
And because I write about my journey and the parts that I often wish weren't part of it, this was something I needed to put into writing.