I am sad.
Sad I am.
Wait.
Stop.
Seriously, Erica...you are not Dr. Suess. Walk another path, Girl.
(Pause for thought.) 《New direction》
Ready on the set?
"I'm sad," take 2.... Action.
I'm sad.
Been sitting with that emotion for over a week now. I know. I know. Depression and anxiety are parts of my life. So, is it any surprise I feel sad? No. Is it necessary to discuss it on this platform...again? Yes.
Yup, it's necessary. Mostly because it's been rendering me silent. Thoughts and feelings trapped.. again. I can't live like this. Sometimes words form into two or three sentences. But they dissipate, disappear. It's frustrating. It's painful.
I feel lighter, relieved, relaxed once I send my words into the universe. On Saturdays, I do that by sharing on stage. Twin Kegs 2 in Nashville is my spot for Spoken Word. This past Saturday, I made myself go. I wore all black. (Now that's a statement, huh?) Unsure what to share, I forced myself on stage. I babbled a bit then found myself sharing a story I'd never shared in public. Most of my friends and family don't even know that one. I'm gonna keep it that way for now. That story is not the point of this story.
Spoken Word is not easy. But I need it. I even mostly like it. I wish I was more comical, like Mrs. Maisel, but I'm not. My platform is familial but mine is based on healing from grief caused by trauma. I'm pretty serious about it. I try to incorporate laughter, but sometimes I bomb.
I always mention my role as mom to 3 amazing kids...my 21-year-old independent son who lives in Florida and is getting married this year; my 19-year-old highly creative daughter who's taught herself sewing and painting and is passionate about animals; and my 13-year-old daughter who's strong yet compassionate personality will help her lead someday. They're all going to be world changers; they've already changed mine. I never skip an opportunity to share my pride. I can't imagine why a parent would.
But get this…
There are parents who consistently skip their opportunities to brag about their kids. There are parents who wish they didn't have kids. There are parents who berate, neglect, and abuse their kids more than they show love. There are parents who think they love their kids but don't talk with them or play with them or listen to them. Consistently. For years.
There are parents who don't deserve to be parents.
Sometimes, the court steps in. Sometimes, parental rights are removed. Sometimes, just until a parent can refocus and get healthy. Other times, forever.
And what does that do to a kid?
I'm living this right now.
I'm watching my kids--day in and day out--figure out what to do with the loss and grief they feel from having a dad who chose extreme selfishness over true love for his children. I'm grateful the courts took away and reduced his rights. But it hurts to watch, to participate in their sorrow and sadness over what should have been but never will be. There's no way their biological father can step back into their lives. Nor should he.
I don't say that because I'm embittered. If you knew all the details of the last six years without him, you'd know it's not my will or control that's keeping him out of their lives.
They are each old enough to understand that what their father chose to do is forgivable (barely) but not worthy of stepping over each of their boundary lines to re-enter their lives. Not now, anyway. Maybe not ever.
On the other hand, if any of them change that perspective in the future, I will continue to love and listen. I want them to make their own choices. I want them to be healthy and happy. I want their lives to be fulfilling and as peaceful as possible. I wish stability for each, however they want to define it. I hope they laugh a lot. And feel courageous. And never stop caring about themselves and others. If they hold tight to the ones they love and let the ones they love hold tight to them, then maybe they'll find contentment and security.
This week, I've felt sad. Maybe because Queen Elizabeth (who I admire) lost her partner of 72 years and I've been following the news. 72 years. That's like, my dad's entire life. Nearly my mom's. Far more than mine. Much further than my own marriage, hopes, and expectations lasted.
72 years of loving and choosing one another. 72 years of unexpected, painful experiences. 72 years of intertwining yourself with another.
One day you're together, living life. The next, he's gone. It's sad, isn't it?
And even though she is head of her country and her family, she must feel empty. She must cry over memories. She must feel sad... for herself, her children, grandchildren, the greats. For her country. After all, being Queen doesn't negate her humanity.
I'm sad for her.
I'm sad for me.
I'm sad for our kids, our families, our friends...everyone who has heard or will hear the news of our losses. Even though mine were warranted and hers were a natural part of life, we're still sad. Even days, months, years later. The sadness creeps at weird times and without warning. For me, it's not overwhelming to the point where it's unmanageable. I've still got my tools. And my professionals. Queen Elizabeth probably does too.
Writing helps. So does sharing. Thanks for being here to listen. I appreciate you.
Peace, my Friend.
❤, Me, Erica Senecal
If you want, please buymeacoffee. I'd be grateful.