Monday, October 28, 2013

My bowl.

The other day I watched Blackfish.  It was a documentary on CNN about Killer Whales procured by Sea World, and the subsequent tales of sad living conditions and danger to all involved, whale and trainer.

I shivered through the entire show.  That kind of terrified electricity that runs up your spine when you see something haunting?  I felt that to the nth degree.  I cuddled up closer and closer to the corner of the couch until I was a ball.  My 15 year old walked in and said, “What’s wrong, Mom?” 

I pointed to the TV.

He finished watching with me, and left.  I knew that it affected me more than it affected him, which surprised me.  I’m a pretty level person.  I look at everything on TV with an understanding that what I’m watching is biased.  No matter sitcom or World Report, I always know that there are two sides to a story and someone behind the scenes with some kind of agenda. 

But this feeling I had while watching this documentary was pronounced.  Sure it may have something to do with my lifelong terror of the deep deep ocean, but it was something more.  I spent a couple days pondering it all.  Why did those whales haunt me so?

And finally it clicked.

I completely relate to those whales’ plight.  In fact, I feel like those whales.

I’m at a place where I feel like I’ve been plucked from my home.  The only home and family I ever knew, and have been thrown into a small tank just big enough for me to swim for the soul purpose of surviving. 

Breathing.  It feels like all my energy these days is put into just breathing.

I feel like I’m not where I belong.  I feel like there is an expansive universe out there that I’m missing out on, something bigger meant to be.  I seem to be living my life only to perform for others.  I know what is expected of me, and I’m doing it.  And when I see my boys smile, for a moment I forget my bowl, and I fly into the air.

But at the end of the day…I’m back in the bowl.

Going through the motions is the crux of my existence.

But as I pondered this more, I realized there is one distinct difference between the whales and me…

This bowl I’m in?  I’m keeping myself here.  I can jump out anytime. 

I can change my life at anytime. 

The only thing I’m a prisoner of is grief.  The sadness and hopelessness of my future is all on me.  I have the power to jump out of this rut. 

And I know I will.  It’s just that…now isn’t the time yet.

I must keep my world small to continue the healing process.  As much as I want to rush into new worlds and new experiences, I know that right now I’m exactly where I need to be.

Sometimes it’s necessary to go through life on autopilot so that our delicate ecosystems can rest, and heal from the tolls of heartache.  My life was kidnapped from me.  It’s only natural that my body needs to recover from the violent ripping apart of my future.

This little happiness coma is allowing much needed restoration to occur.

I’m going to back float it out until one day I’m strong enough to jump out of the pool.

When I do?

Watch out.


  1. You always say it just right Meri! Now is definetly not the time, that heart of yours hasn't had the time to even see clearly yet I'm sure! When you get back to where you were going, we will be here just the same :)

  2. I learn from you every day. Lucky me -- to have a friend as wise as you who is willing to share so openly.

  3. I never knew my bowl could shrink so much...Isaac starting kindergarten has been horrible. I keep trying to sugar coat it but today I showed up with him so excited to be helper of the day to also find out the nurse is out, again. I hadn't showered, didn't come in really anything appropriate for hanging out at the school all day and I was bummed that this is how it goes. I know...lame, I should be able to handle this, but I am struggling. I am so envious of all others who just drop and go. More than I ever have been before. Sorry for taking rambling, but thought I'd let you know I understand the feeling...that itty bitty world feeling especially the knowledge that there is so much more out there to tackle. Watch out world, someday soon we're going to be out rip, roaring, and ready to go!

  4. You express yourself so beautifully and touch the lives of those that you share with. Including me. Thank you for being so open. Sending warm, caring thoughts to you as you float in your pool.

  5. Beautiful and brilliant. You, and the post. You are inspiring now...even in your bowl. Will be exciting to see what happens when you jump. But take your time. There's a lot of love in that bowl that you probably need to soak and swim in for a while.

  6. You back float as long as you need. We'll be ready to cheer for you when you are ready to jump out. No rush. Love you girl.

  7. HI, Meri .... I've been following your wonderful blog for a couple of years now (though "following" is surely an inadequate term for the experience!). Thanks so much. Inspired by you and other great bloggers, I've recently started a photo blog of my own — "Walking With Freddie." Freddie is my diabetic alert dog (he sends greetings to Lawton :-)). I've had T1 for 26 years, but diabetes doesn't actually get much air time in the blog. It's a lighthearted thing for the most part — the blog, not diabetes! If you ever feel like stopping over for a visit, Freddie and I would love to have you. xo


Moderation now enabled, so comments will not immediately be seen.