Still a work in progress

Last night I attend a weekly depression support group that my church hosts for women. While we were we talking the topic switched to dealing with grief. While the group was still uplifting it was more somber than it had been in the past couple of months. When I got home I was met by dirty dishes, unfolded laundry, and wet sheets I forgot to put in the dryer. Eric had been working all evening trying to catch up on logging patients since his co-resident had been sick for two days. I felt myself sinking into a "woe is me, my life isn't perfect" mentality. While I was getting ready for bed I felt myself getting more and more black on the inside; anger over nothing, frustration with Eric over made up things, self loathing for not living up to my idea of perfect, etc, etc. As soon as my face was washed I was in my bed on my knees praying my heart out.

In the past praying was not the direction I would go in these situations. I would take it out on Eric, cry and let the blackness envelope me like a cloud. When I found that the desire to pray was the first thing I wanted to do I felt HOPE. Hope that maybe this change will truly be permanent and not just a phase. Hope that I am finally understanding what I have been taught and also taught to others for twenty years (I wasn't baptized and didn't attend church regularly until I was ten). Hope that I can be a better person and a better wife to Eric and a better mother to my future children and the children I work with at church every week.