Learning to Let Go...

...and to breathe.

Yesterday was my beloved and my seventh year wedding anniversary and today is the sixth yarzheit (day of remembrance) for my mom - i.e. the anniversary of the day she died in the Hebrew calendar. And, shockingly, this is the calmest I've been in a while.

The end of August was painful - not nearly so as the middle, but I had a blood clot scare and job drama (not yet resolved, but looking good), and each morning I would count down the days until we were scheduled to go to the circus with our littles (on Friday the 30th). Once we made it to the circus, that pretty much meant I survived. Literally and figuratively. I had great belief that once August was over, things would be brighter.

It was sometime toward the end of the last week when my husband joined me in our room and told me that he realized we had NO mezuzot (scrolls) up on almost any of our doorways in our new apartment, and that we had not had any up all month. We moved in the beginning of August.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, there is a distinct and direct connection (whether superstitious or actual) between your health and your mezuzot. They are thought to act as protection over your residence and those within; they are the anti-thesis to evil and a guard over your home.

"The very purpose of mezuzot is the protection of the house and its inhabitants."

My husband is not the superstitious type (I am) so for that to come out of his mouth meant more than anything. We had had a crap-tastic month with no mezuzot. I was quiet and shocked and he immediately said, with great resolve, "I am going to find the mezuzot tomorrow and put all of them up. We need a better month."

And so he did.

Friday was Circus Day and we had a grand time. The kids requested cotton candy (it was larger than their heads) and sat there, astounded, eyes glued to the performance. Every so often, one of them would turn to us and say in their little voices, "What in the WORLD was that!?" It was magical and still brings a smile to my face.

Immediately after it ended, I realized my phone and wallet had dropped. It's still August, I thought, devastated, knowing that Shabbat was about thirty minutes away. Security couldn't find it. I couldn't find it (even with fifteen minutes of intense searching with a baby on my hip). My husband then went to find it and came back with it in hand. RELIEF!

We walked home quickly, lit candles, ate our Shabbat meal, put the kids to bed, said our gratefuls, one of which was celebrating the end to one of the worst months of our lives.

* * *

The next afternoon, after missing for at least six months, I found my engagement ring. Randomly, on the floor, laying and twinkling at me just inside a cabinet door, like the planet hadn't just shifted beneath my bare feet.

I blinked and gently picked it up. I turned it over. It wasn't my imagination - it truly was sitting in my hand, sparkling and reflecting more than seven years of love.

Over a month prior to moving, I had shared my worst fears with hubby, that my ring was lost forever. I was even ready to says the blessing for recovering lost items (like I said, superstitious), but my husband had faith it would turn up - even dreamed that it would be found before our anniversary.

And so it did! And, yes, I've been wearing it every day since.

Immediately after finding my ring, I jumped up, ran into our room, leaped onto the bed, and woke my husband with a huge smile on my face. He shared in my joy and calmly said, "you know, it's also Elul (a new Jewish month)... and Monday is our anniversary."

I could have cried with the sheer relief of it all. The weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders.

So who cares that we now have to get up and take three kids to three separate Ganim? Who cares that we now have parental meetings and all sorts of extracurriculars to handle? Who cares that I'm remembering my mom's passing at the same time as celebrating my marriage? NOT ME.

My mom would be super happy for me. She met my husband and loved him as a match for me. She saw the ultrasound of my first baby and loved the perfect shape of his head. I have an amazing husband who takes me to the beach at night to celebrate seven years, with wine and cheese, fruit and dip, and crepes with chocolate and jam. I have three ridiculous children who smile and scream with delight every time I come home from work. I live in a lovely neighborhood with really kind friends nearby who honestly care about me. I get to keep up and share videos and photographs with my friends and family regularly because of technology. I may not be financially wealthy (yet), but I am rich because I have a full life.

It's not perfect and I'd like another baby (healthy!), but today, at the beginning of September, Elul, and the rest of our lives, I'll take it.

Trust, lots of trust, and a little anxiety on the side.

Thursday, August 29.

I woke this morning with a lot of anxiety.

A year ago, when I was re-diagnosed with depression, I was "lucky" enough (haha) to also get its accompanying 'kissing cousin,' a.k.a. anxiety. I had never really had anxiety before, but I have plenty of friends with anxiety disorders. I could always sympathize, but never quite empathize until now.

Over the past year, I've had good reason to be anxious about things, but, see, the thing about anxiety is that it doesn't always make sense. I remember this past Spring my husband telling me that he finally bought me and my baby daughter the tickets to America we'd been talking about so I could go see my dad; I literally had low-grade anxiety the entire day before bawling and freaking out once I walked in the door. He didn't quite understand and I had to explain. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, I said between tears. It's just ... big. A lot.

Time has passed and I've had a rough August. A really rough "f*ck you" kind of August. We moved, had all three kids off school/gan, commemorated my mom's English date of death, learned our thirteen-week old fetus wasn't healthy and had to make the choice whether to terminate the pregnancy, had to maneuver the hospital system to finally get it terminated the next week, studied and took two legal exams to become licensed in Israel, celebrate what would have been my mom's 79th birthday, and then get a scare that my blood clots (from ten years ago) came back.

To add to all the physical and emotional drama that I endured this month, there was also an intense amount of job drama as well. I'm pretty sure it'll resolve this week, but that's a lot of additional anxiety to heap onto my already formidable depression that I'm carrying on my shoulders.

In my attempts to resolve this job drama, I had to speak with my boss and share some personal information from this past horrendous month of August. She was sympathetic but told me that I need to trust a little more.

While processing my experiences this month, I had some (very brilliant) friends and family check in and share with me what they believed were insights. They were legitimate. Both involved trust.

My husband, while I was explaining my feelings and what was happening around me, said simply, "I guess Talya needs to learn trust."

In the span of three days, four separate people told me that I needed more trust.

But, in the past, when your boss fires you the week you're sitting Shiva for your mom, you've had your best friend suddenly accuse you of stealing her $15,000 engagement ring and file a police report against you for said accused felony (and never apologize once the ring was found), you've had boyfriends cheat on you, you've had family (temporarily) turn on you, and most recently, your body fail you, how do you regain that trust in anything? In others, in your workplace, in your body, in life, in G-d?

I can't simply "unexperience" this crap, I can't "unsee" or "unfeel" any of it.

But here's the food for thought that was provided to me - do with it what you will:
The opposite of anxiety is not tranquility. Nor is it peace, clarity, calm, or serenity.
The opposite of anxiety is trust.

When we are anxious, we are not trusting in ourselves, in G-d (if you believe), in others, or in things to pass.

In Hebrew, "worry" is "דאגה"
It has four out of five of the first letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The missing letter is "ב."
When we worry, we're missing בטחון - the trust (the security).

So I'm going to consciously take a leap and make an effort to trust again. Myself, others, and G-d ... How the hell do I do that? I guess by taking one step at a time: accepting emotions, meditation, visualizations, exercising/sleeping properly ...

לאט לאט.