I want to tap out. I really do sometimes. It's not just a nifty name for a clothing brand. This is something you do in (fair) fighting to admit you are defeated. I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "Jesus never tapped out." This person totally got the point of the phrase and in the last few weeks, the phrase has repeated in my mind. This is me, throwing in a towel because it's drenched in sweat, I'm not getting the job done, and my moments of rest are not enough. I want to tap out.
I'm usually much like a toddler. I will do my best to do it all and not stop until I'm a crying heap on the ground. I will do it all because no one can convince me I can not. And this is one of those moments when I want to tap out. It's the best moment to write about it.
I'm still in the process of moving. Not physically. Not careers. Blog spaces. I loved my WordPress blog but wanted to shift directions. There were great moments of exponential growth in my old playground, but there's this murky area I'm in now. I want it to be more than fun. I'm not yet at a business level, and it was time to change. I'm now learning Squarespace, and if you were once signed up for updates, you'll have to sign up again. And I get to learn about mailing lists and even newsletters. I've never done that before. Be patient. For a while, there were no posts. For a while, I didn't know what to do or how to do it. I was lost and wanted to quit. I wanted to tap out. But I'm here. And if you found me, you are too and that is what perseverance and tenacity look like, right?
A couple of weeks ago while on my lunch break, I got news of a family emergency. I have a huge family and emergencies happen more often when there are more people for them to happen to. It's an averages/math thing. My first concern was making sure I had arrangements in place for my kids. I rely on my family for after school care while I work. When something happens, we shift as a family to support where we can. I left early to get my kids that day.
On my lunch break the next day, I was looking at a book in the nearest bookstore. It was the Honest Body project by Natalie McCain. I flipped through the pictures, encouraged and proud of the shape of my own body.
I opened the book to a full spread that kept my attention. It was a beautiful picture of a woman. She shared her story about her c-section scar, which is all she had left of her child. I stood in that store and forgot where I was. I cried for our children, realized how much I'm still mourning their loss, and wanted to tap out.
A few days later I was called to pick my family member up from the hospital and I really wanted to tap out. It wasn't that I had already gotten in to work late because of a Kid3 meltdown. It wasn't the hour and a half commute to get to the hospital after work . . . after the 2 hour commute to get there because I had a late start. It was the memories that started plaguing me from the moment I found out about the emergency a couple of days prior. Too many similarities allowed me to wallow in the gaping ache of losing my children.
It was too familiar for me. The situation reminded me of the day I found out I was pregnant with the twins I lost. I had stayed up all night with back pain. I finally called an ambulance in the morning after the boyfriend went to work. I found out I was 3 weeks along. I was transferred to another hospital because insurance will do that. I ended up a few rooms and hallways down from the person having a medical emergency now. My mom went back and forth from my room to another room because in this situation, she needed to be present for both of us.
I wanted to tap out then. I didn't want to be pregnant and have a gall bladder full of stones. I didn't want the physical pain I was in. I didn't want to start over with a baby. Several weeks later I would have that gall bladder removed, at great risk to the pregnancy. After the surgery, my prenatal visit told me it was twins. As they grew, so did my love for them. They had my love and hope. I imagined a life with them and tried out several names to see how they fit in my mouth and I imagined them calling out to each other. They were miracle babies and I was created to mother them. Then one day their hearts stopped beating and I would need to have a D and C to remove them. There is still so much pain and heartache when I see that hospital. The last time I walked those halls for a Kid3 emergency, the smell was familiar and painful. I felt sick and wanted to tap out.
Right now there are stresses and situations in my life that are taking my attention. Not all of these stories are mine to tell. I find ways to contribute and control the heck out of what I can, so that I can let go of what I can't control. I volunteer where I can. I donated blood yesterday, knowing there's always a shortage every day. I'm staying in bed as much as I can today, because I need this moment to breathe, and take care of myself so that the week ahead is one I can focus on intentionally.
I may want to tap out, but I remember that a setback that might want to hold me, can be a launch pad if I know how I intend to land. I can choose to look for the positive. I can remind myself that worrying as time crawls slowly is living in the past. Worrying I don't have enough time is living in a future I can't predict. Things can change. They always do. And a pity party is fueled with worry. Worry is a waste of my imagination, and no one shows up to pity parties, so I can't expect gifts when I try to have them. The most important thing to remember is a tap out, should I choose one, is only a moment to shift my perspective and keep trying. I'm not quitting. That's never an option.