"I don't know how you do it"

circa 2012

 May 23, 2012

Mr. Scabs mother always says to me, "I don't know how you do it."

Not referring to his sex addiction (although, she wonders that too) but to his adventuresome and spontaneous spirit.  When Mr. Scabs plans something we find ourselves flying by the seats of our homemade pants!

I love a good adventure, the luck of spontaneity always finds me in a good place when I've wandered the world.  I suppose those are some of the reason I fell in love with him.

There was no hesitation when Mr. Scabs planned a last minute getaway to celebrate our daughter turning 10.  I packed a skirt, a toothbrush and a bottle of sunscreen.  Forty-eight hours later we found ourselves swimming in the waves of the Pacific Ocean, inhaling it's sweet humid air.

In another life, our daughter was a mermaid.  Sea water runs in her veins and her blue-green eyes darken and brighten with her mood, just like the ocean in calm or in storm. The water makes her confident and endlessly happy!  Our golden-haired mermaid.

Although it's strange to be vacationing as a family again, there were so many wonderful things about leaving life behind for a few days.

Stress washed off our shoulders and I watched my husband play and build deeper connections with our children.  I saw his kindness and love.

I was beginning to think it would never happen and then my almost 4 year old pooped in the toilet and peed on a tree!  That's considered potty-trained at my house.  We did the big boy dance!
circa 2012- Hurray for my Boy!
I witnessed this expression of tenderness.  Not sure if this was voyeuristic but I was absorbed by their obvious love as they waded the briny shallows for their first glimpse at the world under the waves.

circa 2012 

Amidst all this, I still felt a hazy sourness.  I couldn't find my happiness or my usual optimism.  A disjointed zig-zag rippled through me and I let it reach my heart.  I let it determine how I was going to react to the Asian triggers that seemed to be jumping out from behind every tree.  It's like they knew and were bent on tormenting me.  Their bikinis were stringier and stringier until you would barely recognize it as a swimsuit.

I saw Mr. Scabs purposely look away, obviously aware of my pain.  Many times his finger reached over to wipe the tears falling from under my sunglasses.  He guided me away from the Asian eateries and hooked my pinky finger with his.  So many times he expressed his sorrow, he didn't know we'd come in such close contact with trauma induced triggers.

I'm still feeling this pain.  Days later, it's lingering.  Whispering in my ear, taunting me, begging me to give into the hurt and embrace a teetering depression.  It's a battle.

Really, I could make anything a trigger.  My mind can connects dots that don't even exist.  I could release a single tear drop that morphs into a bomb, letting a mushroom cloud spread, darkening everything I see.  The emotional self control it takes to keep a trigger self-contained is behemoth!

I'm not there yet.

For those of you who can, I echo my mother-in-laws words, "I don't know how you do it?"