Wednesday, April 24, 2013


I leave my therapist’s office, get on the elevator and press ‘LL’ until it lights up.  My brain is weary from all the talk. I feel typical and middle-aged and lavish and, not a little bit, mentally ill.

Mother issues, blah blah blah,
Adoption issues, meh.
Spiritually searching, sigh.
Mid-life… can’t even.

I’m leaving my therapist’s office in Bevery Hills for godsake.

The elevator stops and in rolls a mother, wheeling her daughter, maybe 3 or 4 years old. The little girl is strapped into a wheelchair. Not one of those temporary wheelchairs that you see on TV being used to move a new mom from the hospital to her car (with her brand new baby) or transporting some skier or skateboarder (with a freshly set cast) down a crowded hallway. It’s one of those wheelchairs that is lived in. With food crumbs deep in the crevices  With extra pouches and pockets to carry necessary things. Like medicines. And probably shots. A change of clothes. And wipes.

The strapped-in daughter writhes, randomly contorting her body, her spirit determined to be freed. The mother doesn't seem to notice these jarring jerking movements, or her daughter's head as it thuds against the worn fabric of the wheelchair. She is used to this. This is not new to her. But she is weary.

I am weary too, I think. But not possibly that weary. For godsake, how dare I compare? I actively shrink myself, fold my feelings, a spoiled napkin, the messy parts inside, making it smaller and smaller, until it’s an indistiguishable wad.

‘LL’ lights up and we all exit the elevator, I scramble to help, awkwardly extending my arm to keep the door open, it hasn’t tried to close, but I need something to do.  The mother manuevers out with ease.

She turns right and I turn left.

But the wad is still there, compressed in my chest. I try to remember we are both allowed our weariness. I try to remember that my portion is mine and hers is hers. I try not to judge myself for being grateful that mine is mine and hers is hers.


  1. raw, honest and beautiful. thank you Kimberlee. x

  2. Sooooooo true!!! Love you!