(When typing the title for this post, I couldn't help but remember one of the opening scenes from City Slickers where Billy Crystal's character's mom calls him on the morning of his birthday, after which he says he's glad she said his age in years this time instead of months. Love that movie!)
So here I am, 369 months old, and what's going on with me? I'm a stay-at-home mother of two amazing children who, I will admit, is struggling a bit. I know I'm not as happy as I should be. I know because I keep reading books with titles like "This Is Not the Life I Ordered" and "The Happiness Project". I know because I feel myself not smiling so much of the time. I know because I started having stress-related chest pains a few months ago. I know because I've been here before, feeling this whole depression washing over me like a crappy summer rain that spoils your picnic and sends you running for the car. I am thirty years old; shouldn't I have my shit together by now? (Pardon my French ...)
My mom (Hi, Mom!) has been asking me a lot lately if I'm okay. "You seem quiet today," she said to me the other day at lunch. She can see that the little things are starting to get to me more than usual; my veneer is starting to crack and crumble. I haven't known exactly why things have been so off lately, but I'm starting to figure it out.
Part of it is that I am struggling with a lot of internal stuff. ADD has virtually hijacked my brain and I'm finding myself having trouble with the most basic of tasks; taking a shower now takes upwards of 30+ minutes because my mind wanders and keeps me from getting done with my shower in a timely fashion, making lasagna takes nearly three hours (including cook time) because simply going from one step to another is arduous and man does lasagna take a lot of steps to make, and so on and so forth. Add to that all the demands of being a mom and I have been finding myself getting very overwhelmed on a daily basis. By the end of the morning, trying to get us ready for this or that or nothing at all, I am exhausted, frustrated, and feeling pretty bad about how I have handled things.
From there, my depression easily takes over and adds more weight to my already sinking ship; I start to pile on, thinking of future situations and how I'm going to handle them, thinking even further into the future about how Baylor and Mollie will end up because of my mothering, thinking, and thinking, and thinking. I borrow trouble like it's my job, and I do it well. I carry so many worries and weight on my shoulders and in my heart, and these worries can often bring me to the point of paralysis. All of a sudden I don't know what to do, what on earth my next step should be. I can think of a million things I could/should/want to do, but choosing just one to act on feels nearly impossible.
When life gets like this and the choices and steps and minutia of daily doings get to be too much, my brain seems to switch over to an impulsive mode; all of a sudden I feel like I have to do something to make myself feel better. Thoughts swirl in my head, "I want a tattoo, how quickly can I get one?", "I am so sick of this hair on my head ... I should just call Aja (my hair stylist) and have her buzz it off. At least I could donate it to someone who wants it", "I have to go ______ to get _______." My body hums with the urge to move and I fixate on it for what feels like an eternity until at once I realize that none of this can happen. I don't have enough money for the tattoo (I want another tattoo in non-freak-out moments, too, so it's not just an impulse), I would likely miss my hair (and heaven knows how the kids would react if I got rid of it), and I don't typically have to do anything. On top of all those realizations is the fact that I can't just leave, fleeing to whatever impulse I think will make me feel better; I have my beautiful children to take care of, impulses be damned. I am so glad I get to be home with them to care for them on a daily basis, but when moments like this hit - and lately they've been coming much more frequently - I can feel myself crumbling, breaking down from the inside out. And they deserve better, much better, than a mother who is just barely keeping it together. I want to radiate joy. I want to provide for them the stability I think they need and know they deserve. I want to have an abundance of patience at the ready. Hell, just keeping the house neat and tidy (and relatively clean) would be awesome.
So what do I do? How do I get past this?
*sigh*
I'm not sure yet. I think about it daily, wondering what in the world I can do differently to make things better, to make me better. I have a therapist and psychiatrist on board to help, but a lot of this has to come from me.
So the question remains ... where do I begin?
(This post is not meant to beg for pity or help. It isn't meant to make anyone in my life feel bad because it isn't about anyone else but me. No one else is the problem. The reason I write all this is because, for one thing, it feels good to just get it off my chest. And, in case someone else is out there feeling something similar, I want them to know that they aren't alone.)
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