A Missed Opportunity and a Sad, Sad Heart

I said goodbye to someone today, someone I'd always hoped would become a good friend. She's been our amazing children's room librarian for the past few years. We'd talk and I'd find myself wishing I could ask her out for coffee or something. I'm just missing that friendship gene or something- I have no idea how to make that leap from acquaintance to friend.

I was a bit of a shrew this afternoon with the kids. I managed to cook some very yummy corn soup (a weight watchers recipe) before totally losing it and taking a xanax. I lay down to nurse my bruised heart; Erik came home. There were tears, a back rub and even a little bit of feeling better.

I feel sad that she won't be at the library when we visit. I'm sick that I never took the jump and invited her and her husband to dinner. I'm sad for friendships that I've had, but no longer have- like every close and meaningful friendship I ever had in college. Adding fuel to this nostalgic fire is a mix tape that a college friend made for me. Erik came across it tonight, and hearing it play I'm missing my friend Kurt, remembering the time we danced to Deee-Lite at Wigstock. I wonder what these old friends are up to, and because I can't help myself, wonder how lame my years since college would seem against the accomplishments I imagine they've filled their cv's with.

I really wanted to figure out this friends thing this summer. I wanted to have people over, couples I think my husband and I would both enjoy getting to know as more than "Maya and Sam's mom and dad." We have a few more weeks till school starts, and this weekend I am going to formulate a plan for at least one get together before then.

edited to add: there've been a few times this summer when I've read a blog post and just felt heartbroken. Usually when one blogger that I really admire and feel a kinship with mentions their friendship with another blogger that I really admire. I'm so jealous, wanting to be their friend so badly, wanting them to know how much their writing resonates with me. It's silly, and yet not silly. Where are my soul-sisters? Where's my tribe? And more often than not- what is wrong with me?

Fell off My Bike

Do you remember that moment when you learned to ride your bicycle when you realized you were actually doing it? And as you reveled in the air going through your hair you faltered just for a second and promptly fell on your head?

That's where I've been the past two weeks. June was great. Filled with a lot of fun stuff, maybe a little too full. I was handling things, staying positive, taking one day at a time instead of worrying about my month full of busy-ness, parenting in a way that is meaningful and important to me, and most of all cheering my switch to Zoloft. And then boom, I fell.

We did not spend an entire weekend at home in June, and we won't spend a single July weekend at home either. I think one of my keys to sanity is to have downtime at home. May was so busy with end of the school year activities and appointments; I was proud that instead of panicking 'how will I do it all' I just told myself to look no further than the day at hand. And it was fabulous. I felt so capable, so calm.

June brought Maya's dance recital (a wonderful, but long, long day), a trip to NY, a family birthday party to attend in Gainesville, and then July 4th with my in-laws. The laundry was piled up. Dishes were in the sink even though we were not home. The children, and everyone else for that matter, got on my nerves incessantly. Way too much yelling at the kids and arguing with Erik. Lots of eating anything that wasn't nailed down. I dreaded making the July 4th trip, being away from home, having to be social and cordial with others. Even my husband wondered if my medicine stopped working. I must have had a strange, faraway look on my face, as he doesn't always know when I'm feeling badly. Everything was just becoming too much.

I indulged in several naps on July 4th, and slept a bunch despite the various events we attended. When I woke up on the 5th things didn't seem as awful as they had the whole week had. The rest of the weekend was nice, and when we got home I started in on the mountain of laundry. I'm still feeling more irritated by little things than I'd like to be, the house is messier than I'd like (yep, dishes still in sink. At least they're different dishes than before.), but for the most part I feel like I've climbed my way out of this hole. We're heading out on a roadtrip on Saturday. I'm feeling ok about the packing.

I'm reminding myself to return to basics. To remember hope. To enjoy the small things. To let go of perfection.

Order/Disorder

I have a need for order. When it becomes obvious that the disorder around me is overwhelming, I retreat, bury my head in the sand.

The backyard is full of disorder. I stay inside, or in the front yard. Despite not enjoying gardening in Florida (nor anywhere, truthfully), I am so bothered by the chaos out there that even a short photography stroll in the backyard leaves me wanting to roll up in a ball, cursing our inability to create anything nice.

The bedroom (kitchen, living room, Maya's room) is a mess, I flee to the computer.

I'm not living up to my academic standards in freshman chemistry, circa 1988. I stop attending class.

***

Maya has called me on my escape mechanism a few times in the last few days. "Mom! This is more important!" Ouch. She's 6. Who's being the grown up? Yes, Maya. Yes, Sam. Yes, Erik. You are more important than the computer. I got an email the other day that asked--what is keeping you from the life you want? Ouch.

I need the connections I make online. I need the wisdom. Yet I need to be able to step away and take action here at home. Whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to be the captain of this ship if I ever hope to have even the smallest showing of order around here. Erik doesn't see the piles, the disorder, and chaos. When I'm overwhelmed, it feels like they're swallowing me whole.

I'm scared. What if I do spend less time online, and more time making order out of chaos, and I fail? What if I can't attain the perfection or level of order my brain keeps insisting it needs? What if I become the family leader I want to be, and no one follows?

***

I've been in the house for the past three days on sick child duty. I had to get out of the house this evening after dinner (oh the incessant talking! the talking all at once, at me, as if I'm the only one who can help them), so I grabbed my camera and walked around the house.

The whole backyard practically gives me hives (how the trees have grown since they were scaled back courtesy Hurricane Charley), and one corner in particular makes me so upset. That's when I started trying to imagine myself out there, doing the work, with work gloves, a hat, and a big pair of clippers. Nope. Not me, not gonna happen. So, then, self, why oh why do you care if it is overgrown? If you're not willing to do something about it?

Because, my mind whines, becauuuuse. Because it should be nice. It should be trim. And the floodgates open up: I should have a clean house. I should be studying for the GRE, I should be applying to graduate school. I should be a better mother, wife, and employee. I should try harder to make friends. I should meditate. I should exercise. I shouldn't overeat. Ad nauseaum, ad infinitum.

Then it is time for me to leave the backyard before some tree spirit snatches me away. I return to the civilized front yard, discovered by my children, outside to play in the last few moments before bed.

This too shall pass. I have taken some baby steps in the house to lessen the chaos enough for me not to feel that it is closing in on all sides. I'm taking a great Pema Chodron e-course. I'm learning from Karen Maezen Miller that the crooked path is ok (just before I finally bought her book I won an autographed copy from her!). And look, even tonight, wandering outside feeling hopeless, there was this:

These gulfs of incomprehension bring the opportunity for spiritual growth and self-acceptance. Momma Zen, p 8, Karen Maezen Miller

Dear Internet

I send you messages in my head every day. Have you gotten them?

No? Drats.

Well, I will have to keep working on that brain to blog link up.

In the meantime, I'm holding steady. Or, sort of steady. I see the other side, I am almost there. Trying hard. Opening my heart to love, learning to let love lead the way. Fear has led for far too long. Trying to think less, talk less. Trying to just Be.

I kinda lost touch with hope for a few weeks. It's coming back I think. I'm witnessing, from afar: a mother's hope after the birth of her first sweet baby, who had two surgeries in her first week of life; a friend's hope, picking up the pieces after a beloved's suicide; another mother's hope as her baby undergoes care for a serious heart defect; and my sister's hope and strength as she navigates new terrain in her motherhood journey.

Despite the sensitive gal sensory overload event below, today wasn't so bad. Really.



See? A smile.

I've been trying to practice resilience this week. Monday was great, awesome. Wonderful therapy session, blue skies, a walk around the lake with the breeze keeping me cool. The ability to look at small things and appreciate them. I had decided to focus on my husband, to notice him, to be his friend, and not just co-parents of the same children. And somehow this was misinterpreted. It is hard to change patterns. Either the new efforts aren't noticed, or misunderstood. Add to that some work stress for him, and some hurtful things were said. Honest to goodness sobbing followed, on my part anyway. I just couldn't understand how my good intentions could have been twisted into something so hurtful. Here I was, working so hard to make things different. And boom. Explosions.

Emotions have always lingered for me. Wait, scratch that--negative emotions have always lingered. How many hours did I spend in my room as a kid/preteen/teen feeling that burn? Stoking the fire of sadness, anger. I find it difficult to accept an apology and move on. Things just hurt too much, and I need time to recover. And so it went on Monday night. I was pissed that my great mood was so fleeting, and wondered how long it would be till I could recapture it. I wondered how long the feeling of wishing I weren't alive would last (note: to me this feeling is very different than feeling like I'm going to actually run out and commit suicide. It is simply feeling so blue, so awful, so misunderstood that I wish I didn't exist). And then I tried something different. I am not sure if this idea was born from my head fully grown like Athena, but somehow I told myself that I could feel crappy all night Monday, but that on Tuesday I had to keep doing what I'd done Monday morning to feel so good. To continue trying to change my patterns of communication with my husband, even if he didn't understand the new pattern at first.

Like I mentioned yesterday I wonder about this. Did I not learn to handle my emotions well as a child? Is it a product of being anxious for as long as I can remember--did stewing feel better than worrying about everything, wondering if I was good enough, doing enough, doing things correctly and perfectly? Is falling down the rabbit hole of depression and gloom a product of having a mental disorder, or is it a habit I fell into somehow? What do "regular" people go through when they have a bad day? Do they just naturally bounce back, or do those days have the potential to multiply like dirty dishes piling up next to the sink?

I definitely believe that I need my medication. There is a place for new skills and coping mechanisms too. I know that I've been working so hard on myself for so long. When did life get so much harder for me? Was it having kids that made everything so much more complicated? Marriage?

Huh. I guess part of me wonders if I'm faking it. Have I just latched on to the word disorder as declared by my psychiatrist and therapist? Rationally I don't believe that, but the thoughts are down in there somewhere I suppose. I know my husband has a hard time with it. A broken arm, or diabetes, or a cold-those are things he can wrap his mind around. Generalized Anxiety Disorder? Not so much. Yet those three words have helped me understand my life so much better, and I really have been better able to translate myself and my behaviors for my husband.

So I think I'll go to bed with hope filling up my heart. I did turn the week around from the direction it was headed on Monday night. Whether it was my medication, an amazing meditation yesterday morning, self-talk and determination, or this nifty gadget for my Google home page giving me a smile every time I see it doesn't really matter. I just need to keep on practicing.

Lost in the Mazes of my Mind

There have been lots of words flying around inside my head this past week; I thought of starting a post often. But the thoughts and feelings felt too ugly, confusing, overwhelming. Why the ups and downs? Can't I have a happy period that lasts more than a month? Why do bad days stick to me-why can't I toss them off and move on? Why am I so stupid, lame, lazy, a bad mother, bad wife, bad housekeeper? And on, and on.

BipolarLawyerCook's post on Real Mental this morning really rings a bell for me. She wonders why she waits until she's running on empty before taking time for the things that she knows help bring emotional well-being and mental balance. Just yesterday I realized that I am sort of like an addict, who thinks she can have one drink, one hit- I think I can stay up late just one night. Then it is a whole week of late nights. Then no exercise, no calm mornings, no weight watchers and by the end of the week, you have one girl in a serious mess which takes all weekend to recover from.

It didn't help that this weekend was super busy. Chanukah service on Friday night in which the kids were singing, lighting candles, etc. Home at 10:30 pm. At school on Saturday am at 7:45 for Kindergarten holiday concert. Breakfast with Santa right after. Third grade concert at 9:30 (all of this was at school). Come home, collapse, don't sleep or accomplish a thing. Maya to birthday party. Sam and friend at house playing legos. Chanukah party at temple at 5 pm. I was beside myself in the car, and knew enough to take a xanax on the way there. I forgot everything: menorah for group lighting, side dish, canned goods and toy for donation. I did bring gifts for the religious school teachers, but had to stop at CVS on the way for tape; I did bring the scissors and wrapping paper. When we got there I felt utterly anti-social. Erik was upset about the things I didn't take care of all afternoon (he was at the party with Maya). Eventually I started feeling better and had a nice time with my friends and my family. Sunday morning we were out of the house again for religious school. In the afternoon I started the gobs and gobs of laundry piled everywhere.

So today I decided to stay home, and not judge myself for needing a day to right myself. I exercised, I'm doing more laundry. I'm sort of stalled now, I've been writing this post for a few hours. In my vision of today I'm flitting about the house, cleaning, decluttering, and making our house into the home I yearn for. I don't think I've gone into loads of details here about this, but a tremendous trigger for me is the clutter in my home. My husband is a pack-rat. Sometimes I truly feel on the edge looking around at all of the piles. It is like a tidal wave, knocking me over, too big to fight against. We've recently had some really good conversations about this (does me crying hysterically and him listening count as a conversation?)--he apologized for the last ten years (I've been asking him to declutter for that long) and for not truly understanding how his reluctance to throw stuff away affects my mental health.

The going is slow, of course. And nothing much can get done when you're scheduled to the hilt. Even with available time, it is hard to make a big difference. I feel like I don't have the perseverance and discipline needed for this. I get down about it so easily- I mean, we've been 'trying' the same thing for years and years. Duh. Of course it isn't going to get better.

Sigh. I have no idea where I'm going with this. Like I said, the thoughts are all jumbled up in here. Bless you if you've read this far.

In an hour I'm due at Sam's classroom to read a story and teach them about Chanukah. I'm still wearing my exercise clothing. The dishwasher is full of clean dishes. The laundry baskets are full of clean, unfolded clothing. And I'm still wandering the mazes in my mind, and wishing I had Ariadne to toss me a ball of string.

Re-entry

I struggle to maintain an even keel when returning home after a trip. It feels like there's never enough time to get organized for the week. There's a point when I look around and see the messes we'd left behind plus the bags we've just returned home with and I just want to scream. Instead of taking small steps towards progress I freeze up and attempt to bury my head in the internet sand.

At a recent session, my therapist suggested simply acknowledging that the first day or two back home is hard for me. Don't put too much pressure on myself to get everything organized or running smoothly. I really worked on that today- acknowledged that our late return yesterday had me feeling anxious, acknowledged that while I didn't feel ready for the week, the week was ready for me, and accepted that though today our bags remain packed, they'll be unpacked in due time.

Despite my wonderful walk this morning, I felt pretty crappy by early evening. Bags strewn all over the living room and hallway, backpacks and folders all over the family room, all kinds of stuff covering the dining and kitchen tables, and not an inch of kitchen counter space visible. Add one bizarre phone call from my mom and what do you get? Sobbing.

I'm floundering a bit in the chaos of re-entry into everyday life. It's ok though. My children gave me hugs as I cried. They asked why I was crying out of genuine concern for my well being. The four of us worked on the family room together, and got the backpacks in order for tomorrow. Despite the tears, I'm putting one foot in front of the other, doing the small things, and sitting with the discomfort of re-entry.

Rough Day

I always have a hard time on travel days. I don't really know why- I guess the stress of making sure everything is packed, everyone is ready, and getting out the door make me a bit more fragile than usual.

Today I sort of crumbled before my own eyes. The kids' clothing was all together, most of mine was out, and I got a breastfeeding call. As I was helping the mom, Maya came in a number of times telling me that she was done with her lunch. She has a terrible time waiting for me to be finished talking, or to realize that not every little thing she wants to tell me is urgent. I hated asking the mom to hold on a minute, especially when the important thing Maya had to tell me was that she didn't want to finish her yogurt, but could she please have some pecan pie. *imagine woman with steam coming out her nose and ears here* So I decide to finish the call while locked in the bathroom. Only we've somehow been disconnected. I try to call her back and get some weird message about only being able to make calls in my exchange. Huh? I never did get through to her, although she left a voice mail for me. I am hoping to get back to her again on Friday or Monday.

After that the kids were getting cabin fever, each one pushing the other's buttons, and then chasing each other around the house. Not good for a woman already hanging on by a thread. I was pretty much useless till Erik got home.

Earlier in the day I noticed that I was feeling butterflies in my stomach but not really knowing what they were about. I should have taken a xanax or ativan then; by the time Erik was home I felt I was on the way to a panic attack. Instead of talking to me about it, or seeing what I needed to do to calm down, he went about packing. I understand that he's definitely a do-er, so to him, getting us packed and on the road was the solution. I just needed a hug though.

I took an ativan and slept most of the ride to my in-law's. I was not myself at dinner or afterwards (escaped to bedroom), but I'm hoping a good night's sleep will do me good, and I can have a nice weekend.

I'm logging off and finishing the Yiddish Policeman's Union!

Full on Freakout Averted

So I was clearly starting to lose it last night. I think I only ended up with about 5.5 hours of sleep, and when the kids woke me to solve some dispute I had the same headache I went to bed with. Before I went to bed, my husband did reassure me that things would be ok today, and then he stayed up later and washed dishes. Yay!

I grabbed a journal this morning when we left the house, and I gave my pen a workout in the car. Here is some of what I wrote.

***

We're heading to religious school at synagogue. My head throbs, and I'm thirsty. My body has been in flux this week--not totally sure if it wants to menstruate or not. I'm kind of over that! Decide already body!

I'm worried about how I'm going to handle the five 4-6 year olds in my class this morning, and how much more wiped out I'll be when class is over. How hard it will be to come home and accomplish the tasks I wanted to do yesterday. Cleaning. Laundry. Maybe even sewing.

Last night I intended to finish editing a letter and return it to the author, post on the blog, and read the Yiddish Policeman's Union. Instead I hit refresh endless times on my email, read blogs and nytimes.com, and then hit refresh some more.

At 11:30 I was finally finished with the editing, and posted to the blog. My husband woke up around midnight, and we talked and watched tv. I shared my frustration with myself. At letting the day pass through my fingers. At not being present for the kids, him, for myself. For squandering opportunity, and time. How my head hurt from lack of sleep.

Now we're at temple and I'm waiting for my turn to teach. I'm relieved. Only two of my kids are here (and one is my daughter). I'm feeling much more optimistic about going home and getting back on track.

***

Erik helped me out with the two kids who were present today, and after a story we made some cool prints using homemade stamps. I used cardboard and styrofoam to create some Chanukah shapes. Next week we'll turn our prints into cards. At one point Erik said "Imagine all five of them were here?" Yes, I can imagine, and I'm thankful that it was a small group today. Although of course I feel bad about the kids who missed out.

Erik planned ahead for lunch; the kids got report cards last week. They had a coupon for a free meal at *gasp* McDonald's! It worked out really well for us today, I have to admit. We came home, and set to work on doing more laundry, putting laundry away, and tidying up. We're not ready for House Beautiful, but we've regained just enough control to help me feel better. And that is priceless.

Going Away Was Good but

I'm still out of sorts and off my schedule. Since I've returned home I've gone to bed after midnight every night, haven't exercised, and have eaten poorly. And here I am, up late again, feeling headache-y from lolling around in bed and avoiding life all day. Laundry is in several baskets (clean, not folded) with more to do out in the garage. The sink hasn't been fully emptied and cleaned in days. Crap.

Recovering

Have you ever been getting over an illness and suddenly realized just how very sick you were? Over the past few weeks, as I've been climbing out of a black hole I fell into, I realized that I fell into it almost a year ago. I realized that I was just going through the motions on many days and simply getting by.


Since last fall I've felt that my paxil had stopped working for me. My psychiatrist increased the dose (I think that was in December) and then again in the spring. Sometime in early fall my daughter's dance teacher asked us not to change in the bathroom and to use the changing room, so that others could access the bathroom. We'd been using the bathroom since she was halfway taking her clothing off to use the toilet so I had figured that it was just quicker. The teacher's request was totally reasonable, but I nearly burst into tears and had an awful, stung sensation in my core. I think it is related to the first grade incident I talked about the other day. Ordinarily, with the help of therapy and my medication, I've been able to shake off this feeling and go on with life. I noticed that I still felt stung and shamed the next day. I continued to feel unwell mentally as both my sister and sister-in-law talked about moving further away from where I live. My wonderful therapist helped a lot, but often I would wonder how on earth she could tell me I was doing so well when I felt so awful. I was so tired of feeling bad, and wondered if the only way to stop it was to end my life.



Sometime this spring my therapist said that I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and most likely have since I was a young child (like four or five years old). I've been in therapy on and off since college. I've been taking paxil for a number of years now, but that was the first time anyone ever mentioned GAD. I've always known I was tense, high strung, and a worrywort. But this, this was such a relief! Things started making sense, although it has still been a long journey.


At the end of the school year I would climb into bed and practice "benign neglect" of my children. Except I don't think it was completely benign. I don't believe in always entertaining my kids, but when I look back at those last six weeks of school I really didn't interact with them much. My husband put them to sleep most of the time. I did no crafts with them, didn't read with them. I don't mean that I was completely isolated from them. We had snuggles of course, and I did a lot of things with them over the summer. However I really did take to bed as much as possible. And in order to avoid the things that were upsetting me, I spent huge amounts of time on the internet.


Despite feeling so trapped by the anxiety, I did do a lot this summer; I'm amazed looking back. I volunteered at one of my kids' summer camps, I took the lactation exam, attended a conference where I had a lot of responsibilities to fulfill. And finally, I saw the psychiatrist again. Since I've been able to look at my symptoms under the lens of anxiety (and not depression, which is what I'd always thought was my primary problem), I described to her the physical symptoms that dog me--intense butterflies in my stomach, an anxious feeling in my chest, tingling in my arms. She peered at me from over the top of her glasses and said " You are having Way Too Many physical symptoms and medicine can help with that. I'm going to increase your prescription again. Most people would have been on this dose two years ago." I felt so relieved to hear this--I can't think of a time when I haven't experienced these symptoms more days than not! I sat in the car after the appointment, and told my husband, crying tears of relief.

I've been on the increased dose for a few weeks now. About two weeks ago I could tell that it was helping, because I did some things that I haven't been able to do for the past six months--I cleaned the bathrooms. I've attacked clutter in the family and living rooms (clutter is a huge trigger for me). My heart races far less. When I am feeling anxious, one or two deep breaths, along with reminding myself that everything is ok, calms me down.

I keep finding myself thinking about the past year, and shaking my head. I don't know how it got so awful. Even though I knew what to do to help myself, it was nearly impossible to do those things (get a good night's sleep, eat well, exercise). It astonishes me that it has taken nearly a year to feel like myself again. (There are small voices whispering in my ear that others have suffered far worse years, and I feel like erasing everything I've written here. I'm going to resist that though.)

It is such a relief to have energy, to realize that small steps in removing clutter or doing dishes or working on projects *does* do some good. I am sure I will have bad days sprinkled among the good ones, but I'm so glad to be living more fully again, and I'm excited to dream some dreams and go after them.

Getting to the Root of Things

Last week I received letters from each of my children's teachers. And each one resulted in tears. My tears, not my children's tears.

Neither letter contains anything that signifies the end of the world. Neither is beyond remedying. So why the tears? Worse than the tears--why the ache in my heart and stomach?

I'm not one of those "helicopter mothers." While of course I take pride in my children's accomplishments (geez, they are 8 & 5, accomplishments sounds a bit much, no?), I don't live through them. So what on earth is my deal?

I thought about it all weekend. I think that I'm particularly sensitive to any hint of rebuke from teachers because of an incident that happened when I was in first grade. I was shy (and anxious!) and did not want to read aloud to the class when called upon. I can still see the illustration accompanying the text about a mail man in my mind's eye. The teacher called me to her desk, and asked me to bring my reader. She took the reader from me, as punishment, and I recall going back to my desk crying. I didn't go home and tell my parents; they eventually heard it from the teacher herself at parent-teacher night. My mother, also a teacher, was furious that I'd had a book taken from me.

After letting the tears out, and having lots of time on Yom Kippur to ponder this, I re-read the email from my daughter's teacher. I can see that I read the note as an indictment of my parenting. Add that to my sensitive nature, and this apparently unresolved first grade incident, a 24 hour fast, and boom. It ain't pretty. I hope that I can excise the hurt that I am still carrying around, and figure out how to hear from my children's teachers without reverting to that crying first grader.

The Problem with Perfectionism

Yesterday I baked and cooked and baked some more for Rosh Hashanah. I was vaguely anxious all day, hoping I'd get everything done on time. A few times I noticed my anxiety, and tried to calm myself. What was I so worried about? No guests were coming, this was simply a meal for our family.

By the time we sat down I had a headache and was all worked up. The chicken wasn't done yet, it was already 7 pm, the kids' bedtime was already weighing on me (they don't have today off), and then Sam started complaining about the texture of the butternut squash--normally his favorite vegetable.

Then the voices started- see, why do you try so hard, it never turns out how you wanted it anyway? What's wrong with you--should have gotten the chicken cooking earlier (never mind that you were at Maya's dance class)? What kind of a parent are you that your kids don't just eat their food without a litany of complaints?

And it occurred to me--when you are a perfectionist you really don't allow yourself to enjoy a damn thing! You're filled with anticipatory worry about all the things that could go wrong, and then when anything ends up differing from your vision of perfection you are upset at your perceived failure.

Every year at Rosh Hashanah I pray for G_d to help me to live a happy life. I'm so envious of those who seem to have happiness come to them so easily. I pray that this will be the year that I will learn to stop shooting myself in the foot, that this will be the year that I will be a patient mother, a loving, non-critical spouse, and that I will do the things that I know (in theory) will help with my rampant anxiety. And so often I am feeling like a failure even before the end of the first full day of the new year.

Fixing Leaks

Have you ever felt like you are trying to stop the water from coming through the dam, only there are too many holes for you to keep up with? That's what the last two months or so have felt like for me. I can't keep up with all of these holes. As soon as one hole seems repaired I spring a leak somewhere else. It's been hard to keep my head above water.

In the past few weeks I've had to force myself out of bed, force myself to interact with my husband, my children, to make good on my responsibilities. I had to pretend everything was ok for my son's birthday party and my mom's visit, for my volunteering stint at the kids' camp.

I drove past a sign at the entrance to a senior's trailer park that said Wake Up--Survive--Go to Bed. That's pretty much what I was doing, and instead of laughing, as those who hung the letters intended, I cried. I was overwhelmed by everything. Irritable. Wondering how to get out of this place in my mind.

I've often wondered, why does life seem so much harder for me than for other people? Why can't I just be happy? And then quickly shushed myself, telling myself that I have a wonderful life which should make me very happy, and that there are so many others who live much harder lives.

My therapist tells me that I've had Generalized Anxiety Disorder since I was a kid, and that while I have felt the affects of this that I've coped really well throughout my life. I feel relieved to hear this. Yes, there is something wrong with me. I'm not imagining the difficulties I perceive. The stomach aches are real. The jittery and wiped out feelings after being in certain situations are real.

I've worked harder to find the ways to explain what I've been going through to my husband. I'm not just a bitchy person. When I freak out, it is my trying to deal with the overload in my head. When I do nothing, it is not because I'm lazy, but because I'm paralyzed and can't see a way out. I had to tell him things I was embarrassed about, like considering how to end the pain when medicine and therapy don't seem like enough.

Yesterday I started feeling more like myself. Still overwhelmed, still anxious. But I got some things done. I felt spring in my step instead of dread. I'm paralyzed today, looking around my home, it seems doubtful that any cleaning I do can make any sort of difference. I'm still hopeful though, and I know that somehow, I can get through this.

Goodbyes

I've never been good at goodbye. At the end of our annual visit to my grandparents in San Diego I would be in tears as we said goodbye before leaving for the airport. My parents would want one more picture, and I would inevitably be in tears.

Tonight we called my husband's sister and her family. Tomorrow they are moving from a town 2.5 hours away from us to Hawaii. When we saw them a few weeks ago I was very standoffish. I couldn't bear being close to them that weekend, knowing I'd have to say goodbye soon. Tonight I apologized for acting like a jerk when we had time together, and of course burst into tears. She's not just my sister-in-law, she's my friend. We can talk about pretty much anything. She may not have lived in my town for the past few years, but she is pretty much my closest friend geographically.

It's true what they say about anger--there is usually another emotion behind it. I thought I was angry at them, but truly, I'm just oh-so-sad.

Friendship

When I was a kid, my mother was always reassuring me that the day would come when making friends would be easier for me. Don't worry, she'd say, there are more kids in High School. Then, oh, in college you'll meet people you have more in common with. When you're a parent you'll meet lots of people in your new town.

Caroline at Potato Prints wrote about friendship today. Her drawing really resonates with me. Looking from the outside in, wanting to be a part of that closeness, or fun, and yet being too scared to step forward. It is so lonely.

When commenting to Caroline I realize: I've lived here for eight years. I don't think 'I'm new in town' is my problem anymore. My son is entering third grade and my daughter will attend kindergarten at the same school next year. I know friends won't just jump out and attach themselves to me. I do feel like I'm different than most people here. I grew up in a big city, most folks grew up in this small town. I encounter many folks who've learned racist attitudes from their parents. I cannot get close to someone who believes that type of thing. Where is my bosom buddy?

My daughter is very extroverted. I've had to stretch my boundaries for her. I need to do it more. It is hard for me to arrange play dates for my kids, and yet, how will they learn about friendship if I don't make it possible for them? Yes, they play with kids at school and camp, but we don't often have a child over to play.

Somehow I need to push myself out of this friendless zone, for myself.

Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

up and down up and down. My mooods have always been that way. I think I have a little less swing as I've gotten older and learned more about myself, but sometimes I just can't help it.

This week is one of those weeks. So many things to feel up about, but yesterday has pretty much negated the up feeling. I had a terrible time with my son yesterday afternoon. It is hard to even contemplate. I did apologize for my inappropriate actions; he did too, and I am hoping he understands a little better what we ask of him. I do think there is something deeper going on with him, which is a reminder that I need to be present for him in the afternoon, instead of getting caught up in my own things.

I also had a terrible fight with my husband. I regretted a lot of what I said. I apologized when I realized the damage I had done. I was also able to apologize this morning for the whole thing. I'm not much of a kidder. I tend not to like silly jokes, and I've been called "too serious" often. He'd made a comment that just set me off after a bad day. After a night's sleep I was able to acknowledge that it was a harmless comment and that I didn't need to let my emotions run away with themselves like that. That is a step in the right direction, as I'm usually unable to recognize that what I've done maybe wasn't necessary. And if I do recognize it, I have a damn hard time admitting it!

I haven't been doing my grateful journal every night for the past few nights. And for a lifelong pessimist I have definitely found keeping track of what I'm grateful for useful. I will make sure to do it tonight.

When I go home this afternoon (soon!), I will be present with the kids. I will not try to get other things done (well, I might crochet in their presence, but that's ok, right?). I want to be fun mommy, not raging, raving lunatic mommy.

Ok, so three steps forward, two steps back, and maybe another one forward.

Thank You Tooth Fairy

I've been in a fairly sullen mood today. It was wonderful to go into my little girl's room tonight and retrieve the tooth hidden under her pillow and quickly put a dollar in its place.

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My kids took these pictures of each other the other day, hanging from trees like sloths.

Demons

Megan posted a great creative challenge at CAC on Sunday. We all have demons, and drawing them and giving them a name can help us as we try to overcome them.

First up, Olivia Overwhelm



Sometimes I feel like a glass of water. When I become overloaded (very often it is a sensory thing, I become overstimulated by what surrounds me visually- aka clutter!) I feel like the water is flooding out of me and over me.

Tabitha Twig comes along just when I can't take the water rushing over me anymore.



I feel brittle and I just go snap.

Tornado Tina and Tidal Wave Tammy are also involved when I'm feeling overwhelmed



When the tidal wave comes ashore and drenches me, my tornado whips into action. I often rush around, trying to escape the awful feeling of being overwhelmed, overstimulated, and when I find nowhere that fits the bill I holler and express anger.

The next two demons often come out when I feel like I can't fight the overwhelming feelings anymore.



I do get so discouraged sometimes that I can hardly take care of day to day things. Granite Girl is positively paralyzed by the amount of work that needs to be done; instead of trying to take things one step at a time, she remains sedentary.

Super slug is not so super. She believes it is for the best that an object at rest tends to stay at rest. Even if going out might improve her mood, she likes to hang out in her pajamas in her bedroom at home, and resists all efforts to try to improve a situation.

Oh boy, I hope I don't scare you all off ;) I have a lot of demons it seems--I actually have two more in mind to draw! Two things I'd like to represent this way are anxiety and my sensitivity, which isn't necessarily a demon, but feels like a liability when I'm exposed and deeply hurt.

As I mentioned the other day, my kids were interested in what I was doing. We chatted and I drew these for them:



My 7.5 yo son tends to whine instead of speak. And lately my 5 yo daughter has been very moany. I'm thinking that these drawings are a good way for all of us to recognize the facets of our personalities that we can work on to make family life more pleasant for all.

Off Kilter

Our family has been a bit off kilter lately. My daughter is falling to pieces at the slightest provocation. I'm tired and cranky, and don't have a lot of reserves to deal with it. We were in a pretty good place as far as the clutter/cleanliness balance goes, but we've lost it and can't quite regain the balance.

Today I realized that this is not the first time that this has happened to me in March- two years ago we were getting ready to go to the Bahamas for spring break. I told my husband and his family that I absolutely needed some time to simply sit and relax on the beach. It was a great vacation, and I went home refreshed and ready to be mom in charge again. I don't recall what we did last spring break, but I do remember this same drained feeling. Maybe it is a changing of the seasons thing.

We're trying to hash out what we're going to do over spring break. Husband wants to take a sort of long road trip; I'm not sure that will bring me the relaxation I crave.

On the bright side- the orange trees must be blooming, because their delicate scent is filling the air here. There is nothing like the smell of orange blossoms.

P.S. A bunch of really cool parenting posts at Oh My Stinkin Heck.
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Three

Lots of food for thought there.