There are many reasons why I feel tired all of the time. Work, motherhood, thyroid disease, my husband’s limited physical abilities. My only break from any of this (save for my thyroid disease) is during my commute to and from work. I sit on a bus and I have time for myself. And unless I can stay awake at night, then I also have time for myself. I don’t think that’s enough for somebody who’s constantly got so much heaped on her plate. When things start to become too much, I have my meltdown. I go to therapy once a week, and it’s starting to come to light just how much of a break I truly need.
I love my kid. I love being around him. I love being with him. If it were an option, I’d be a stay at home mother and be able to pick him up from school before 5 and hang out with him. But I need a break. I need my husband and son to vacate the premises of my home for a few hours so I can have peace and quiet. I will leave my home on Saturdays to run errands – that is not time to and for myself. That is time doing things for everyone else in addition to doing things for me. That is NOT time for myself. Time for myself is doing things that I want to do for me – sitting and reading, writing, grabbing my coloring book and pencils, watching some of my DVR, working on another puzzle. None of that consists of hearing the name “Mommy” nine thousand times or being asked to pick up this, that and the third from the grocery store and oh, please get me an iced coffee or a Slurpee.
I’m just tired of being tired. I want a day where I can sit on my couch, stare out my window and sip my coffee before it gets cold. Check my emails, work on my Young Living business, read my book, writing with my friends like I used to. I don’t think it’s asking for much, right? When I traveled to Charlotte a few months ago for work, I was upset because I was going to be away from my kiddo even if it was just for a day. That night, I got to my hotel room and looked around. I just stood there for a moment and took it all in. Peace, quiet, nobody asking anything of me. A bed to myself. A tv to myself. I started to feel guilty for having this moment. Why though? Why the heck should I feel bad about this? I shouldn’t.
I know this sounds like a boatload of complaining, but I cannot be alone in this. I know I’m not. I’m not one of those people who ask for much at all, I’m not a demanding person by any means. The things I do ask for, the things that I do truly want, should not be THIS impossible to get. There’s a few things that have crossed my mind lately and I’ve had to give it a lot of thought. And I still am, if we’re going to be honest here. About things that may help alleviate all of this pressure, to help me feel less run down and pulled in ten different directions. I have always told myself that when I’m not happy with something in my life, it’s up to me to change it. I can’t rely on others to do that for me, and quite frankly as a grown woman it’s ridiculous to be going to others and saying, ‘HI, SOLVE MY PROBLEMS FOR ME THANKS.’ Something has to change, and my gut has been telling me exactly what it is for the past six months.
I should probably listen to my gut, it’s never failed me in my 38 years of existence and I don’t think it will begin to, either.
Yes, you read that right. Once I get it out there, it becomes more real. And it’s scary to talk about the things that break you down because then that leaves you feeling raw, vulnerable. And those are feelings that terrify me the most. I go to therapy once a week. I sit with my therapist for 45 minutes, and it’s easy because he doesn’t judge me. He has no personal attachment to me, so it’s not scary for me to open up and get to the root of some of the issues that I have. When I leave my appointment, I’m tired and I just want to go to sleep. It’s not that simple because I have to go back to work and pretend to be 100% there.
I’ve been working on a lot in my appointments, I’ll say that much. There are things that I’ve come to terms with, things that I’ve learned how to handle. A lot of the time it’s all works in progress. Three weeks ago, I told my therapist that it was time to remove Facebook & Instagram from my phone. This was something he and I had discussed before, I just didn’t ever pull the plug because I felt this pressure to keep up at it. I lived in a time before social media was ever a thing, nobody should be aghast that another doesn’t post every little facet of their life on a site for public consumption. Yet, here we are.
A little bit before December, I started spiraling down a very dangerous rabbit hole of depression and anxiety. Nothing made me happy. Nothing interested me. I just wanted to sleep, not even eat or drink. I couldn’t find joy in the things I always did. I found myself scrolling through Facebook and Instagram at night and being so angry, feeling so incredibly worthless. But why? I have a great life, I know that I do. But anxiety kept telling me that it wasn’t enough. That Person A was going on these luxurious vacations and Person B looks terrific even without makeup, and Person C’s husband seems so loving and attentive. And then there’s the, “So they’re going out and having fun without me” and the “I’m not cool enough to be invited?” feelings. Those are always fun (not really).
I continued to beat myself up, and then something happened that was the straw in the camel’s back. I spent the holiday season in complete misery, pretending that I was okay when once a week for 45 minutes I would reveal that I’m just not okay. I continued to beat myself up over so many things, to sink further into a depression that often left me not wanting to get up and out of bed and be a functioning human being. I would look at myself in the mirror and say, “It must be nice for people to wake up and not have to worry about being ugly.” Then I would feel like I am a burden, that I’m exhausting. “They’re better off without me.” It got that dark, it got that scary. It stayed like this for awhile, even past the new year.
I may have been a distant person for months on end. It’s not because I don’t care, but I have to be selfish and take care of myself. For years, I have been everything to everyone. I neglected my own mental health so much that it caused me to end up in the deep end of the pool and nearly drowning. I knew that it was unfair of me to bring my issues to someone else’s life, and that if I couldn’t take care of myself I couldn’t be expected to be a good friend to anyone. I had to go through my own shit, for lack of better words. I wasn’t good company for anyone, I didn’t even like to be left alone to my own devices.
Finally, I decided that it was time to make a change. Facebook and Instagram were removed from my phone, of course I can go on the websites and all but there’s no more app. There’s nothing there to distract me or for me to waste time scrolling through and feeling like my life is boring, or that I’m too ugly or fat. It’s been three weeks, and I feel less angry at the world. I feel less angry at myself. I’ve been enjoying time not plugged into a social media outlet. I hardly get time to boot up the laptop, and when I do I’m looking up DIY projects or trying to find some new craft projects for me and my son to do together.
In the past three weeks, I’ve found new hobbies and I’ve rekindled old ones. I’m even starting to write my cookbook – something I’ve always wanted to do. I have no desire to curate my life on social media, to make it look so perfect. We’re held to this expectation that everything HAS to be if you’re going to share it on social media. We choose to share only the good things, we choose to curate our lives to look flawless for everyone to see. We are also not obligated to discuss the details of our lives, but we’re expected to for whatever reason that might be.
Hey, I finally finished this.
What I don’t love about this time of year is the insurmountable pressure that I am under for an entire month. Once Thanksgiving is said and done, it’s like everything just continues to pile on with no end in sight.
I told my husband the other night that I just want to not be so tired anymore. I’m falling asleep almost every single night between 9-9:30. By some miracle of miracles, I was able to stay up tonight. I had way too much to get done and I knew that if I fell asleep once Andrew went to bed I would find myself stressing out about not getting Christmas cards out or not finishing up laundry. Truth be told, I’m stressed out because I didn’t order enough Christmas cards so people that normally get them won’t be. My anxiety is saying that the people that aren’t getting them this year are going to be pissed but I know that isn’t true. And if people are pissed off about it, it’s a piece of paper with my kid’s face on it that they’ll probably throw away after it’s opened.
Because things have been so hectic for me across the board, I forgot to get my kid’s outfit for his Christmas show. I also forgot to get a sweater/sweatshirt so I can start making his ugly Christmas sweater for school. So naturally, I panicked and I began to cry. What kind of a mother am I? How can I forget these important things? What the hell is wrong with me? I know he’s not going to realize that I forgot, obviously he’ll have his sweater and he’ll have his outfit for his show but he’ll never know that leading up to it I called my mother and cried about how I’m just failing miserably.
I know that I’m not, I know that I’m doing pretty good.
I’m just bad at ordering the right amount of Christmas cards.
I’ve been at my job for nearly 10 years. I got to travel to Mohegan Sun two years in a row for a couple of days for a sales meeting. That was the furthest I’ve gone since I’ve been with the company…until tomorrow. There’s been a lot of changes going on and like any company, it’s bound to happen. With those changes came an opportunity to travel with my boss and he gave me the option to go with him to Charlotte. I told him that I needed to talk it over with my husband first and then I’d let him know – to give me 24 hours and I’d have an answer. After talking it over with Jimmy, I made the decision to go.
I leave tomorrow afternoon, I get to drop my child off at school and then head into the office to do some work and then I’m airport bound. I’ve been in Charlotte’s airport, that’s it. This is the first time I’ll be in the city, and while it’s only for 24 hours I get to add another city to my list of places I’ve been. We get in tomorrow early evening, leave tomorrow early evening. Quick trip, but it feels like I’m going to be gone for a week.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll miss my husband. I adore the shit out of him and he makes me nuts but being married to me is probably the most stressful shit he’s ever had to endure so I can’t complain. But my heart hurts. Legitimately HURTS. For the past week I’ve dreaded this because I knew that I wasn’t going to be okay when the time came. I started crying last night, and I’ve been doing it at random times looking like a lunatic.
I’m going to miss my kid so damn much.
I know, it’s just 24 hours. He’s been at my mom’s and my mother in law’s for a night – but they’re both in driving distance (my MIL lives in the same town as I do). I’m getting on a plane. I’m going to be 650 miles from home. I’m going to have to say goodnight via FaceTime and say good morning the same way. I’m going to have to go to sleep without cuddling him tight before I do so and make sure he’s all tucked into his bed. I won’t be getting his hugs and kisses and he’s adorable little face nuzzled into my shoulder as he leans on me. I’m a damn mess, people.
This is the furthest that I’ve been away from my son since I had to leave him in the NICU unit when he was first born. It killed me then to do that, I felt like the worst mother in the world even though I knew he was where he needed to be. And now, I feel like the worst mother in the world because I’m leaving him for a night because I have to work. I carry that guilt with me daily that I’m a working mother. I know it’s normal to do that nowadays, I know that I’m not the only one who feels that guilt. What pulls me out of it is knowing that I am doing this to make sure he never has to worry a day in his life about where he’s getting his next meal from or if he’ll have a place to live. My husband and I work very hard to make sure we’re providing for our boy – but it doesn’t make this whole thing easier.
Of course my anxiety is telling me that the worst will happen. I took everything as a bad sign. “Oh my god, that movie is about plane crashes WHY.” Yes, I am overthinking it but that’s what I do sometimes. All the time. I have anxiety.
I know that I have to do this because it’s going to be good for ALL of us in this house. It’s going to be the longest 24 hours that I’ve endured since my baby was born but I can get through it. If I could get through that entire week from hell, maybe I can do just about anything.
I’ve never been the super pretty girl that every dude has a crush on. I’ll keep it 100 with all of you reading this – I don’t think I was ever the girl that any guy wanted to date but was too afraid to ask. Even as an adult, I look at the dime pieces that my friends are and I look like a scrub in comparison. I know, don’t compare. I know, I know, I know. But it’s very difficult at times. Today, I looked at myself in the mirror and realized how much I like the color of my eyes. They’re green but have specks of yellow and brown. Sometimes they’re light green, sometimes they turn this beautiful shade of emerald. I dig ’em. They’re mine.
That started a domino effect of self affirmations. What else do I like about myself? A lot, actually.
It drives me bonkers when men can only comment on their significant other’s appearance. I love that my husband tells people about my love for politics, Hamilton and Stranger Things. I overheard him tell someone once, “My wife likes sports more than I do.” It makes me feel like he truly pays attention to the things that I enjoy or hold close to my heart. I think we should all want that kind of feeling from somebody – and that’s just one of the things that made me realize that he really is the right one for me.
I’ve made strides since last week. I know I’ve got a long ways to go but then again, I’m always going to be a work in progress.
Saturday was a very dark day. I’m not talking about it being cloudy and disgusting out, I can’t even remember what the weather was like that day if that’s any indication of where my head was at (or wasn’t). I don’t know what happened, but things just took a turn for the worse. I found myself storming out of my home and walking aimlessly until I found somewhere indoors to sit. I sat there for an hour, and contemplated. I wrote things. I cried. I begged for some sort of relief from this pain that I feel every single day.
I finally walked myself home and went to sleep for two hours. I woke up and apologized for being such an asshole. I felt like the worst yesterday – the worst wife, the worst mother. Earlier in the week, I had a panic attack and I was an hour late to work because I was having trouble getting myself out of the house. All I can think of is how I can remember my birth mother being an absolute basket case and how I don’t want to subject my child to that. Then again, she was an alcoholic and I’m nowhere near that. She was also an alcoholic who lost her first born unexpectedly so yeah, we’re different kind of basket cases I guess. I fear that my son will end up feeling about me the way that I did about my birth mother. Except it can’t be, he’s so young that he’ll forget that his Mommy was crying in the kitchen. At least that’s my hope.
Parenting with anxiety is very difficult. And depression? Even more so. My toddler is in his THREENAGER stage. Oh, we’ve seen him flip his shit over things not being as he wanted them to be or even a pair of socks not being the ones he wanted to wear. Sunday morning, he didn’t want anything but candy for breakfast. I gave him a lot of options, he wanted none of them. Said he didn’t like the food that I offered him even if I KNOW he likes it. If this were Saturday, I would have bickered back and forth with him. But not Sunday morning, my friends. I just kept going on as I pleased in the kitchen and he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with his whining and crying.
Sunday night, I curled up into my husband’s lap and cried. He reminded me of how good of a life we have and that we’ll get through this. He’s right, we’ll get through it. I’m not alone, and I know that I won’t ever be. Things are different for me now in ways that they weren’t 15 years ago. Heck, even 10 years ago. I’ve changed my ways and I’ve dealt with the consequences for the things that I’ve done. I don’t live with a sea of regrets, I just know that the person I used to be isn’t the person I want to revert to. I have some pretty great things in my life – and I have to continue to focus on that. Every single day until I see that light.
Monday was not dark. Today was not dark. There is light.
This was a sentence that I uttered last week to my mother-in-law. It’s a sentence that when I read it back or even say it again, I feel a little ache on the inside.
People grieve in their own way, and in the age of social media I see it constantly. Be it a family member, friend or a former classmate…and even celebrity. There are those of us who are truly stricken by it, where we really don’t want to talk about it much or we just try to get through the day without having a breakdown. Then there are people who will throw the dramatics out there, claiming how close they were or how they’ll miss the deceased when they barely even called, visited, wrote, etc. That’s the part that gets to me, because there are people that are truly heartbroken over the loss and don’t want attention or a pat on the back for it. They just want their loved one back, they don’t want to have to make funeral arrangements or pack up their belongings. Marinate in that for a second, if you will.
And when it comes to celebrities, I can count on one hand how many celebrity deaths have truly upset me. Fingers left over.
I will remember where I was, what I was wearing, and exactly what I said when I got the phone call on Wednesday. It was already a bad day for me because it would have been Andy’s 40th birthday. Top it off with having a sick toddler at home, hoping to goodness he doesn’t throw up again. The second I heard my mother’s voice and her sobbing, I thought the worst thing happened. Then I thought the second worst thing happened. But what did happen was very unexpected and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Days later, I still can’t. Sitting with my parents and aunt, talking about what food we’re going to serve at the repast and going through old pictures…still couldn’t wrap my head around it. Four hours at the funeral home, still can’t wrap my head around it. All I have said is, “This fucking sucks.” Because it does, for lack of better words and term.
I cried here and there days leading up to the wake. Not too badly, but I cried. I knew that eventually, the dam would break and it sure did. The second I walked into the funeral home and saw my brother, I lost it. I hugged him and just sobbed, then hugged his girlfriend and sobbed. I did well up until my Pastor spoke, then when my mom said something I felt that all too familiar break in my heart. This. Fucking. Sucks. I was feeling drained, after hours of hugging people and talking about the past few days, I just had nothing left. Then it was time to say our final goodbye and I wasn’t able to stop myself from crying. My husband held onto me as I knelt down and just let it all out. Repeating, “I’m going to miss you so much. I love you.”
I never got to say goodbye. A lot of us didn’t get to have that one last goodbye, get in that last dig or break chops. Our family took a hit on this one, and it’s going to be truly felt. I’m still unable to say I feel better, or that I’m ready to be among civilization and go back to work. I’ve been staying up late, moping around, binging Netflix shows. I know that this road of grief isn’t the easiest to travel on, but I’m going to do it anyway. I just am having a very hard time with this, even if I am ‘seasoned’. If you know me, you know that I still am not okay with the loss of my older brother and my grandmother…so none of this should be a surprise for anyone. But do you know who is surprised the most by how I’ve taken this? Me.
Rest easy, Uncle Tommy. You have no idea how bright of a spot in our lives you truly were.
Prosper Season is forever
Untypical girl thoughts
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