I’m not really sure what this post is about. I have so many little tid bits of thoughts floating around upstairs and I can’t help but think they are all connected in some way. I’m just not sure how. I wish I were a numbers person, and not a words person sometimes. At least then, I could formulate my thoughts, and there would be a concrete answer.
I’m suddenly angry at people I’ve never really had content towards. My deceased mother included. I’ve stated in earlier posts that I am surprised by my own ability to excuse her actions in life, not because she is no longer here, but because of the struggles she lived with while she was here. This doesn’t feel as true for me these days. Why? I have no idea. I just know that when I look at my favorite picture of her on the wall, I immediately look away. She has such a geniouen smile in that photo. I’ve often thought that maybe, on her best days, that was her true self. I’m just not so sure anymore. What’s even more frustrating is that I will never know. Our time together was cut too short. I was too young then to ask, or to even want to ask the hard questions. I’m not sure where this resentments is coming from right now.
My father and I only connected when I was in my early 20’s. He stepped out on parenting when I was only a toddler. I never spent my life hating him for it. I was indifferent about his existence, at best. I know he too had the kind of childhood that doesn’t provide an adequate heart to give or receive love fully. It’s not an excuse, just the way it was. Even knowing that, and despite his best efforts to build a relationship, I’m irritable about the whole situation lately. I feel as though he has no rights to a say in my life, good or bad. I’m not sure if I’m mad at him or that fact that he is here and my mother is not. I don’t know if it’s because of what he did do or didn’t do. That bothers me. It bothers me that my own resentment gets in the way of building a relationship with the only parent I have left.
I’m conflicted about the idea of going back to work. I fall somewhere in the middle of being a dreamer and a realist. I know a single income is enough to keep food on the table and a roof over our head, but not enough to prevent the daily stress of being “just not enough”. The weight my husband carries fills me with guilt sometimes, especially since I know I could help lift that burden by bringing in a second income. It will come at a huge cost though. My baby boy is only two. Giving up raising him full time will break my heart. I know he’ll be in good hands and kids are resilient, but I don’t care. I’m his momma and I want to be the one raising him. My daughter is five and her spirit relies heavily on her ability to be social and active. Not being available to her will limit my ability to provide those types of outlets. I’m scared to death of that all-business-no-play rush that is 5pm when both parents work. I’m trying to stay positive because I know the type of income I can add to the household will have a very positive impact. But it comes at such a cost. Sacrifices will have to be made. And the change, I don’t always do well with change.
I’ve worked my ass off the past two years to find my voice. Not just an online voice but a voice that I can recognize as my own, that I feel comfortable and confident in. It’s taken thousands of written words to get to this place. If I go back to work, how will I find the time to navigate my thoughts? How will I maintain this progress? If it weren’t for nap time, I’m not sure I would ever get the space, time and silence I need to feed my creative mind. I was a working mom before I was a SAHM. I know what it’s like and how exhausting it is. I’m not sure creativity can thrive in that type of environment. A bit of me feels like I’m whining because I have many writer friends who also work; however, it’s just one more challenge on their plate. I’m worried about a plate that is too full for me. I’m liable to drop it, leaving me shattered. That scares the hell out of me.
I’ve been so vulnerable lately. It has caused a lot of emotion to sit right under my skin. I’m ok with being a sensitive person. I’m not ok with feeling so fragile. It’s such an odd thing to have people comment on my strength at a time when I actually feel quite weak. I know that is the price I have to pay in order to tap into that part of my brain that allows my thoughts to roam free. But it leaves me unprotected. That is a hard place to be. It is very difficult to sit in the pain and not drown. I have such an urge to numb myself. That’s is the defense mechanism that has always worked best for myself. I’m not an addict but I believe I have the mind of one. Some days I can’t help but feel that I can’t find myself without losing myself, nor can I rid myself of dysfunctional thoughts without replacing them with sometimes more painfully, honest ones. It is a constant tug of war on my heart, mind, body and soul and quite frankly, I just want to put the rope down some days.
Everything just feels so extreme lately. I’d give anything to have a dull, boring day. I’m up or I’m down. Not in a polar, manic way but in the way that words, thoughts and feelings are just heavier lately. It’s not that I can’t laugh or enjoy my time, it’s just there is this overwhelming sense of something always on the side. I’m having a hard time putting things away. I’m lacking closure on even the most miniscule tasks. You know when there is that irritating thought that you are forgetting something but you can’t figure out what it is, and eventually you go to reach for your phone and realize that’s what it was? That’s the feeling I am carrying all the time lately, only I can find everything I’m reaching for.
Perhaps I’m reaching for the wrong things? I know I’m susceptible to the monster that is depression but I don’t believe that kind of fog is solely to blame right now. I keep flipping up mats, opening up locked cabinets, shaking my heart and mind to see what falls out, and I keep coming up empty handed.
What it is? What am I missing? What is this impasse that I seem to be stuck in?