Blather, rinse, repeat.
It’s been three months since I posted to this blog. Geez, where the heck did that time go?
Back then I was dreading the summer. Not only because I hate the stifling heat and humidity (I’m a Fall-kinda girl), but because I was facing two-and-a-half months of being home with both kids, all day, every day. (My daughter refused to do any sort of summer camp and I, in a moment of weakness and sympathy, decided not to force her.) I know that sounds horrible. My kids are great, but I had gotten used to only lugging around one child at a time and I wasn’t looking forward to the ever-changing mood swings and sibling battles I knew were heading my way. Turns out, though, I had worried for nothing. My mom brain barely remembers yesterday so ask me how we passed our summer days and all you’ll get is a blank stare. LOL. I can, however, tell you the one thing I wasn’t doing to pass the time: writing. Oh, the sacrifices we mommas make! But I digress. Our days flew by in a flurry of kid-centric activities, summer get-togethers, pool parties, swimming lessons, gymnastics classes, trips to Syracuse and Disney, and all things related to the start of a new school year (physicals, endless paperwork, back-to-school shopping, you know the drill).
In fact, my family had just settled into a “summer” routine when in the blink of an eye it was yanked away and replaced by the chaos that September brings each year, at least to school-age families. It was a month of firsts for us: my daughter started kindergarten in a brand-new school, including riding the big-girl bus all by herself, my son began his first full year of all-day preschool (albeit three days a week), and I started a new part-time job. This was also the first time we would have multiple after-school activities on the agenda. So, yeah, to keep up, I had everything organized, prepped, and neatly in place for our first days (I am, have always been, and will always be neurotic about planning and keeping a calendar/schedule). Except for one thing: I had somehow not prepared my mind, or my body for that matter, for this frenzied change of pace. You know that feeling when you automatically go into overdrive? When you know what needs to be done and without even stopping to consider the repercussions, you just do it? You rush around setting up your schedule into something you think will be manageable only to discover that it’s not once you finally put it into action? That’s me right now.
Hello, what’s my name again? 😊
I’ve been off my game since we came back from Disney in late August. My anxiety has been off the charts, I’m barely sleeping at night, I haven’t had much of an appetite, my exercise schedule is all off track, I’ve become even more forgetful (which I didn’t think possible), and I’ve been snapping at anyone who gets in my way. Oh, and we hadn’t even been in school for two full weeks before my son got sick and, of course, started in with the barking cough we’ve become quite familiar with since he was diagnosed with croup earlier this year. All of this combined with the fact that I haven’t been writing. Suffice it to say, these changes—while relatively small, yet not insignificant—have done a number on my psyche. I can’t seem to find my groove and I’m having a hard time adjusting to this new reality, which is unusual for me. After all, I’ve dealt with my fair share of change, stress, and anxiety—personally and professionally—in my 41 years. Why should today be any different, right?
Well, for one, having kids takes everything in life to the next level, and now they’re both in school. I thought that would make things easier, but somehow it doesn’t. It just adds a whole new layer. Suddenly, school crap is everywhere! On top of that, I’m working again after six years of staying at home. That in itself is a whole new ballgame and one I’m still trying to process. And here’s the added rub: How do I fit everything in and still have time for self-care—a critical part of every momma’s routine? Even when I do remember to take time out for myself, things constantly come up that force me to put that time on the back burner and cater to everyone else. Take my blog, for example. Over the past few months, I’ve lost count how many times I’ve sat down in front of a blank Word document with the intention of writing only to be pulled away in a million different directions—that empty page staring back at me, cold and useless.
But that’s how the story goes for us mommas. There’s no sleep (literally!) for the weary and it’s usually our dreams that suffer the most. I always make my situation worse, though, because even as I’m sacrificing what’s important to me, I can never fully let myself off the hook. I’m always thinking, always worrying, always second-guessing every decision I make. I put far too many expectations on myself and then I rip myself a new one when I fail or don’t measure up. It takes a toll after a while. I tried explaining all of this to my husband earlier this week after a particularly hard day. He thinks I may have bitten off more than I can chew and that I’m burned out. So, just for sh*ts and giggles, I looked up “burn-out” in the dictionary and here’s what it says:
“Fatigue, frustration, or apathy resulting from prolonged stress, overwork, or intense activity.”
Well, hell, in that case I think I’ve been burned out for 41 years! In all seriousness, though, I think my husband’s right. These days I wake up—after a long night of tossing and turning—and find myself simply going through the motions, day in and day out. Like I’m on autopilot. And then I torture myself all day for feeling this way. Because who am I to feel overwhelmed and tapped out and anxious and stressed and frustrated? I’m no different from any other momma out there—stay-at-home or working—struggling to maintain her sanity while juggling an umpteenth number of balls that could fall or change direction at any minute. It’s no wonder we mommas can’t find the time or the energy to put ourselves first once in a blue moon.
Back in March, I wrote about the baby steps I had taken to clear my mind so that I could be my best self, as a woman but especially as a wife and a mother. Taking those crucial steps really saved me back then, and everything in life seemed brighter and happier as a result—at least for a while. I seem to have lost my way from that clarity once again, which is easy enough to do when you’re raising two small humans who are going through their own trials and tribulations. Change—even for the better—is hard for everyone. We all adjust at our own pace and on our own time. Sometimes we adapt quickly and other times we don’t. And sometimes we fall back into our old habits without even realizing it. If my struggles earlier this year taught me anything, though, it’s that the key to finding my way back is recognizing my vulnerabilities and allowing myself the latitude to start fresh, again and again if necessary.
Blather, rinse, repeat indeed.
So, here I am back at square 1: my writing.
And gosh darnit does it feel good to be back.