Every so often I’m reminded of how ill-equipped I am to be a momma. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m reminded of this every single day.
Those of you who read my blog regularly may have noticed how infrequently I’m publishing these days (after posting one blog per day for weeks during Lent!). That’s because I’m now failing miserably in my endeavor to stay positive and find the silver lining to every situation during this quarantine. It’s like someone took a hammer blow to my mental health and left me lying in a deep, dark ditch out in the middle of nowhere without a cell phone or a GPS to find my way back. (I may look OK on the outside, but inside I’m a crumbling mess.) And whenever this happens, I’m unable to write. I suppose it’s because I can’t sit still when I’m in these moments of mental chaos. Instead I take to pacing my house, staring out the window, or working with my hands in the kitchen, hoping I can somehow, some way, keep the panic at bay.
For the first few weeks of this isolation I was able to stay upbeat, write the “good,” and distract myself through a variety of ways, but that just ain’t the case anymore. I’m angry, unhappy, and unable to come up with constructive ideas to occupy my time and my thoughts. I’ve pretty much exhausted every option known to man that can be done in or around my home—I won’t bother listing these out because chances are, we’re all doing the same monotonous things over and over and over again. Because, well, what else can we do?
Whenever I sit and think about what’s happening in this world and how we’re likely looking at many more months of confinement and loneliness (and homeschooling!), helplessness, insecurity, and panic wash over me. My chest gets tight, my heart starts pounding, and I can’t breathe. All I can think is OMG, how are we going to survive this? Or I can’t last another minute under these conditions. Or if only I could have a moment of peace and quiet all to myself. Or what if I simply walk out of this house and never come back? I would never do that, obviously, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind at least once a day. And don’t even get me started on the homeschooling, working from home, my children’s regressions, the day-to-day routines and chores, which somehow seem a million times worse now that everyone is home all the time. I know I’m forgetting the 6,374 other things on my plate (and yours) every day but please forgive me, my entire being is completely out of whack. Honestly, how is there enough room in my head for all this baggage?!
But then the black clouds of despair will dissipate as quickly as they rolled in, and I hang my head in shame. Because who the hell do I think I am? I am lucky and blessed beyond measure. There are people out there who are literally struggling to stay alive. What right do I have to indulge in sadness or complain or wallow in self-pity as I sit here—healthy—in my comfortable home with my family, Netflix, books, wine, a fully stocked fridge and pantry, and all the goods so many others are being forced to go without? This is the war that tears through my mind these days, and there’s never a “winning” side. It makes me feel terrible because I have absolutely no reason to be so down in the dumps. But then I remind myself that I’m only human, and that I’m entitled to my feelings—justified or not, irrational or not.
Is anyone out there … do you experience this too?
I try so hard to keep my head above water and not drown in the raging currents that are my thoughts and emotions, but I seem to have lost the energy and the will to fight back. And that saddens and depresses me further, which only exacerbates the problem. Simply put: I just don’t know how to alleviate my fears and anxieties in a healthy, constructive way (ashamedly I end up reaching for a slice of cake or a glass of wine) and more often than not, that leaves me paralyzed—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. And to make matters worse, I’m a parent, which is a recipe for disaster on a normal day, let alone within the context of a global pandemic. This has never been more apparent to me than now.
I’ve talked before about children’s uncanny ability to put parents to shame while also putting life into severe perspective. I had another of these moments recently. My daughter, too, has been having a justifiably hard time with this quarantine (my son has as well but to a lesser extent because he’s two years younger). I won’t be going into specific details to respect her privacy but suffice it to say that she’s become a bit OCD regarding a specific health issue (her anxieties tend to manifest this way). It’s been ongoing since schools closed and it is so mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing on all of us.
It’s not easy to admit that because I’m her momma and I’m supposed to always be compassionate and patient and loving in the face of her fears and anxieties. But let’s be real: These are unprecedented times for today’s parents (for everyone, but especially parents). I’m not trying to be dramatic or make excuses, but we’re already navigating crazy technological and social media waters and a competitive, one-up-your-neighbor kinda world. Throw in a pandemic and social distancing and we’ve lost many of our outlets for comfort and understanding—like our own parents, who may have parented under difficult conditions but never, ever in times like these. They don’t have any answers either. (Our grandparents are a different story, of course, but many of us are unable to turn to them too!) So, I’ve been trying to cut myself some slack when I struggle (and many times fail) to manage my children’s emotional and mental states, which feels like an insurmountable task right now—in an environment that’s already full of insurmountable tasks. (Please don’t judge me!)
Anyways, back to my story. The situation with my daughter came to a head earlier this week because I discovered her “workaround” to something we had previously discussed regarding her anxieties. I was upset and annoyed at first, but I didn’t want her to see that because I understand all too well how unnerving and debilitating our anxieties can be and I didn’t want her to feel ashamed. So, I calmed myself down and approached her gently. I guess she was embarrassed or afraid of getting in trouble, though, because she turned and ran upstairs to her room. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and followed her. I sat down on her bed and we began to talk.
She admitted that she’s been having “a tough time since school closed” and that she “has all these anxieties in her brain” (her words, not mine). She added that when she’s “bored from being home all day she focuses on these anxieties in her brain and doesn’t know how to stop thinking about them.” She also told me that sometimes she doesn’t “know why she is feeling these anxieties in her brain.” (Could this kid be any more grown up? She never ceases to amaze me with her emotional maturity and her self-awareness. It makes me so proud, but it also terrifies me because I can only imagine what her teen years are going to be like … for her and for me.)
This is one of those parenting moments where I usually go right into fix-it mode without overthinking it. Let me see if I can describe this accurately. (I know what’s in my head but sometimes it doesn’t translate well on paper; I’ll do my best.) What I mean is, I’m listening to my child as a parent (as opposed to objectively) and sometimes when I’m not in my right mind, it’s easy to feel exasperated and annoyed and want to quickly slap a Band-Aid on the problem rather than face it head on—especially if it’s something I’ve already dealt with ad nauseum. (If you’re a parent who doesn’t ever do this, I applaud you; you’re way better than me!) I suppose that sounds rugged, but I don’t do it in a malicious way. It’s sort of a self-preservation mechanism, if you will. I have so many other concerns and responsibilities bouncing around my brain that adding another one often feels overwhelming and daunting. This happens frequently with my daughter because she’s sensitive and self-aware and quite precocious. And considering what we’ve all been going through these last five-plus weeks, I’ve … grown so weary. I’m at the point where I just don’t know how to help anymore. I can’t even help myself for goodness sake!
I didn’t think this time would be any different, but I was surprisingly wrong. After my daughter finished telling me her concerns, I immediately went into parent mode and started to say “It’s OK, babe. What you’re feeling is normal. You just have to figure out ways of dealing with your fears and anxieties.”
And … BOOM.
It hit me like a bolt of lightning. I was sitting there telling my daughter that there’s a simple answer to alleviating her insecurities and anxieties (and I truly, honestly believed these words coming out of my mouth!)—after just recently admitting to myself that I had no idea how to fix my own! Can you imagine this?! The words tumbled out before I could pull them back and then I had no idea what to say. I just sat there flabbergasted at my own ignorance and selfishness. I had been acting as if my problems and anxieties were so much worse and more unmanageable than hers. And yet they were exactly the same. I probably don’t need to tell you that I felt like such a jerk in that moment.
So, I did the only thing that seemed right: I told my daughter about my own fears and anxieties. I said that sometimes even I don’t know why I feel a certain way, and that I often have no idea how to explain it or fix it, or even manage it. I admitted that I often lash out in anger or frustration when I’m upset or sad or anxious or afraid, and I explained that these are not appropriate or constructive ways of dealing with our emotions. I also confided to her that it helps when I talk with someone about how I’m feeling because keeping my negative thoughts inside only makes me sadder. She sat there staring at me and listening closely to everything I had to say. She’s smart so I knew she understood. And from her demeanor I couldn’t help thinking how relieved she must have felt, to have someone she trusts finally validate everything she’s been dealing with over the past few weeks. It was a wonderful, eye-opening moment for both of us.
We ended our discussion by agreeing to work together to try to find ways of coping with our struggles. For her that means playing “baby” or “school” with her brother, painting, riding her bike, coloring with chalk, crafting, watching her favorite shows and movies. For me it’s reading, listening to music, cooking or baking, writing, finding pockets of “me” time, and taking deep breaths when I feel myself getting angry or nervous. Then I suggested we try an experiment: Whenever she starts feeling anxious or scared, instead of turning to her health issue, she should come to mommy or daddy and say “I’m having some anxieties right now and I want to talk about it.” She liked that idea and I’m happy to report she’s already put this into practice twice since our talk. 😊
I don’t know yet if it’s going to solve all of her (our) issues, but I’m hopeful. At the very least, my sensitive girl will know that it’s OK to feel emotion—positive and negative—that it’s OK to talk about emotion, and that she can always seek comfort in her momma, who loves her more than she could ever know.
Talk about putting life into perspective, huh?
After our conversation I started thinking more about my own issues and how important it is for me to take my own advice. To find ways of dealing with my mental strain and boredom. Because I can’t help my baby girl until I help myself. And right now, she needs her momma—her whole momma—desperately. So, that’s my goal from here on out. I know it won’t be easy and I’m not naïve enough to think all of my inadequacies will be solved by one simple discussion. But it’s a start. I don’t really have a silver lining to offer here, but I’m grateful I had the opportunity to be open with my daughter, and she with me. I could never grow as a parent, or as a woman, without her. She’s helping me become a better person—in more ways that I could possibly count—and I hope one day she’ll be able to say the same about me.