There’s a lot of fighting going on in our house. Stress does this to people don’t you think?
I’m on day three of my children’s weekend marathon-swim meet. Just 12 hours left to go as I try to write this. I didn’t get my ride in this morning. Choosing a little more sleep over training. It was the necessary thing to do but I don’t like it. It makes me feel that I am not caring for myself in the ways I need and want to. This is a huge button-pusher for me. I was not allowed many needs as a child so my resentment, while valid, may brew with more urgency than it would had I not been sexually abused for ten years.
Truthfully, there is deep, profound joy in being a mum and nurturing my children’s growth and all of their “becoming.” I love this more than anything. I do. But all parents get weary. It’s part of being human.
When we are tired and weary and overwhelmed, we are far from our best-selves. When I feel overwhelmed I feel like I’m tackling life on my own. My familiar cry out to the world, “No one is helping me! No one is helping me!” rings in my ear with a steady dinging. Whether this statement is true or not, the feelings it stirs up are powerful and triggering. What moment am I in when I am experiencing this lack of help? Child-me who truly wasn’t helped? Alone and small and frightened. Grown-up, care-giver-me who feels fatigued and unable to generate another ounce of momentum? Both? Probably both.
Regardless, whenever we feel scared or unseen we usually aren’t seeing the other people in our lives either. When I feel undervalued or invisible I find that I approach each conflict with a mindset of scarcity. That nagging thought of being taken for granted can fester in ways that skew all perceptions. A layer of not-enough-ness lingers in the air and instead of assuming I’m being supported and valued, I feel deprived and overworked. Believing I am carrying more of my weight than the rest of the people in my house and accusingly wagging a finger to make my point.
This is not a good place to be. This measuring of who is doing more of the heavy lifting. When I do this, I usually alienate myself instead of moving closer to the people I love and care about. Lately I’ve been doing it a lot. I’ve got those boxing gloves on again. It feels lousy. And lonely.
I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. I’m incredibly angry and I’m not sure what to do with the anger. But it’s here. Percolating. I’ve read and studied … and believe … that anger protects us from experiencing our grief and sorrow. I’m afraid that this might be true and I’m wondering if I’m ready to hold my heartbreak. To experience my despair. Honestly, I’m thinking I am afraid to.
This is indeed real life. Real living. Thanks for being here with me and bearing witness.
Categories: Tri-Umphant Living