I tend to view each day as either victory or failure. For a very long time, I tended to choose the latter because of some perceived failing from the day that I focused on. But what I'm trying to remind myself of is that every day is actually a victory. Every day that I am here, on this Earth, is a victory all in itself. Because there was a time when I almost lost this gift. It's getting easier to think this way, and I'm beginning to settle comfortably in this mindset. Not every day is perfect, by any means. And I have plenty of days where things go wrong, and the day is deemed "bad" for one reason or another, but even those days are victories because I continue to choose to be here and I continue to choose to fight. That sounds so dramatic to a lot of people, but for those that have a mood disorder, or live with a loved one that struggles with a mood disorder, it is not overly dramatic at all. Fighting is what we do every single day. Sometimes, we have to take it minute by minute, hour by hour. Nothing infuriates me more than having someone tell me that I'm being theatrical or that I'm no different than anybody else. Those people don't struggle with an enemy that lives in their own mind, whispering ugly, devastating, and untrue things in their ear. Those people don't know what it's like to be overwhelmed with a wave of despair so strong that it takes your breath away and you have to lay your head down on your desk and focus on breathing through it. Those people didn't land in a mental health facility, being watched 24 hours a day, their every move recorded and monitored and analyzed to determine how well you are acclimating, and when you might be deemed no longer a hazard to yourself and well enough to go home. So, no. I'm not being dramatic when I talk about how hard some days are for me. And if you are one of those people who have accused someone of being dramatic when they talk about their struggles, please stop. You have no idea the possible damage you are causing.
Because I've lived through this, I try not to take my days here on this Earth for granted. I'm not always successful, of course. I'm still human, and my illness still catches me off guard at times. But I continue to view each day as a victory, because I've won the battle for that day. I wish I could better explain how hurtful it is for someone "normal" (I really hate to use that word, but for lack of a better term to describe someone who does not have a mental illness, I'll use it) to underplay what those of us who are ill go through. Mental illness is still something that here, in 2014, people still talk about in hushed tones, afraid that the world may hear them and slap some unsavory label on them that will make others keep them at arms length. This is NOT RIGHT. It is an illness, like any other. Yet, it's one that is whispered about and people are ashamed to admit to. I've had to go into someone's office and close the door so that I could make a call to my doctor or counselor because GOD FORBID anyone hear me talking about it. Why? Because it makes THEM uncomfortable to hear me discuss it. And then it makes ME uncomfortable because I've caused them to feel uncertainty. As much progress as we have made in this world in so many areas, this one we are still sorely lacking. I wish that anyone who has this devastating illness could feel the freedom to speak up about it, and if they haven't already, GET HELP. I started through my EAP at work. Behind a closed door where nobody could hear me. But it was without a doubt, the best phone call I ever made. I no longer feel shame about my condition. That is why I started this blog. So that I could tell the world my story and no longer hide behind phrases like "Oh, I'm just not feeling well today" or, "I'm just having a bad day". I decided to take the risk of putting all the ugliness of this disease I live with out there, where the public, and my friends, can see it. I do this because I feel very strongly that silence is no longer an option for this illness in this world. It has ruined lives and it has taken lives. It will continue to do so because people are still scared to ask for help. Guys, I TRIED TO HURT MYSELF. I know what it is like to feel so stifled by the shame and guilt of living with this terrible illness, that leaving this life was the only option I could see. From the deepest darkest parts of this disease, I KNOW the shame and guilt that invades the mind. Seeking help and speaking up have been key in me getting better. They have been key in my fight every single day. Maybe they could be the key to your fight, too.
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***Deep breath**** Last year I was hospitalized in a mental health facility, and after I was released, I attended a 6 week group therapy class. During that group class (or merely “Group”, as we called it) we started each morning going around the table stating what our “feeling words” for that day were. The only 3 words that you were never allowed to use were “good”, “fine”, or “ok”. It was a great exercise to get in touch with what was going on in your mind that day. I used to think about what my feeling words were going to be during my drive to Group, and it’s something that I still find myself doing most days. As we would go around the room and say our feeling word(s), we would also explain why we chose that word. And then, the group counselor would either ask a few questions to open the dialogue or others in the group would chime in about how they understood your particular emotion that day, etc. That first hour of Group was always my favorite for two reasons. First, I really liked trying to find the exact right word for my mood, and secondly, I liked being able to talk about why I was feeling that way. This is important for a very big reason. I’ve talked in previous posts about my fear of speaking in front of people – even family. But, in Group, that fear never plagued me. I think it was because I knew that within those 4 walls were a group of women that would never judge, belittle, or think less of me. I could say whatever I felt drawn to say and it didn’t matter how bad it might sound, or how terrible it might make me seem. There was no judgment. None. It was pure acceptance in that room. Not everyone might understand what my particular situation was, but in that room, I mattered. What I said mattered. How I felt mattered, and I left every day knowing that everything I had said was going to stay within that room. I’ve never felt so free. It’s something that I long for again. I also loved Group because I had the distinct privilege – that’s really what it was – to get to know a myriad of women and their specific troubles. Each of them were in that room for a different reason. Yes, we all shared some common traits, but, each of us lived a unique experience that brought us to that point in time. To that room. We all felt it, and it was a strong bond that I miss very much. I have stayed in touch with one person from that group of women, and I am very thankful for that. But I know I’ll likely never see the others again. I think often about those 6 weeks, and I wonder frequently what happened to each of those special souls that I grew to know. I worry about several of them, while others I am confident that they are doing well and in a good place.
So, most mornings I think about my feeling word(s) for the day, and today my words are “cautious” and “eager”. Pretty funny, I know, considering those are two very opposite feelings. But that’s me! A walking, talking oxymoron (light on the moron). I’m treading softly through life today, scared of stepping down on landmines that I know lurk around me. Around mid-afternoon of each day is the time of day that I dread the most. It started happening to me when H was a newborn, and I think it was because her fussy time was early evening, and I knew it and dreaded it. I had terrible post-partum depression, and now knowing that I suffered with Depression even before having kids, looking back I better understand why those few months following H’s birth were so bad. Starting around mid-afternoon, I would get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I would begin to get weepy and anxious. The problem is, even though my newborn days are long past gone, I still dread late afternoon and early evening. I think I read somewhere that for people with Depression, this can be attributed to the light change, and the darkening of the day can trigger the sadder feelings. This makes just as much sense to me as anything else, so that’s what I go with. But I’m also eager today because I know that when I get home from work, my whole family will already be there, and that makes me very, very happy. Both girls have been home sick this week, and my hubby took the day to stay with them since I did it yesterday. I’m not happy they are home sick, of course, but I’m happy that I’ll get to see them as soon as I walk through the door, rather than having to wait as I drive from school to school doing the afternoon pickup. What I want most to convey with this post is that the idea of thinking up feeling words that describe your emotions each day is a great way to stay in touch with yourself. I had a journal from Group, and I wrote my feeling words down in it each day. That was a wonderful tool, because I was able to flip back through the pages, make note of the days, find any patterns in my emotions, and watch for a downslide in mood that I might not otherwise notice. This is something that I highly encourage anyone who has a mood disorder to do, and even for those that don’t, it can still be an invaluable means of keeping track of yourself. Being mentally healthy is a challenge for me, for millions of people, and this is just one more way I can help hold myself accountable. I plan on living to the ripe old age of 100. It's a good, round number, and I like the idea of living a long and happy life. However, if I do end up living a century, I probably won't be all that lucid, so I thought I'd write myself a letter as I see life today. Plus, it's a great way to remind yourself of how things really are.
Dear me, I'm writing you this letter as a 38 year old wife and mother. Those are the 2 primary roles I've always viewed myself as because to me, these are the most important ways I can impact others. You've had a really great life up to now. Sure, there have been some blips on the radar, and you struggle daily with some things, but in reality, everyone does. You're really no different, and sometimes you have to remind yourself of that fact. You tend to think the world revolves around you sometimes, and in truth, your world does. That holds true for everyone. You grew up pretty happy. You were successful in school - both academically and socially. You had a close circle of friends, some of whom you are still very close to today. You went to your dream college and graduated as an Aggie, carrying on with the Powe family tradition. You have secret hopes that both your daughters will follow in your footsteps going to Texas A&M, but you also realize that it won't be the end of the world if they go somewhere else. Except for Tech. They must NOT go to Tech. ;) Speaking of your girls, you have 2 amazing daughters. H and L are blessings that you thank God for every single day. You've had your moments when you thought you were doing a simply terrible job being a mother, but when they hug you and kiss you and whisper "I love you", everything comes into focus and you realize that you're doing it right. They are both such good little girls. Everyone says so, and you swell up with pride every single time you hear it. H is a whiz in school, and she has friends everywhere she goes. L is following in her big sisters footsteps, and you're thankful for it. She started out quite shy and introverted, and you spent quite a few hours worrying over whether she'd ever open up. But she did....seemingly overnight, too. She and H are both bubbly and happy and just perfect, really. You are very, very proud of them. You married your soul mate. You met in college, and you'll never forget the exact moment it happened. You were sitting at the top of the stairs to your apartment's landing with a friend, drinking a Jack and Coke. He was sitting on the hood of his jeep with his friends who lived below you, and your eyes met. You played hard to get for a few weeks, but when you finally agreed to go out with him, you two were inseparable from then on. It's been 18 years since you've been together - married for 13 of those years. He makes you laugh, he makes you catch your breath, and he reminds you everyday of what it means to be loved to the very core. You knew within days of going out with him that you'd marry him, and you've never regretted it. As with all relationships, the two of you have had your troubles, but the most important thing is that you've always managed to work through them. Together. You constantly think of how lucky you are to have him, and in October 2013, that thought - that prayer of thanksgiving - became an almost hourly occurrence. And it hasn't stopped. I've no doubt that it never will. Your love for him is something that no words can really convey. You've tried over the years, but words fail to describe what is truly in your heart for him. But he knows. You have a lot of loves and things you enjoy. Reading is one, especially if it's MY kind of humor. You have a rather dry, sick humor that I have no desire to change. You love all vampire genre books, movies, and TV shows, and you're a diehard romantic with a penchant for the bad boy. Your iPod music selections vary all the way from Garth Brooks, Journey, Airplane to Disturbed, Pantera, Metallica, Offspring, Staind, with a sprinkling of mainstream music in there to keep it lively. I also love writing, and it's become quite a passion of mine. I like mindlessly crushing candy, playing with my dog, perusing YouTube, baking (when we get to the colder months. So, Depression and Anxiety have had quite a lot of fun with you over the years. They are the rainclouds in your universe . You battle them daily, armed with medication, therapy, loved ones, and God, fighting tooth and nail to not give in to the darkness they threaten your world with. They have come close - very close...TOO close. You nearly lost the battle on two occasions, and the last time, you landed yourself in a mental hospital. It was probably the best thing that could have happened to you, though at the time, that's not what you were thinking. It was there that you found light again. It was within those walls, those awful, sobering, sad walls, that you let God back into your heart and world and started letting Him heal your soul. It was from there that you entered a 6 week group therapy class and met some of the most amazing women you've met up to now. That was a very...I'm not going to say good, because that sounds too blasé....enlightening experience. You learned a lot. Lessons that you still carry with you every day, and each time you feel like the darkness is creeping back in, you turn to those memories and push it back. It's something I know with 100% certainty that you'll continue to fight against until the day you die. But fight you will. The other alternative, the one you caught a glimpse of, is not acceptable. Oh, Alison. Life is a myriad of experiences. Good, bad, sobering, funny, freeing - they are all there. Each day is a gift. You are learning that, and by the time you reach the end of your road, I hope you are able to look back at all of your gifts and know in your heart that you appreciated them as they should be appreciated. That is what I wish for you. No regrets. It seems like everywhere I look, I see the word "acceptance" being thrown at me. There's thousands, probably tens of thousands, of self-help books, websites, magazine articles, and videos, talking about acceptance. Accepting yourself. Accepting your imperfections. Accepting your flaws. Accepting your.....bluh blah, blah, blah, blah. I am sick to death of having the idea of "self acceptance" shoved down my throat by the universe. I know I need to accept myself in all its glorious craziness, and some days I do. Some days I don't. Today is one of those days where I can't decide. That's weird, right? Not being able to decide if you accept yourself or not? Like, how do you be on the fence about that? Trust me, it's possible. It's a really bizarre place to be, too. It's almost like mental whiplash. Just as soon as I start thinking, "Hey, I got this - I'm a good person. No, I'm a great person!", my mind takes a hard right and goes "NOPE! We're not gonna have any of that ACCEPTANCE nonsense up in this joint!" and boom!, I'm left sitting there thinking, "What the hell just happened? Where did the warm & fuzzies go?"
One of the reasons I started this blog is to have a place to just purge what is going on upstairs in my head. I've been on this roller coaster ride of emotions the past few weeks just like what I described above. I never quite feel like I have my feet solidly under me, and every time I sit down to analyze why this is, the idea of self-acceptance is sitting there staring me in the face. That's what it all boils down to. Being okay with yourself. Why do I find this such a hard thing to do? Sometimes it sounds like a scratched record in my head. "Accept yourself...accept yourself...accept yourself...", and I just want to cover my ears and scream at it to stop. Talk about performance anxiety! Nothing like pressuring yourself into liking yourself, right? I know I probably sound like I'm a schizophrenic, and sometimes I wonder if I am. Okay, not really. I know I'm not. But I DO feel like there are two Alison's living inside my head and they are in a constant shoving match with each other. I can't help but wonder, at the end of the day, which one is going to win. I have this feeling (and I just literally ROLLED my eyes thinking this) that the ideal ending is going to be one where both sides give a little, meeting in the middle, shaking hands and smiling at each other. I'm no therapist (though I AM a Psychology major - can you say irony?), but I have a feeling that is what one would tell me. "Alison, it's not about one or the other being ALL right, it's about having a good balance". And I just rolled my eyes again. Seriously, what is wrong with this notion that has me so...annoyed? It's a good idea. It's a balanced, rational, healthy idea. Maybe that's why I keep getting so irritated with the concept? Because I'm not balanced, or rational, or mentally healthy right now? All I do know for certain is that today I'm in a mental bumper car, going this way and that way, running into things, flipping around and going back the direction that I just came from. Getting pissed at myself for not having control, and at the same time, sort of finding the whole thing funny. You know....in a really weird way. I’ve had problems sleeping for as long as I can remember. My oldest is showing signs of this same problem, and at her recent annual physical, I voiced my concerns about it with her pediatrician. She recommended that we start H on 2mg of Melatonin, which comes in chewable pills (for those that may have a need to know). We’ve used them the past few nights, and thankfully, it seems to be helping H get to sleep faster and easier. I have a more complex problem of not only having trouble falling asleep, but staying asleep. Even with a full medicine cocktail consisting of 3 (count them THREE!) sleep medications, on an average night I wake up at least once every few hours and on bad nights, multiple times every hour. What this means is that I have a LOT of time to think. And think I do!!! In the dark, with my sweet Emmy snuggled up next to me, my husband/hero/#1 favorite person softly snoring beside me, and Max the Mutt not so softly snoring at the foot of the bed, I go over and over all the worries I’m currently chewing on. Oftentimes, this is when I solve my current problems, and in the absence of anything to worry about, this is where I create new worries. Sometimes, I’ll reach over and grab my phone to jot down a thought in my Notes app, peruse Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and my email. Sometimes, I’ll crush candy or fling angry birds about - all while my thoughts race around at 90mph. Here lately, I’ve been worrying less about work issues (which used to take up most of my worry bank) and more about life issues in general. This can be construed as a good thing in one way. It means I’ve stopped stewing so much about my job performance. Trust me when I say I used to spend a very large part of my time worrying about minute mistakes I might have made during the work day, or the wording I used in an email and whether or not it would be interpreted the way I meant it, or the way I conducted a meeting and the number of times I stumbled over my own words, etc. etc. etc. You get the idea. I was driving not only myself crazy, but my manager crazy, with my doubts and insecurities relative to my abilities at work. I’m not sure how or even when the shift away from work worries occurred, but I’ve become much more relaxed in that area of my life. To the delight of pretty much everyone I know on a professional level. But, as happy as it makes me to know that my confidence and comfort level at work is increasing, all I’ve really done is shift my worrying to a different part of my life. My husband always points out to me that worrying doesn’t accomplish anything, therefore, there’s not any point in doing it. My rebuttal to this argument has always been “by worrying about [fill in the blank], I’ve already covered all possible scenarios in my head, therefore, I won’t be taken off guard if it happens.”. It sounds totally logical, except that 95% of the time, the thing that I’ve spent soooo much of my time worrying over never happens. That results in a lot of wasted time. Something that I acknowledge and would love to change, but I just don’t know how to. It’s one of those “easier said than done” things. I think there are people who are just wired to not worry – my husband being one of these people. My father is another one. I am insanely jealous of this personality type. My husband rarely stresses over things and prefers to deal with situations as they happen. And he sleeps great, by the way. That’s not to say he isn’t prepared for any given scenario, because he is. But he doesn’t waste hours of his time agonizing over the possibilities. It’s maddening to see this practice up close and personal but not be able to do it myself. I console myself with the knowledge that I’ve at least made worrying an art form. I have an ingrained need to do whatever I set out to do extremely well. So – that means if they were giving out Olympic medals for worrying, I would DEFINITELY win the Gold. Hands down.
These recent nights I’ve been worrying over past transgressions that I haven’t quite forgiven myself for yet. Some days I can say I’ve forgiven myself. But, in the dark early morning hours when I’m laying awake rehashing the past, it’s harder to accept the forgiveness that my husband, my family, and God have handed to me. No matter how true the fact is that we’re all humans and therefore, imperfect beings, I cannot let go of the need to be perfect. And THEN I worry about the fact that I’m trying to be perfect, which is a sin, because only God is perfect. You see where I’m going with this? I just can’t stop. I have days where I do better with it than others, but there is never a day that goes by when I don’t worry somewhat about something. It’s exhausting. Mentally, I’m in a steady state of drained, and on the nights where I’ve spent hours doing my mental marathon, I’m physically exhausted, too. You know what I’ve noticed when this happens? Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, is harder to do. I get overwhelmed with the simplest of tasks. What should be a quick easy decision – like what to make for dinner – can immobilize me or lead to an argument with my husband because my brain just doesn’t have the juice in it to be rational. Every-day minor blips like extra traffic, a broken nail, the vending machine being out of Dr. Pepper, cause me to break down in tears and question my entire self worth and abilities as a living person. And then I wonder where my daughters’ penchant for histrionics come from (hmmmm). I used to be much worse, before I was on medication and going to talk therapy. When I think about it, I really don’t understand how my wonderful hubby has been able to not just stick by me, but love and adore me, through all this. I’ve certainly not been able to do so for myself. We joke that I’m high maintenance, which I am, but that he likes “maintaining” me. ;) It’s little things like that, where we joke about something that isn’t all that funny, that proves to me that we’re soul mates. We have twisted humor sometimes, but it’s our shared twisted humor. With his help, I am slowly (very slowly) learning to laugh about the things that normally push me into crazy lady land. I can’t help but think that at some point I have to run out of things to worry about – even things to invent to worry about – and I’ll be forced into this calm, Zen, relaxed, and rational person. What I’m looking most forward to in that scenario? Sleep. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… Easter 2014 will forever be remembered as a bittersweet one. My 10 year old daughter figured out that the Easter Bunny doesn’t exist and that I’m the one who fills their baskets with the goodies they wake up to. She was upset to have that belief shattered, and I tried in various ways to help her see the good in the situation. I told her that the Easter Bunny still exists in a way – that he works through me. I quoted a saying that I learned from one of my friends whose son started questioning the existence of Santa Clause – “He who believes, receives”. And I told her how much love went into the creation of the baskets. None of these things really helped. In fact, I think it partially made her feel worse because she then started crying thinking she had hurt my feelings and ruined MY Easter. I assured her that she had not. I had shared the day with my family and loved ones celebrating the true meaning of Easter, and that is all that I could have hoped and wished for. We ended our very emotional conversation with hugs, kisses, I love yous, and even a small laugh. And then we shared a few precious hours together watching a TV show that I love and have wanted to enjoy with her for awhile now.
This whole experience hit home for me that my first-born is no longer a baby. She is in that awkward, quickly changing, and confusing age where she is not quite a child and not quite a “tween”. There are some days that she wants to play with Barbies and pretend to be a fairy princess, and others that she wants to hole up in her room reading a book or writing in her journal. She still enjoys having pretend tea parties with her little sister, yet she also loves riding in the front seat, singing and seat-dancing along to music blasting, wearing my sunglasses, and checking out her lip gloss in the visor mirror. As confusing as this time may be for her, it is just as confusing for me. I remember this age from my own childhood, and I understand the jumble of emotions that are churning inside her. I have not been prepared, however, for dealing with it from this side of things. As the mom. I struggle every day with finding the right balance of being mom, disciplinarian, teacher, and friend. More than anything, I want to have the kind of relationship with her where she feels not only comfortable, but eager, to confide in me. Most of the time she is. But I have been catching glimpses of the days ahead where I will not be the one she shares her worries, heartaches, and joys with first. I realize this is a necessary part of her development. She will develop friendships that may only last a few years, or if she’s really lucky, a lifetime. I know how important these friendships will be for her as she grows into a teenager and beyond. I hope, though, that as these relationships ebb and flow in her life, I will be the one constant that she knows she’ll be able to count on. I joked with my husband not too long ago that I foresee some epic battles between her and I in the future years. We are so alike in many ways, and one of these shared traits is stubbornness. He laughed, but agreed with me. Which is scary! I’m nervous most days that I’m going to screw this up…say the wrong thing when she needs comforting and reassurance, not know the answers to her ever increasing complex questions, be too hesitant to disappoint her when she asks for something that I know she’s still too young for. I found being a mommy to a newborn, infant, and toddler much easier than this foreign territory of hormones that we are entering. Although I’ve lived it from the driver’s seat, parenting a tween girl feels like I’m seeing all of it for the first time again. No doubt much of this is because memories fade somewhat and times are different in a lot of ways. Saying the wrong thing to a ten year old when every moment is fraught with drama can leave you walking around your own life like you’re stepping through a minefield. This is why this past Sunday was so difficult for me. Setting up the belief of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are nothing compared to navigating the conversation when the truth is realized. I can say, though, that since yesterday’s heartfelt cry fest and conversation, our moments together have been a touch sweeter. As if there is an unspoken understanding that we reached new ground together yesterday. And this mom will take it. As a parent, the idea of my children being bullied worries me. Also scary is the idea that they will BE the bully. Neither of these scenarios are acceptable to me. But in all my worrying about my kids being pushed around, I forgot that adults can be bullied too. Until it happened to me. Last week I encountered a bully of the worst kind...a person in the role of a caregiver that I placed my trust in. My doctor. I was recently diagnosed with moderate degenerative disc disease in my thoracic spine and severe arthritis in my lumbar spine. I've been undergoing a series of injections in these areas to help manage the chronic pain. Last week I made an appointment to discuss this treatment because I had many questions that I needed answers to, and what transpired during that visit shocked me. I left his office feeling angry, sad, and shamed. Not feelings that one should have upon leaving a routine doctor's visit. I'm not going to go into all the details of what was said, because it doesn't matter for the purposes of this post, but they were not things that a doctor with any kind of respectable bedside manner should say to a patient. And it didn't even really occur to me that what happened was a form of bullying until I was discussing it with my husband later that evening. But when it sank in, boy did I get angry on a whole new level! I'm one of those people that never seems to have the right retort at the time I need it. I always think of what I should have said hours, or even days, later. This is an infuriating character trait to have. There have been so many times I've wished I could immediately pop back with the perfect response to someone who is being an utter ass. Unfortunately, those snappy comebacks always hit me after the moment has passed and expressing it is no longer productive. I've already made the decision that once I complete this current course of treatment, I will be finding a new doctor to help me manage my condition. I am not going to continue to give this man the power to make me feel bad about myself or pressure me into having treatments that I am not confident in. I'm also giving some serious thought to filing a formal complaint, because if he was capable of saying the awful things he said to me, chances are high that he's done it to someone else, too. And I can't urge my daughters to stand up for themselves when encountering a bully if I'm not willing to do the same for myself. This is easier said than done, though. As insane as this sounds, no matter how rude or obnoxious or downright mean another person is to me, I hate - HATE - making them feel awkward or bad about their behavior. I end up feeling awkward and embarrassed instead. Isn't that crazy? The only exception to this is when a person is mean to, or hurts, one of my loved ones. Then, the momma bear instinct comes out and I strike. I can count on 1 hand the number of times this has ever happened, but each instance left a powerful memory because I got MAD. Mad enough to make people cry with my biting counterattacks. For the most part, I'm not sorry, either. Each and every one of those times I was furious on behalf of someone I care about, and I was not about to let those bullies get away with their conduct. But somehow I can't stand up for myself in the same way. I usually just get very quiet, teary, and slink away like I'm the guilty one. Not this time, though. It's not okay for anyone to be a bully, but it's even less acceptable (if that's really even possible) when it comes from people that you are supposed to be able to unequivocally trust - doctors, teachers, policemen/women, etc. I am going to stand tall this time, and when I leave his practice to go somewhere else, I AM going to tell him exactly why. I won't be ugly about it...I don't want to stoop to his level. But there will be no fuzz left on that peach when I am done.
My kids never cease to amaze me. All parents look at their children with pride, and I am no different. But this past Friday, my oldest daughter taught me a lesson. Not in the "you're in trouble, I'm going to teach you a lesson" kind of way. No, she taught me a lesson in courage. She was selected to represent her class in her school's 4th annual oratorical competition. She memorized a poem, accompanying hand gestures, and performed it in front of the entire student body, staff, and parents. I watched her work so hard all week. I listened to her practice her poem in the shower, in her room, in the car. She performed it over and over in front of me, my husband, and her sister. Each time she finished, she would ask for our feedback, and the next time she recited it, that feedback was incorporated. By the time Friday arrived, she had it perfected. We had bought her some "high heels" to wear with her dress - they were supposed to "dress to impress" - and we curled her hair that morning. She went off to school practically vibrating with excitement and nerves - and something that I have never been able to possess on the verge of a public speaking event - confidence. I was a nervous wreck while listening to the contestants before her. But each time I looked over at her, she was calmly sitting in her chair, cool as a cucumber, waiting her turn. When she walked up on that stage and began speaking, there was no hesitation. No wavering. She just got up in front of the microphone and performed like she'd been doing it all her life. I was so proud! I was proud she was even there, as a contestant, in the first place, but the pride that welled up inside me while watching her perform was exhilarating. It even caused me to tear up, and when she finished I couldn’t help but scream a bit while I clapped for her. When the announcement was made that my baby girl tied for first place, several different emotions overwhelmed me. Pride, obviously…and love, excitement, and admiration. But what made me even more proud was the way with which she accepted the compliments and congratulations afterwards. She was humble and polite.
That day, I watched my little girl do something I’ve never been able to do very well. Public speaking is not my strength. I don’t enjoy it at all, and I’ve been known to make myself physically ill with anxiety over the prospect of having to speak or perform in front of a group of people. In fact, this fear extends all the way to things like being the center of attention in a family setting. Birthdays and Christmas, where I have to open gifts in front of my family members, stretch my nerves to the point that I have to take a Xanax to calm down. I am so thankful that H doesn’t seem to suffer from this fear. She looked forward to the competition, and approached it with a confidence and anticipation that made me jealous. I want to be able to anticipate events where I will be in the spotlight with excitement, rather than terror. I realize that I may never fully achieve this wish, but H has inspired me to try. Without saying a word directly about it, she has challenged me to face my fears about being center stage. She showed me that it can be an enjoyable experience, if I let it. Being the parent usually implies that you are the teacher. However, in this case, I was the student. H has set an excellent example for me to follow. If she can stand up in front of hundreds of people and emerge not only unscathed, but victorious, then I can certainly do the same. Like daughter, like mother! ;) I am one of those people that accepts responsibility for everything, whether it’s really my fault or not. I don’t know why I do it, but I suspect it’s because one of my worst pet peeves is when people WON’T accept responsibility for their actions. Somehow, I turned that into I MUST TAKE OWNERSHIP OF ANY AND ALL THINGS! So, what I’m saying is that I walk around carrying an enormous amount of guilt all the time. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? Occasionally, I’ll get rebellious and think “damn it all to hell! I don’t care! I’ve accepted the guilt for my fair share, so screw it all!!” But it doesn’t last. I go back to assuming it’s all my fault, and saying I’m sorry, and generally walking around like a beaten down schmuck. Every which way I turn, people are telling me to stop it. I know they are right. I mean, I realize the world doesn’t actually revolve around me, so realistically I can’t be the reason for every mess-up out there. That’s just egotistical.
Every time I do make a mistake that I know for certain IS my fault, I have to remind myself it’s ok. It.is.okay. Messing up is part of life and is part of being human. Messing up is how we learn. Our mistakes build character and help define us just as much as our successes do. Sometimes, even more so. There is a song that I have dubbed my theme song – P!nk’s F***king Perfect (Excuse the profanity, please). I loved it from the moment I first heard it. It spoke to me more than any other song ever has, and my favorite lines are the opening: “Made a wrong turn once or twice Dug my way out, blood and fire Bad decisions, that’s alright Welcome to my silly life” Followed closely by: “You’re so mean (so mean) when you talk (when you talk) About yourself. You were wrong Change the voices (change the voices) in your head (in your head) Make them like you instead” Guys, this song is wise. Like, really, really wise! I know I’m not alone in taking more than my share of blame for things, and I’m certainly not alone in being too hard on myself. And yes, I’m going to say this and it might raise an eyebrow or two, but it’s my firm belief that women are harder on themselves than men. There’s simply more expectations set out for us. Media (defined as TV, movies, newspapers, internet, magazines, books, radio) bombard us at all levels with messages of what we, as women, should be and should be able to do. You can’t open a magazine or a website without seeing articles about How to Make the Perfect 6 Course Dinner in 15 Minutes or Less! How to Sew the Cutest Costume in the World for Your Kids in 10 Steps or Less! How to Never Gain Weight Again No Matter How Much You Eat!!!! It’s disgusting, really. I have learned to simply avoid looking at the magazines at the checkout lane, and I have to force my eyes to glide past those oh so tempting article titles when I open my internet home website. These things do not help me learn to accept myself as myself. Some people can read these things and just take them at face value – “Oh, hey, look at this great recipe!” But for me, these type reads just reinforce my already distorted view of myself. But not this song. This song makes me feel better. It makes me stop, take a breath, and remind myself of all the things that I easily forget during my daily crazed life. Not everything is my fault. Those things I do screw up aren’t going to end the world. Every day I live on this earth is another day to try and improve. And the best thing this song makes me realize? In all our imperfection – we’re F***king perfect. I wear many different hats. Not literally, but figuratively. We all do. I'm a wife, mother, daughter, friend, employee, and co-worker. Each role requires a little bit something different, too. They are all me - just different variations of me. Sometimes, I get so lost in what I think each role should require of me, that I forget to just be. I worry too much about the "shoulds" and not enough about just being the real me - a worry that has gotten me into trouble on several occasions! Each of these hats are very important to me. I take my job as all of these things very seriously. Sometimes, so seriously that I've been nicknamed "the killer of fun". In jest, of course. But there's a grain of truth in that joke. That truth is this...I need to learn to let go and have fun. It's a simple concept. One that we learn as babies. Have fun! Play! Smile and laugh! I'm not sure where along the road I turned so serious, but there is no denying that letting loose is hard for me. I want to change that. I RESOLVE to change that. I refuse to look back at my life and regret not enjoying all the different roles I got to play to so many beautiful people in my life. I want to feel happy and satisfied and content when my time on this earth is done. Isn't that everyone's wish? Tonight, I am going to take a solid step towards this finish line. Maybe I'll forgo laundry for doing a puzzle with my daughters. Maybe I'll make another frozen pizza for dinner, not because I'm too blah to do anything else, but so that I have time to sit down and watch a favorite TV show with my husband. Maybe, I'll spend 15 minutes watching ridiculous videos on YouTube of baby goats acting crazy. And maybe I'll do all these things! The important thing is that I am going to make a conscious effort to not worry about what I should be doing as a mother and wife and friend and focus more on doing what makes me smile inside. I can't help but think that life will only be more colorful like that. :)
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July 2019
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