The Holding Pattern

I had a very candid and open discussion with a client of mine about the feelings involved in social distancing, and shelter-in-place/quarantine. She kept talking about how she felt like she was going crazy. Not losing her mind seeing people, and talking to invisible objects crazy. Just the "I think I might implode. Why am I so irritated? CAN YOU PLEASE STOP DOING THAT!" kind of crazy. Her normal, low-key, easy going self is gone. She feels distressed. She also happens to be a true extrovert. Even people who claim to be extroverts will tell you she's more extrovert than they are. This isolation is literally killing her. Thank heavens she can still come get on my table eh? Well, here's the thing. As I listened I recognized her feelings, and emotions. I did that super rude thing and interrupted. I said this; It feels like you're in this holding pattern of numbness. You know who you were, you know who you're going to be, but right now you're just stuck in this place of not being anything. The look on her face told me I would be forgiven my interruption because I had put words to what it was she was having trouble speaking. It's true. We are all in a state of perpetual depression. It's this holding pattern of functional depression that we know how to fix, but can't. We have no access to the things that will help us fix it. We can't go out and connect with friends. We can't get dressed up and go someplace special. We can't go get a facial, or our hair done, or go to the bar, or gun range, or even work. We are functionally taking care of our basic needs. We are doing things to help us maintain a certain level of health. But we all feel it. The darkness creeping in. We chase it back with feel good news stories, and videos of people learning to live around this new normal. But the darkness is there. Ever present. Waiting for a moment to pull us in. Wrap us in its long, dark, impenetrable mass and swallow us whole. We just keep circling in this holding pattern of twilight. Not truly dark, but not light either. Welcome to the world of functional depression. It's been my life for 6 years. My oldest child is 6 yrs old. It's not her fault, but it was her birth that started the hormonal chaos that has created the depression I've been living. This strange "I just want to be normal" feeling you all are having? This is my life. That "I just need to be able to get some work done!" or " I just cleaned that up!" or "how many times do you eat?" or " you have ANOTHER questions?!" that all you suddenly work from home parents are feeling? I live that. I live it with four delicate, impressionable little humans I made. It is my life. I work from home all the time. I never leave. I have been social distanced for 6 years due to this life of mine. I have no answers on how to keep the darkness at bay. I admit I'm not very good at it. I don't have healthy coping mechanisms for keeping your head above water. I resort to sarcasm, and dark humor, and food. Don't do what I do. They say you should find a hobby. I'm not really certain how to have a hobby if you have more than one child. I Clearly don't know how to do it, I am here with you. Just trying to maintain the holding pattern until I can find a solution. Just know, it's depression you're feeling. Face it with that knowledge. Hold your head high to keep it above the water.Maintain your holding pattern. You can do this. I've been doing it for six years. It's possible to live in this state. Just take one step at a time. Just do the next right step in the sequence of living.

Drive-ins, Swimming, and All Things Summer

I'm not an easy person to like. I say that a lot. Most people see that as fishing for a compliment. I say it with the self realized evidence of the past several years. The one thing my Husband has admitted about first meeting me? He didn't really like me. He thought I was a "know-it-all". Most of the friends I have that stuck through the awkward stage? They'll say it took some time to "warm up" to the idea of being my friend. Most people will confess to me that they weren't certain about whether or not they could deal with me when we first met. . . Let that sink in for just a moment. Imagine being told for the better part of your late 20's early 30's that you are not the ideal, personable human being people befriend. Imagine being told regularly that you're "difficult" to enjoy. Now think about how that sits on the psyche. There's a good reason I don't reach out to people. There's a reason I don't go out of my way to go places, or throw parties, or even attend parties. Several reasons actually. The big ones come from what happened to me in my early 20's. The "little" ones come from the fact that I can't even get my own family to enjoy me, let alone strangers; so I just stay home. My children are difficult to like as well. Mostly because we spend so little time with people outside our own home. It's difficult to have play dates when no one wants to sit and talk to you as the adult. I stopped pretending I understand people in the middle of what was going on with me before. I stopped paying attention to whether people mattered when the Major was selling me as a commodity. It makes me difficult to like. I don't understand the purpose of small talk. I don't really care about gossip. I'm not all that interested in fashion, and the latest craze ( which should be evident by my inability to dress myself.), I don't know how to not be awkward. Awkward is kind of my default setting. I am out of place in the world. I don't fit in. I do better when I keep my mouth shut, but I end up dying a little inside because no one really knows who I am. I get an uncouth exuberance when a subject I know about is brought up. I feel personally insulted when people won't let me help them; because it happens so rarely that I can be useful. I feel a great deal of pain at the fact that my children are the wierdos because I can't make enough friends with children their age for them to have playmates. My heart breaks when they desperately want to play with someone, and I have made that impossible. There is a silent amount of guilt killing me because I am difficult to like. Yet if I pretend, and become likable, I also die a little inside. So, Parenting catch 22. Do you die inside because your children are lonely and unlike, or do you die inside because you're faking it? Maybe someday I will know the answer, and my children will forgive me for failing them in this area. Maybe.

Gooey S'mores & Chili Breath

I'm lost. Somewhere between the size 4 jeans, and the stretchy pants are the only thing that fit; I lost myself. Somewhere between newly married, and the confused sleep deprivation of a mother of multiples I lost myself. Somewhere between "I can totally run that 5k!", and "you want me to do something besides nap?!" I lost myself. Somewhere between the punk/ska, and the child friendly language of a kid's sing-a-long CD I lost myself. Somewhere between the red lipstick, and barely having the energy for a shower I lost myself. Now this isn't a pity party, but it is a realization that My identity is no longer the same. Though I long to be the person who had the energy to dance in the kitchen while I was cleaning, I also realize a lot of that is choice. I CHOSE not to dance in the kitchen with the mop while listening to music with language and messages too mature for my children. I CHOSE to spend time on the floor with them reading books while the housework piles up. I'm beginning to recognize that may not always be the best choice. For now it's a delicate balancing act of my OCD for a clean home battling my desire to give my children quality time. People will tell me that cleaning my home IS showing my children love. Well, have you met my children? They cling to me the way we all wish syran-wrap would stick to the dishes we attempt to cover. Their love language is both quality time, and quality touch. I do what I can with the time I've got, but when I'm up several times a night with teething children, and not drinking caffeine during the day? come on! when they take a nap; I take a nap. I feel the desire to bust out some of the old me. The part of me that could care less. The person who wore bright red lipstick because it was Tuesday. I don't think she's dead just yet. And as my youngest gets a little older I find time to do things like put on jeans instead of stretchy pants. Somedays I even remember the deodorant. I love my children, and I spent years believing that life had passed by the point in which I would get to hold them in my arms. I also love the person I was before. The passion that was my life, the fearless resolve with which I stated my opinions and beliefs. I spend a lot more time pleasing others now. Giving snuggles, giving loves, giving spoonfuls of food, giving the blue cup because the red cup is no longer desired. I even bite my tongue to keep civil relations with people I could honestly care less if they liked me, but I need to play nice with because my Husband needs that relationship. I just think that at some point I'm going to find myself, and everyone is going to have their minds blown when I start acting like myself. I may even become much more organized. Who knows! I can barely put together complete thoughts anymore, but don't you worry! I will get back into a pair of stilettos and red lipstick, and probably some clothes too. I suppose that it's part of being a parent to lose a piece of yourself. I wonder whether I'm doing it wrong. Whether my decision to stop being so much full color version of myself, and more of a muted pastel is worth it. Whether the desire for a more child friendly/age appropriate home has been a wise choice. If I've lost enough of myself that my children will think that the woman who wore whatever she darn well felt like, and had the courage to kick someone's arse with a simple tongue lashing ever really was me. I wonder if I've given up a part of who I was that made my husband fall in love with me. I question whether I let myself go so far that I got lost along the way? Perhaps it's time to reclaim some of that person. Perhaps, much as I discovered when trying to be a bank manager, I just don't fit into these shoes. Perhaps I really just need to stand in the shower for 20 minutes, and sing my heart out, and let the kids play in the toilet water while I actually put lotion on myself. Maybe I need to spend a little more time shaving my legs, and a little less time crawling around on the floor. While I justify letting myself get lost because I'm attempting to make sure I don't raise children who are self entitled jerks. . . I may be missing the point, and my mind. Maybe it's all just a crap shoot, and it won't make a difference in the end that I bothered.

SUPER Impossed Imposition

I wonder what it is about imposing our own thoughts, feelings and memories onto someone who isn't feeling, thinking or remembering things that way that is so super? Why do we feel the need to believe that just because WE feel something it must be true of the other person. Sometimes, yes I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes how we handled something is NOT how someone else handles the same situation. By super imposing our own interpertation onto the events we miss the mark.
Perhaps too often we confuse passion, or a strong stance for actual emotion. There are pleanty of people out there who are extremely passionate and they may come off angry, or sad, or agressive. There is just a lot of passion behind the strong stance they've taken on an issue. Not to be confused, of course, with the actual emotions these people can feel. But taking time to pause and concider that what we're seeing may be only half the picture. Perhaps the person pushing them into such a passionate defense of their position NEEDS to see that much passion behind it to take it seriously. Call it fault, or folly there are those people out there too. They don't hear you unless you're screaming at them. They don't respond to the quiet, soft, gentle proddings of a bridaled passion. They only understand passion in it's stronges form. Not to say that either of these people don't need a little improvement. I'm just saying if they happen to be matched together, they probably come across as angry regularly. Even though the reality is they just feel VERY strongly about what it is they must defend. Whether we feel it needs to be defended or not is another issue altogether. The point here is that there is nothing SUPER about super imposing our views onto another human being. In another century they called that slavery. Heck, in another existance they called it a bad plan! Because the word SUPER should not be applied when imposing anything.