Posts Tagged ‘frustration’

time to heal

Posted in beginnings, family, gray area, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 25, 2013 | Leave a Comment »

Source: Pinterest

 

Healing.

That’s my keyword for 2013.

It’s taken me over an month to come to it.  I’ve never been big on New Year’s Resolutions. January and February are for hibernating, not hitting the gym!  I like to let the energy of the new year settle in for a while, before I decide where it is going to lead me on my journey.

In reflection 2012 was a little edgy.  Last January and February (in full disaccord to my own beliefs about hibernation) I bleached out my long brown tresses – like platinum blonde! – and then decided on a whim to cut those crunchy fried locks.  I weilded the scissors myself one afternoon during nap time!  I didn’t go all Britney Spears (remember the shaved head incident?)  But I did lop off about 6 inches and ended up with it at chin length after my shocked stylist fixed it all up for me again.   I was frantically trying to change myself and leave my past behind.  But I was only looking on the outside – which really is the easiest part to change.

Springtime brought with it an epiphany of sorts and I started going to counseling.  That’s when everything started making a lot more sense.  By Fall, I had finally decided to confront my problems rather than continue to avoid them.  And well, that was partially freeing, but mostly painful.  At least I spoke my truth.  Even if it was only met with more accusations of how wrong and horrible I am.

With winter just weeks old, the universe decided to throw me into the fire of grief, love, pain and hope.  I took lots of naps, but did very little writing.  I found solace in cooking and sewing instead.  The decided snaps while chopping vegetables.  The simple rhythm of the sewing machine.  It was very meditative for me, shutting down the crazy, babbling monkey in my brain.

I had lengthy and emotional conversations (and rants) with Owen.  I voiced my worries and fears for my sister.  I voiced my frustrations and disappointment and anger toward my parents and their actions (or inactions in most cases).

It all kept me from imploding into myself.  I wasn’t about to slip into that deep and dark hole.  I just needed to get through it all and find some time to breathe and just be.

I never got around to the healing last year.

The truth seemed to do a good job of crumbling the past (and some of the present).

Now it’s time to clean up the mess and make way for a new beginning…

:::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::

I’ve rediscovered SARK’s writing and am hoping to give this healing process a little extra help with her books Transformation Soup and Glad No Matter What. Have you read these titles? Do you have any must-reads on healing?

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you’re so vain…

Posted in memoir, self-discovery, why I blog, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2012 | 6 Comments »

…you probably think this blog is about you.

Well, you’re wrong! It’s about me! (I’m the vain one here!)

Vanity & Aging.

It happens to the best of us. No matter how hard we try to defy time (and gravity!) our bodies insist of sagging and wrinkling and discoloring (age spots, gray hairs).

And I think it’s one of those things – like having kids – that you don’t fully understand until it happens to you. Until more recent years, I never really understood why women would spend hundreds of dollars on those anti-aging elixirs…or even cosmetic surgery!

I always thought I would “age gracefully” – which meant that I would look years younger than I actually was! But, today, at 36 years old, when I look in the mirror, or I see photos of myself, I think, “Who is that woman?!”

I don’t feel old…but I sure do look old!

I know that part of my problem stems from my tumultuous relationship with my own mother. Instead of seeing myself, I see my mom. Damn you, genetics! Don’t get me wrong, she is an attractive woman, but she’s the last person I want looking back at me in my mirror!

This aging thing feels like it just snuck up on me.  I was busy for the past 7 years being a wife and mother (I even juggled career for the first four years!) and unfortunately, I lost myself along the way.  Not entirely, mind you.  But I certainly lost the part that swore she would never “let herself go“.

I have let myself go.  I wear elastic waistbands (oh how I heart thee yoga pants!) 95% of the time…because they’re so comfy and I still have about 15 lbs of baby fat to lose (my baby is almost two now, so that baby fat excuse is getting pretty thin!).  I seldom wear makeup…and my freckles are starting to morph into age spots, not to mention the wrinkles around my eyes and forehead.   Can you say, “Laser surgery is my friend”?

I am fully aware of the “You’re only as old as you feel” adage.  And mentally, I am feeling better than I have in so, so long.  I am very grateful for that.  I do realize that maybe my outward appearance has slipped because I’ve been doing lots of restructuring and sorting out on the inside.  I also realize that I am certainly not alone in my wishful vanities and anti-aging battles.

I’m still me.  That mom-like person looking back at me in the mirror…that’s still me too.  I am a mom (but that does not mean that I am my mom).  Who I am on the outside is not nearly as important as who I am on the inside…but I have a sneaking suspicion now that my insides are humming along my outsides want some much needed (and missed!) attention!

 

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It seems a little shallow and silly to be talking so much about my outsides…but the outside and the inside both play a part in what makes me a whole person!  Society is so hypocritical – expecting supermodel beauty, but telling you how shameful vanity is!  Do you feel like your insides and outsides match/work together?  

Just Write is already in it’s 40th weekly installment…go read some more!

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restless

Posted in dreams, family, gray area, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2012 | 2 Comments »

The shades are drawn, and the skinny lamp shines on me in my favorite chair. Outside, the thunderstorms are raging, pounding rain (maybe it’s hail?) and flashes that light up the dark house. Everyone is tucked in, including Owen, whom I heard faintly snoring as I dried off and lotioned up after spending 15 minutes of solace, washing away the day.

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The book sits beside me. I’ve been highlighting as I read along (something I haven’t done since college). I am finding so much truth in those pages, but my progress is slow. The truth can sometimes be like eating your brussel sprouts: you know it’s healthy for you, but you still find yourself cringing and gagging down each “rotten-tangy-sweet” bite.

The truth has been bubbling up in my dreams, filling them with chaos and mass destruction…a reflection of some of my distant childhood memories. My mother, the epicenter of my chaos and the destruction of my self-esteem.

These words and pages I’m reading are filled with explanations. I get tingly-queasy with each realization, snapping off the highlighter cap and fervently marking the page. “This is why I am the way I am,” I think to myself.

But the high of validation is waning now, and I’m longing for words of healing.

Every night, the same prayer, “I just want to move on, please help me heal and move on.”

Inside, I sometimes scream, “Heal already damn it!”, as I imagine myself wiping my hands clean, then burning the towel with the disgusting stains of shame, guilt and a childhood lost.

My logical mind reminds me, with clarity and constance, that a lifetime of emotional pain can not be healed in a mere three weeks.

I will heal.

With love and with patience -

for myself
from myself

I will become whole.

:::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::     :::

{just write}

The book I’m reading is called Stop Walking on Eggshells, by Mason & Kreger. I highly recommend it if someone you love and care about has borderline personality disorder (BPD) … even if they have not been diagnosed or refuse treatment, this book will help you to begin sorting through the chaos.

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asking for help

Posted in beginnings, memoir, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 30, 2012 | 1 Comment »

The last post, the one where I laid it all out there for the world to see, well, it prompted an emotional purge.

It was all I could do to get through the evening rituals of dinner, a family walk, and bedtime.  Owen knew something was going on with me, and when he asked if everything was OK, I met his gaze for a brief second, holding down a torrent of tears, and replied, “Not really”.

Dinnertime conversation was full of grown-up code and knowing glances in between the usual banter of the big kids’ stories from their day and the toddler’s screeches and mayhem.

It is in my nature to just keep going, tuck my head down and keep charging forward.

No rest for the weary, as they say.

The evening went smoothly (sans wine or liquor) and by 8:30 p.m., Owen and I were sitting side by side on the couch.

“So…” was all the prompt I needed from him.

I took a deep breathe, and when I opened my mouth the words started tumbling out.  Bit by bit, much faster than expected, my truth bubbled up.

Words like fear, pain, abandonment, and anger were bursting through my stories – my soul’s attempt to purge all the junk it had collected through the years.

Motherhood is not the source of my anxiety, it is just a catalyst.

The source goes much farther back, much deeper. 

Owen is my rock, my shoulder to cry on; he is always there to listen.  And for that I am extremely grateful, but I plan on seeking outside help with this.  Afterall, he is my husband, not my therapist.

I grew up in a house that thought “therapy” was a four-letter word.  So this is a big deal for me – realizing that there are things in this life that are much bigger than one person, one couple, one family can handle.

I am finally ready to ask for help.

And, believe it or not, I feel stronger already.

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anxiety & motherhood

Posted in beginnings, self-discovery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on April 25, 2012 | 3 Comments »

I recently read a post over here, (Aidan is just awesome, btw) and it triggered something in me.  Something that I’ve been trying to cover up and ignore for a very, very long time.

 I am horrible at coping.

As a result, I live with more than my fair share of anxiety.  Lots and lots of anxiety.

When I was in my early twenties, I used to laugh it off, saying how no one would ever describe me as “laidback” or “easy-going”.  Of course, back then, in my college and early career days, that underlying need for perfection and control translated easily into a  successful, driven young woman.  People respected me for my attention to detail and strive to reach lofty goals.

Fast-forward a decade, and here I am, a stay-at-home mom/housewife and I am drowning each and every day in a current of chaos.  I know that having young children means that life is messy and loud and, in general, plain crazy.  While I force myself to have patience on the outside, I am screaming for this madness to end on the inside.

 I swallow it down.  These feelings of frustration and anger and hopelessness.  I feign patience.  And I love my children.  I really, really love them.  So I keep at it, day after day.  Every night, I hope and pray that the next day will be the one.  The day that I am truly able to let it all go.  And every evening, sometimes even earlier, I find myself reaching for that top shelf in the pantry.  The one that holds all the pretty, colorful, soothing bottles of escape.

 I drink.  I drink to relieve my anxiety.  And then I feel guilty.  I shouldn’t need to live this way.  It’s not like my life is that horrid, in fact, it’s a pretty charmed life.  But the ups and downs  and all arounds of motherhood are taking a toll on me.  I know I’m not alone, and that this is just how life goes sometimes, but I want to be able to cope with it.  In fact, I should be able to thrive in it.  But lately, without the (insert any random escape mechanism here), I feel like I am going to shatter into a million, tiny pieces.

I owe it to my children, to my husband, to myself for God’s sake to take back the reigns of this self-loathing downward spiral.

Yes, there are reasons – sure, I have plenty of excuses – but the bottom line is, I want to release this anxiety.  Face it, head on, and take back control over myself.

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