Mom Ashamed

I am just going to admit that yes, I write a lot about my struggles as a mother, which might suggest that yes, this is pretty much a Mommy blog...which is consistent with most things about my life, totally the opposite of what I want.

I had a meltdown today in response to my daughter's meltdown. I threw her pacifier out of the moving car when it failed to keep her from screaming at me about whatever it was she wanted. I yelled. I cursed. I cried. I detoured to a nearby playground to get her to walk out her frustration (and to do the same for myself) and she refused. So I walked off and paced the tennis courts. When I decided that my "walk it off" idea wouldn't work, I drove us home.

I am so tired. She's only two. I am not going to make it if things continue the way they have.

I felt this way a few years ago when I reached a similar frustrated boiling point with my Mom. I had tried everything I could think of to interact and engage her, and everything was met with her treating me like she hated me. The worst period of her treating me like shit were during my pregnancy. She was so mean-spirited, and it seemed like no noticed or cared. Until the day I stormed out of the house after a particularly nasty exchange when I asked her to allow me to do something and she refused. My brother must have overheard, and finally came upstairs, but as far as I'm concerned, his concern was for my Mom and not much for me.

That's pretty much how I feel all the time during this Toddlersaurus phase (and honestly, since I was six months pregnant). No one gives much of a shit about me.

I do all of the heavy lifting, but if she has an unusual bruise on her leg, the entire world has to come to a stop to determine if we need to spend the night in the ER. When I was swollen and retaining fluid during her first month (steadily pumping myself with vitamins and bleeding and everything else to breastfeed and just adjust to everything), I was sent to the doctor (not taken, but sent on my own). Her discomfort is met with concern. Mine is met with indifference.

I fucking hate everybody right now. EVERYBODY.

I hate my Mother for being sick. I hate my Dad for being helpless. I hate my brothers for being men. I hate my sister in law for being so distant. I hate my other in-laws for living in New York. I hate my friends for never offering to do anything for me or my daughter. I hate how motherhood has isolated me. I hate my husband, period.

And I hate myself for not being the person I had hoped to be. I hate that the only way I can express myself is through writing that no one ever reads. I hate that I won't publish this (on BBW where I started writing this) because I am chicken shit and am more nervous of people judging me. I hate that the anxiety of not wanting to be judged has made it nearly impossible for me to ask for help.

Screaming at the Top of My Lungs

I promised myself that I would not use my BBW blog to air my dirty laundry, and for the most part I have kept that promise. That's why I keep this blog, and why I am grateful that I decided not to continue writing this post over there. Because I am feeling kinda crappy right now.

WHEN AM I EVER GOING TO BE HEARD?

In an argument. By my toddler. By my family when I have a legitimate point of contention. By my friends? By anybody?

Do you know how frustrating it is to feel like NO ONE gives half a crap about you unless you are fucking up? How it feels to think that nothing you do ever matters because to some folks it is just your job? That you aren't even remotely special?

I feel like that right now. Right now, just as I want to eat my feelings (which was something I never did before this year). Right now as I am really thinking about running the fuck away and not telling anyone where I'm headed. Right now when I want to reach out, but don't think anyone has the time to understand why I am just feeling hopeless and useless and perennially frustrated by life.

When is it my turn to be first? Why can't I make demands and someone feel obligated to meet them just because? Why am I being high maintenance when I want something done a certain way? Why can't I have expectations? Why don't I ever feel appreciated? Can I get some flowers that someone actually took the time to look at to make sure that they weren't dying (instead of buying the cheap ones because they were cheap)? Can I not be given the lecture that I ought to be grateful for being an afterthought instead of not being thought of at all (which is the definition of afterthought, n'est pas)? Can someone call me and reach out to check in on me from time to time, instead of reaching out to ask for a favor? Why can't I be needy? Why does my loneliness feel more like normal the older I get?

Why so many questions, you might ask because from your perspective, I should be happy. And I get the green grass theory, which is true when you realize the reason why their grass is greener--someone waters and cares about that other lawn. If I am not watering my grass, it should be brought to my attention so that I can do a better job. I don't have a problem being told that I am doing something wrong. I have a problem with always being told that I am doing something wrong in response to telling someone else to modify their behavior.

I have a few other issues, but I will get to my laundry instead.

More Than Enough

I need to write to remind myself of an important point, lest I drift backwards into self-doubt and depression: I am okay. I am doing my best, and on some days, I need to take comfort in the fact that my best is much better than those who do nothing but complain. And I'm giving myself this pep talk because I got flustered one evening last week in a true Charlie Foxtrot moment. By the end of the night, I had let a lot of that anxiety go, but I decided to write about it anyway so that I can have this to reread whenever I want to crawl back into a shell of self-loathing.

I am doing more than enough.

Instead of providing a turn-by-turn account of the events of the evening prior to that moment when I was running back and forth between answering the front door, helping my Mom in the bathroom, and giving my kid a bath...I will simply say there was a lot going on. And I was by myself with my 70 year old mother and my 2 year old daughter. Even if my choices at any given moment are questionable, at the end of the night I can at least say that I did something other than complain.

I hit the wall at the beginning of this year with my emotions, and I know that the stress of my mother's illness has been difficult for everyone. Chronic illness can devastate lives in so many ways. It ruins relationships and it can have reverberations for years. I have been stressed to the breaking point trying to manage caregiving and parenting, so much so that I essentially dropped out of a lot of activities and commitments. I don't lament the need to take such a drastic step, but I have been frustrated that it came to this point.

Attempts to address some of our issues as a family of caregivers unearthed a lot of resentment and unexpressed feelings. It also made things worse...but perhaps the only way to address an issue is to expose its ugliness. I am still open to the possibility of making peace, but I have accepted that it might not happen. Therefore, for anyone else who might be going through a similar situation or who might have to face the unforeseen chaos of chronic illness, here is a quick list of some of what I have learned these past eight years:

1. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. And communication is not just about telling folks your positions or how you feel about the situation. It is also about how you listen. I spent a great deal of time communicating information that was not being processed or that was being ignored, or perhaps most importantly was not what folks wanted to know. I honestly do not have any tips about how to get others to listen, but if folks are not speaking to each other, listening to what is being said, or accepting the truth of what is being expressed, then you will have misunderstandings and chaos.

2. Caregiving is a 24-hour job and it involves everyone in the family. Everyone can contribute and no contribution is too small. However, if there is no contribution then that is a problem. When there is a need for an outside caregiver, it does not absolve anyone else of having to take part. It might diminish certain duties, but family care is still vital.

3. Offering criticism is not the same as offering assistance. As far as I am concerned, it is the same as doing nothing. Opinions are assholes...everybody has one.

4. Most non-immediate family and friends have no idea how to offer help or to even express support. So I don't hold that against them. I actually appreciate the benign gestures of just checking in because it helps to know that folks are thinking about us even when they can't do anything specific.

5. Caregivers often will not ask for help. Although that statement applies specifically to my family, I suspect it is true of most families. The vast majority of the time I will not tell outsiders what is really going on with my Mom, for any number of reasons. Thus, whenever people tell me to let them know if I need anything, I file that away with point #4 in mind. It isn't personal nor is it pride, but it is usually a case of not wanting to include too many people in our inner circle. Too many cooks spoil the broth. However, whenever we do ask for assistance, it is because we truly need something.

6. Caregivers have been thrust into an unexpected scenario, which ultimately becomes a perpetual series of unexpected scenarios. Thus, mistakes are bound to happen, and I have felt guilty about every single one. Yet, I rarely have time to lick my wounds, so yes, I am ultra-sensitive to criticism (#3) especially when I am the person who has to make the hard choices. If you would do the job better, then by all means...

7. Compromise. No caregiving situation is ideal. And when there are several people involved in the process, there are that many opinions and ways of doing things. Each person means well, and choosing not to take every suggestion is not personal--often it is a matter of feasibility. You do not lose if you don't get everything you want, but you get nothing if you walk away.

8. Children should not be shielded from the scenario. I decided that if my daughter was going to  know her only living grandparents, she will know them as they are at every stage of her life. She also needs to be prepared for the future. I was exposed to the illness of my grandparents and had to actively participate in their care, which I believe prepared me for dealing with this very situation. God forbid if my daughter has to care for me or her father, but at the very least she will have had a blueprint.

9. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Not just a song, but a reality, especially when dealing with your adult siblings, your even older parents and their siblings, and the outside paid caregivers. All of your family dynamics will be impacted by the illness, and all of your family issues will resurface as well. Respect is making the choice to put the needs of others above your need to be right.

10. Caregivers need support. We need friends. We need family. We need breaks. We need someone to recognize when the situation has gotten too overwhelming and we're in too deep to notice. We need someone to make that benign statement about showing up whenever needed and actually doing so without being asked. We need someone else to remind us that we have to live as well because the last thing anyone needs is an additional chronic illness to manage.

The Day I Almost Lost It

That would be today.

I dragged my two year old outside and let her scream on the front porch for about five minutes. This was after she refused to nap, dumped all of the clothes out of her drawers, scattered her jewelry, bit me (twice), and just got on my very last fucking nerve. And I was tempted to shut the door in her face, but then one of my curious neighbors walked up...

I am not feeling well. I didn't feel well last night. I told the Hub to go to work because instead of having him cater to the Toddlersaurus all day as if she is the sick one, I figured I could do just fine by myself. And that is why God is laughing at me...

Now she's sitting on the potty that she only uses as a stool or as a prop for her toys. That is also a sore spot for me, since I've been trying this potty training thing for months and we have made absolutely NO PROGRESS AT ALL. I had hoped that as her language continued to develop (another fail), she would begin to tell me when she needed to potty, seeing as how she can sing that stupid song from Daniel Tiger. But singing and making demands is about all she can do, and all I can do is get increasingly more frustrated.

I know that as I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself, playing my whiny solo on the world's smallest violin, whomever stumbles across this post will wonder why I just don't ask for help. Well, yeah shall we analyze my options: (1) my mother...; (2) my father who doesn't remember anything from my childhood except that my mother did all that stuff; (3) my dead grandmothers or mother-in-law; (4) my other family members who have children but don't really talk to me like that; (5) my sisters-in-law who all have grown children; (6) my two friends with children; (7) the Spanish-speaking nannies at the library or play group; or (8) my neighbor whose husband just walked over to check out why she was standing on the porch?

Feel free to pick one out the best option and let me know.

By the way, I once said that this was not going to be a Mommy blog, yet here we go again, right?

PS: We finally fell asleep.

Get In Formation

This is just a quick public service announcement because I want all HBCU alumni to understand something crucial for future reference: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

I repeat: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

That isn't our cross to bear. So please, before you waste time whining blogging about a high-profile donation to the so-called elite HBCUs, take a step back and do a little research. Recognize that every single one of these institutions needs support, and if every single alumni gave something, anything to his/her own HBCU, it wouldn't matter what the celebrities do.

Because what they do with their money is their damn business. Some of these folk will give that big one-time donation and never give another dime. Or they might give consistently for the rest of their natural lives. Or whatever, but again, it is their money and not ours. Our money is what we earn and how we choose to designate it, so that matters more to our institutions--whether alumni bother to donate.

So again, I repeat (just in case you forgot): WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

And because I really, really care that you get this, I just gave to Talladega College, as I said I would when I wrote this. Because I never want another HBCU to go hat in hand to participate in something that they would rather not, but feel compelled to do so because they need the money.

And that is the same reason why I gave to Bethune-Cookman University today, because for the life of me, I just cannot even form the words to express why the invitation to Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos to be their commencement speaker is just...like seriously, were Omarosa or Ben Carson that busy? (And I'm not signing any petition because I made my feelings clear while making my contribution. Money talks, my friends.)

And to briefly address this gift from Beyonce to Spelman College and Howard University, please save your ire for real nonsense, like the aforementioned invitation to Betsy DeVos from Bethune-Cookman or the participation of Talladega's band at the Abomination in January. Hell, let's debate whether it is too soon for Barack Obama to collect $400,000 for speaking engagements. But let's not spend another minute complaining about how Beyonce should have spent her money; otherwise, we will ensure that the next big gift won't go to any of our schools. No one wants to court controversy for making a GIFT. So just stop.

Finally: WE ARE NOT IN COMPETITION WITH EACH OTHER FOR DONORS.

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

Depression for Dummies

Depression is real. Depression is not just in my head.

NO, I CANNOT JUST GET OVER IT.

Happiness may be a choice. Depressed people try to choose happiness. But something makes that choice seem impossible in any number of circumstances. It would help tremendously if people understood that. I can be happy in a moment. I have moments of joy. But I can still suffer from depression in those moments.

One analogy I can think of is getting dressed during the winter. I can put on layers of clothing to keep warm, but if any skin gets exposed, I can still get cold. With depression, I can participate in a joyful celebration but if something goes wrong, it can ruin the experience for me. (And not necessarily the entire experience, just that specific aspect.) Most people would argue "Everything else went great, why can't you just get over it?" Because that is how depression works--I just can't get over it.

I just had yet another very futile "conversation" with the husband wherein his understanding of my issues boils down to his fundamental misunderstanding and, as far as I am concerned, his unwillingness to try.

I understand that it is hard to invest the emotional capital in someone who suffers with chronic depression. It is much easier to just walk away and leave them alone. I know because get left alone all the time. I am not suggesting that loving someone with depression is futile. It just means that you have to find a way to love that person to reassure them that no matter what, everything will be alright. I know that my family prefers to keep me at arm's length because it is easier for them. I just wish someone would make the effort to love me through my depression instead of in spite of it.

I didn't intend to spend this much effort on this topic, but I really needed to vent. I am going through another debilitating episode that has kept me pretty much confined to the house for the past month. I have gone out, but only as necessary. I have been trying...I bought some new lipstick and drastically cut my hair. I also admitted that I am going through something to others, which is rare because I never talk about my issues with others. I stopped short of telling people that I was depressed, but I was honest that I am dealing with a lot of drama that has left me anxious, frustrated and emotionally exhausted. People are a little more encouraging when you can offer specific terms to describe your feelings.

Just know that telling me to feel better is counter-productive. Telling me to pray is not offering a solution. Neither is expressing frustration that your efforts aren't helping (because my depression is not about you, it is about me). It would help if you stopped to listen, really listen without always trying to offer a fix. It is nice of you to pray for me, but how about inviting me to pray with you? If I cannot express exactly what is wrong, there might be any number of reasons why, but getting annoyed and giving up on me will only hasten a shutdown.

If any of this sounds familiar because you recognize yourself or someone else you know, I hope this gives you a primer on depression (not a clinical one, but a personal one). Maybe it will help you to become a better friend to someone who cannot always muster up the energy to be bothered with life beyond a self-contained bubble. I want to get through this, but I need help.

Juggling Knives

I sometimes feel as if I mistreat this blog, but that is not my intent.  I am just really working hard to build an audience for Busy Black Woman.  I have no idea if my goals will ever be realized, but there is this part of me that feels compelled to try.

That is kind of the way it feels with everything in my life lately--just try until it fails (or succeeds).  But success has been elusive for me and I feel that it is starting to show.  It shows on my face for whenever I look at myself in the mirror a defeated old woman is looking back at me.  And that is new and unexpected.

I realize that what I am going through is typical.  It isn't normal in the sense that everyone deals with unemployment, infertility, care-giving and whatever else is on my plate these days...it is normal that people my age begin to feel the pressure of life.  This is the age when pressure turns into chronic disease, bad habits, gray hair and permanent cynicism.  This is when idealistic people become jaded.

I am unsure how I am going to fare these next few years.  Tonight my back tensed up so much that I was wincing.  I almost have to take a drink in order to relax and that has become scary.  How am I supposed to get through the really rough patches of life if I think I need a glass of wine?  What happens when the wine stops working (like now since I am still very tense)?

I feel overwhelmed.  And I often feel as if I brought all this on myself, not as a way to find material for the blog, but because I fear boredom and idleness more than anything else.  I live in fear of dying on a day when my biggest accomplishment would have been checking my Facebook page.  Therefore, I am booked with activities through my parents' anniversary and then I have a week until Thanksgiving.  Then I have my recital and it just keeps going until January when all of the Centennial activities begin.  I don't know how I am supposed to even start thinking about having a personal life in the midst of all that.

I have already written a piece for the other blog on my trips to a social worker...I just need to post it.  And once that happens, I need to face the fact that maybe I stopped going to relieve myself of the guilt of self-indulgence.  Which is a problem for way too many reasons.  Why should I feel guilty about needing professional help?  Why should I, when the husband runs to the doctor for stomach pain every two months?  I am about to cancel a doctor's appointment next week because I need time to do something else.

And therein lies the real problem.  I am getting really good at knife juggling, but not so good at setting them down to take a break.  Why I should feel some kind of way about an hour a week spent talking about myself to a professional (granted, I felt guilty mostly because of the cost) is beyond me.

So I think I am about to make some very different decisions about my life moving forward.  One change that will take place immediately (next week as a matter of fact), I will go back to getting my hair and nails done on a regular basis.  It is funny that I started getting my nails done as a birthday gift to my mother and for at least four months, we kept at it.  Then she changed her mind and I stopped going after a particularly draining episode when she threatened to walk home.  So one of conclusions I had to reach after that episode and many others is that I need space to live a life of my own every now and then. 

And that needs to be okay with everybody, including especially me.

Catching Up

So I have been away from this blog for a little bit, but that was to focus on a few things related to the other blog.  Like purchasing the domain name!  And trying to figure out ways to market the site!

The BBW Movement is beginning :)

In the meantime, my life is still a hot mess.  I am looking around at my surroundings and wondering how I got to this point...but wondering and taking decisive corrective action are two different things.  First of all, who has the time (I do, but...) who wants to spend it cleaning and organizing when you fully believe that all of it will be undone?  This house has been out of my control for so long that living in the chaos is just another part of my reality.

I am also dealing with a lot of issues in my personal life.  There is a saying that when things start to improve in one area of your life, they start to go south in others.  Well, I am here to say that it is south all across the board...I am just doing the best I can to make it look like some things are improving. 

But, I am inspired to press on anyway.  After all, my problems will not be solved by doing nothing, or worse by giving up.  And despite the fact that I had some very dark days last week, thankfully the sun has come out and that makes things look brighter.

Anyhoo, stuff to do, people to see and all of that, so smooches until I see you next time!

Weekends are for Wimps

I have had a weekend. It was great and terrible all at the same time. I rallied, I cried, I raged, I chanted, I marched, I rested, I ate, I drank, I strolled, I shopped, I listened, I watched, I heard, I read, I waited, I moved, and I slept.

I do more in one weekend than most people get done in a week.

I am not patting myself on the back, because this is actually a vent about how I took on too much this weekend. In all of that stuff I did, there is still a lot more that I need to get done. I am tired.

Mondays are rough, but the worse day of the week for me tends to be Saturday. So if I were to look at my week from that angle, Friday is truly my day of rest since that is the day when I generally relax and spend the evening gearing up for Saturday morning. Mondays are hump days...

My other vent is about my dogwood tree that appears to have given up the ghost. I am pissed because I paid more attention to this stupid tree by watering and caring for it and it still shriveled up and practically died on me for no good reason. I am most upset because this appears to be a sign--sometimes you give all you can and things still fall apart. Maybe this metaphor isn't about me (a few selected people I know need to get this), but if things don't work out, that is just life. I will simply call the landscaper and have him give me another damn tree.

Alright Tuesday, tell me what YOU got...