November 30, 2008

I’m the One

I am a woman above everything else. — Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

———-

Wife.  Mother.  Daughter.  Sister.  Friend.  As a mother I wear many hats.  Too often, I must fulfill many roles and expectations in any given day.

I’m the one who primarily takes care of the child.

I’m the one who does the grocery shopping and bill paying.  I’m the one who sorts the mail and files the important papers.

I’m the one who kisses boo-boos and makes the macaroni and cheese.

I’m the one who works all day and still feels like nothing is ever accomplished.

I’m the one who loses her mind more than once a day.

I’m the one who takes the child to preschool and picks him up each day.

I’m the one who makes frequent trips to the public library for children’s books and to allow said child some playtime.

I’m the one who plans fieldtrips to the Children’s Museum, YMCA and various parks to keep life with a child interesting.

I’m the one who wishes she could have just one day — one entire day — all to herself.

I’m the one who yearns to do things she enjoys instead of sacrificing her wants and needs to those of a 4-year-old.

I’m the one who longs for her husband to say just how much he appreciates everything she does for him and their child.

I’m the one ensures her child spends quality time with his grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins.

I’m the one who tries to take care of everything because it is expected of her.

I’m the one who sometimes cries at night because those expectations are too high.

I’m the one who feels she must be in control ALL THE TIME, because losing control would mean failure in her mind.

I’m the one who feels that motherhood has stolen her identity.

I’m the one who wants ME back.

It might sound like I’m complaining.  It might sound like I don’t like being a wife and mother, but that’s not at all true.  I love my husband.  I love being a wife.  I love my son.  I love being a mom.  I just didn’t realize it would be this hard sometimes.

How do I balance it all?

After more than four years of mothering, and more than seven years of marriage, I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

And maybe I’m not supposed to “know.”  Maybe it’s just something you “do.”  Maybe I’m just supposed to go with the flow and hopefully learn the ropes along the way.  Like on-the-job training or whatever.

I started thinking about all of this over the last few weeks.  I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m becoming physically fit that is making me want to be spiritually, emotionally and mentally “fit” as well?

How do I do that?  How do I achieve that balance?

I’m the one who strives for balance.

October 21, 2008

He Was My Dylan McKay

A long time ago in faraway land, as far away from reality as one can get, I fell in love with the wrong man.  The time and place of our first meeting are irrelevant because looking back on that moment I realize it could have happened at any point in my life.

I was feeling especially vulnerable when he caught my attention.  My life had been turned upside down, full of chaos.  Things weren’t going my way.  I remember feeling as though I wasn’t loved.  That I didn’t deserve to be loved.  My reaction to these feelings was to build walls around my emotions and let no one tear them down. I was certain that my heart could be stone and that I would feel nothing, not happiness nor sadness — for if I let one feeling escape the castle I had built, the others would follow.

And then I met him.  Our conversations were friendly at first.  We talked about our lives and where we lived and worked.  We spoke of our families and our favorite things.  Our relationship was flirtatious and silly and I loved the attention he gave to me.  His kind and loving words were like millions of tiny chisels chipping away the rock over my heart.

I felt worthy.  I felt loved.  I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.  After weeks of getting to know one another, I went on a five-day vacation without telling him.  When I returned he missed me.  He said he was so happy to see me and asked me never to leave without telling him.  That was the first time I let my guard down.  That was the first time I let him in.

Things that seem too good to be true, often are, and gradually our relationship fell apart.  His attention waned.  He lost interest in me and met someone else.  He gave all his attention to her.  It was a flash of light, as quickly as we met, our relationship was over.

Words were exchanged.  Hurtful words.  I lost control of my feelings.  I was confused because I never really knew what I did to drive him away.  Those old insecurities came flooding back.  I was drowning in my emotions.  I no longer felt loved.  I no longer felt beautiful.

I couldn’t let go of what happened.  I confronted him and somehow he convinced me it was my fault, that I was somehow delusional about our relationship, that I misunderstood what was really going on between us.  He made me think I was feeling things that weren’t really there.  He didn’t love me.

I remember feeling so stupid for ever loving him, that I tried to tell myself this never really happened.  In a rage I took back all the things I said to him.  I told him I didn’t really love him.  Instead of admitting how hurt I was, I told him I was just using him.  It was an attempt to gain control over the situation and it backfired.  He told me he never wanted to speak to me again.  I couldn’t deal with it.  I shut myself off from everyone around me.

I started seeing a therapist.  I wanted so badly to make sense of what had happened.  I felt depressed.  I didn’t want to eat.  I tried to starve myself, thinking that if I were thinner or prettier he would want me again.

Never in my life had I let a man have any power over me.  Why was he any different?  What was it about him that made me lose control?  I couldn’t figure it out.

Dr. G asked me to talk about it, to sort through all the anger and sadness.  I didn’t know if I could do it.

“Who are you?” he asked.  “Who are you? What do you believe to be true about yourself?”

It was a question I didn’t think I could answer.  Who am I?

I’m a woman who loves to be loved.  I want everyone to like me, to see how special I am, to appreciate me for who I am.  I’m a woman who likes to laugh and smile.  I’m a woman who needs more love and affection than most people.  I’m a woman who hates to be rejected.  I’m a woman who is afraid of abandonment.

I thought my reasons for seeing a therapist were to get over the one who hurt me, but as I poured my heart out I realized my feelings had nothing to do with a man loving me and everything to do with me loving myself.

After several long months of getting to know who I was and just being myself, I discovered how great I am.  I learned to be good to myself and to respect who I am.  Gradually, I got over the heartbreak and pain, and I realized the man I thought I loved was simply a lesson to be learned.

We wouldn’t have worked out anyway.  Thinking back on the times we shared together, I realize now he wasn’t as happy as he wanted everyone to believe.  His relationships were complicated.  He depended too much on others to make him happy, to validate who he was.  He was always brooding, and somewhat withdrawn.  He had his own abandonment issues because of his parents’ divorce.

In many ways he reminded me of Dylan McKay, the bad boy character from 90s television show Beverly Hills, 90210.  He even had the great hair to match.  Like Dylan, he was a loner.  While he had friends, he never let them into his life.  He never let them see who he really was.

I can’t say that he was all bad.  He could be kind and sensitive like no other.  He could make a woman feel like the most important person in his world.  He could make you see the same old things in a new light.  He was full of passion, but with that passion was intense heartbreak.  No one could break a heart the way he did.  Everything he says and does, everything he feels is full of intense emotion.

I never thought I could write about that time in my life before now.  I think in so many ways I was embarrassed.  I felt foolish for giving my heart to someone who so easily walked all over it. I realize now that everything happens for reasons we may not know until years later.  He was a lesson to be learned.  He was my Dylan McKay.

October 9, 2008

I Think I’m Just Tired

Over the last few weeks my life has been a roller coaster of emotions.  There are days that I am happy.  And then there are days when I’m sad.  Stressed out.  Frustrated.  Anxious.  Insert feeling here.

I don’t know why I feel like my life is spinning out of control.  Yet I do know.

I know it began when my father had his accident.  I began feeling like time was running out.  That life is too short and there are so many things I have yet to do.

I remember a moment this past summer when I looked at Dawson and began to sob.  It was as though I saw him as an adult, no longer needing his mother to hold his hand while crossing the street.  It was only a split second, yet felt like an eternity, but I thought about growing old.  I thought about my own death.

It scared me so much that I grabbed my son and hugged him so tightly that he began to squirm away.  These irrational feelings come and go.  Feelings of time slipping through my fingers.  I’m only 29 years old.  Young.  And yet I have these visions of turning forty.  Fifty.  Then sixty.  And seventy-five.

I don’t know why it scared me so much.  Perhaps, my father’s accident made me realize how precious our time is on this Earth.  I can’t bear the thought of my parents leaving me one day, but I know it’s inevitable.

For the last few months I’m constantly worrying about ridiculous things.  Like whether or not my house is clean, or if the laundry is put away.  I worry about my financial future and the stock market, and the economy and the election.  I don’t even have the desire to blog because I worry about what I’ll write.

My mind is constantly in a state of panic.  I don’t know how to relax.  I make to-do lists and have no ambition to get any of the stuff done.

This is most likely the reason I struggle with weight and eating healthy.  It’s probably why I suffer insomnia.  It’s contributing to my inability to get pregnant.  And yet, I don’t know how to make it stop.

Maybe I’m just tired.  They say exhaustion makes our perception of things much worse than they really are.

I still workout.  I still try to eat healthy.  I still try to do everything for everybody.

My mind is racing.  I feel like I have attention deficit disorder because my thoughts are spinning like a revolving door.  They drift in, and they drift out.

How do I make it stop?

June 19, 2008

We’re Going to Miss You, Mr. Jones

“Dick Jones, Stevens Point…”

That’s what he said whenever he introduced himself to anyone. Whether it was a friend of many years or a stranger passing on the street, Mr. Jones as I called him, would stop and smile, shake hands and introduce himself.

“Hey there. Dick Jones, Stevens Point…and you?” he’d say, arm extended for that handshake.

He worked at the high school, as a Special Education aid. He always had a smile on his face. He never failed to make his friends laugh, whether it be from a good joke or a playful ape about politics. He loved Irish music, but I think he secretly liked Polkas, even if he never admitted it.

He could talk bullshit with the best of them, and never got angry if you didn’t agree with an opinion. He was just one of those guys who could put a smile on your face with his quirky mannerisms, delightful grin and glimmer in his eye.

Oh how I cried when my father broke the news.

“He had a living will, the team from Madison is coming up for his viable organs, they will be taking him off life support because his chance of recovery is less than 1%.”

I can’t believe I’ll never see Dick again. He was like an uncle to me. I never imagined that when I saw him at the Moose Lodge in April that it would be the last time I’d speak to him.

Memories of our trip to Pulaski Polka Days, just about a year ago, are flooding back. How happy he was just to spend time with his buddy, Frank, my dad. They laughed and joked. They faux fought about politics, Dick being a Democrat and my father a Republican. They discussed the latest happenings at the Moose Lodge and talked about sports and the weather. My eyes weep at the recollection. It’s so heartbreaking.

And then I think of Steve, Dick’s son. I cannot imagine the pain and agony the family is going through. Dear God, please watch over them and be there for them in this time of grief.

How fleeting is this life! It often feels like an eternity, that we have many, many years to live before we grow old — but then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, a life has passed.

This feeling that life is short, it knocks me off my feet, it takes my breath away. One day our hearts are pumping away. Our lungs fill and empty of air. Our minds recall every memory we have created. And then suddenly, quickly, it all vanishes to the great unknown. Even if some of us are blessed to live a century, our lives seem to end too soon.

I find myself wondering what happens after we die. I wonder if Mr. Jones can see us, from wherever he is? Can he feel our hearts breaking? Does he know how much we adored him?

Heavenly Father, I hope so.

Mr. Jones, wherever you are, please know that we will never forget you and we will miss you so very much.