Have you ever read something that literally made you stand up and clap, as you wipe a single tear from the corner of your eye? The cries of “hear hear!” float from your lips, and you can’t believe that there is someone out there who gets exactly what you’re going through?
I was having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. Even worse than the days prior, which I honestly didn’t even think was possible. I thought the whole “husband getting squished by a dump truck axel” day was bad enough (and it was), but then worse still was the haunting anxiety I still have whenever my thoughts drift to the fact that he almost died. But of course, true to the universe’s way, when bad circumstances occur your children will naturally be hell on wheels and drive you to the very edge of your sanity. And I know, this has everything to do with them feeling all of your anxiety and stress and being unable to cope with such big emotions. I get it, I do…but understanding that doesn’t make it any less grating on the nerves.
It’s funny…this “motherhood” business, while the rational part of your mind says don’t take that personally, you can’t help but feeling deeply affronted when you are constantly battling it out with your smalls. It’s a thankless job, motherhood. It’s wonderful, yes, but it requires so much inner strength and patience.
And sometimes? You run out. The patience tank is bone dry, and there’s not a refill station for miles.
Suddenly, you find yourself not only lacking any patience at all, but you become weighted down in the guilt that comes with it. Guilt for not having patience. Guilt for admitting you’re having a shitty day/week/month.
Yesterday started out with yet another morning of extremely cranky, demanding children. One of which had hidden under the kitchen table during breakfast to poop in his underwear after nearly a month of no accidents. It was the straw that broke the camels back, so to speak.
The Mommy Tantrum I had was pretty epic, and there was no one there to talk me back to the level of semi-sane. Matt was, unfortunately, in a pain killer coma.
I hate when I don’t react the way I want to react. I want to be all zen and calm. I want to be peaceful. I want to be the calm place where my children can count on me to never lose my shit.
Truthfully? I’m usually not that bad. I’m not exactly the definition of ‘patient’, but I generally keep my Mommy Tantrums to a minimum.
But, this week has thrown a lot at me, and it’s been hard to take the time needed to process it all. I get scattered moments, where I can try and process a bit at a time, but that’s detrimental. I just end up getting anxious and end to feeling like nothing’s been “processed”.
Package all that and tie it with a big bow of people exceptionally getting on your nerves, and you’ve got a Mommy Bomb ready to go off at any minute.
One thing that I have noticed about our society and motherhood is that society thinks that mothers should always have it together. After all, they chose this life. Why complain about something you chose? Which, I suppose, is a fair enough point but I see a lot of people complaining about the jobs they chose to work, and the crappy service at the restaurant they chose to eat at. I don’t send those people rude messages and say “oh well, you chose to do that, so. Too bad”. Personally, I think it’s possible and totally okay to really be in love with something (your family, your job, etc) and still occasionally get pissed and complain about it.
But, again…need I say more than this? Can’t we just remember it?
What I want to see from, like, everyone…is more understanding. More empathy. More encouragement.
On social media, I can pretty much decide who is going to be supportive and uplifting, and those who are supportive but offer advice as needed and do so in a non-passive aggressive way, and those who don’t fit my bill get the boot. (Well, figuratively speaking, of course). You can read this blog and hate me in secret (or not so secret – hi hater anon that’s likely reading this!) but my “inner circle” will not have fake people, harmful people.
And another thing; when I “complain” on social media, I fire out a few sentences to relieve some tension and I go back to doing what I do best: running the show around here.
I’m not typically wallowing in self pity (ok, maybe this week. But I get a pass for that, right?). It’s kind of like a “smoke break”, you know…taking five for myself. Only instead of smoking, I’m like “oh man today’s sucking the big one! Balls!” But much like smoking, when things get even more stressful or shitty, the need to do it increases a little.