(Alright, so this one is a bit of a downer. I’m not looking for a hug or for sympathy. I’m just writing. I haven’t had much to say here lately, or maybe I’ve had too much to say, but not wanted to bore you all with the details of my self-absorption by putting it down….. But rather than try to craft something that isn’t really where I am tonight, I figured I’d just write from the spot where I sit.)
So…. I don’t talk much about the depression thing.
But it still is. It still exists.
I still hate even typing the word. Because there’s so much baggage with that word. I don’t know what it means and what it doesn’t to me or to anyone who may read here. My preconceptions about the word are still deeply rooted and I’m living this.
I feel so isolated. Sometimes I just wish I could sit down and have tea with someone who has been there/done that so that I don’t have to feel like such a freak.
It still doesn’t seem like ‘depression’ sometimes. In my mind I picture a person sitting around in her p.js all day long, being brought to tears by the slightest little thing.
And me…. Well, I rarely cry. In fact, I’m learning that perhaps that’s part of my problem.
I am functional. My kids get dressed and fed every day. I started a ministry for mothers in our church while all this was going on, and I’ve continued to lead that group along with over-extending myself in several different other directions. I show up to my commitments. I go grocery shopping. I even occasionally mop my floor.
But little things slip. Like contacting people… Sending packages and letters…. Calling or emailing people back….. I find myself so overwhelmed at the day to day that the little extras outside of our little family stymie me. Sometimes I feel like the most self-absorbed person on the planet, for this reason and because of all of my thinkativeness. I try so hard not to navel-gaze. I struggle with the fact that I *am* a person of introspection and all that is going on at the moment leads to even more introspecting and does that mean that I am vain and self-centered?
I am still so overwhelmed so much of the time. I still say over and over and over again, “Why can’t I just GET IT TOGETHER?!”
It all seems like such a minor thing–like an irritation–a slight headache that won’t go away…. And such a major thing–like being crippled–all at the same time. I never know from which end of the spectrum to approach it.
Today was a hard day with the girls. They woke up too early after I went to bed too late. My fault. Not theirs. I started with a deficit of patience. I snapped for things I shouldn’t have. I got ‘upstrated,’ as Little Miss says, far too easily.
I went to church for a Mom2Mom planning meeting and Little Miss struggled the whole time in the area of ‘playing well with others.’ Guess what… her tolerance and frustration level were all screwed up. Her anger button was pressed with the lightest of perceived infractions against her little person. I know why. Of course I know why. She exhibits the behaviors that are modeled for her. (Hello–I have a degree in education. Could all of the lectures I sat through about helping children behave appropriately possibly haunt me any more?) I did my best to discipline her positively, and to keep tabs on her antics without being down on her the whole time. My wonderful friend handled a few little things, and then I was mortified at that because *SHE* handled my child so much better than *I* could. And…. all this at a planning meeting for a “Moms group” no less.
I felt like a failure all day. I am so weary of feeling like a failure….
I love my children so very much. This isn’t, nor has it ever been, an issue of my not feeling like I don’t love my children. I do. I so very much do. They make my heart beat and break all at once. I want so much to give them the best. To mother them well. I want so much to feel solidly connected to them. To feel more than just overwhelmed by them. To feel confident that I am doing well for them. To feel free to experience the reckless joy of motherhood without judging all my failings and second-guessing every move I make.
Most disturbing in trying to ‘work through the issues’ of it all (yes, I’ve been going to counseling) is that in so many ways, things are NOT as I thought them to be. In so many ways, I don’t know who I am. In so many ways, I’ve been clinging to unrealities about who I am, how I feel, and how I approach the world. So many of the concepts of who I am are crumbling.
Here I thought I was all objective and rational. Here I thought I was so emotionally capable. (Hey Kyle–what’s the Sociology term that I can’t come up with? That means that you aren’t emotionally spasming? I remembered it!) Here I thought I was ‘self-actualized.’
What I keep coming back to in amazement is the fact that I am broken. Not just ‘flawed.’ Not just a little rough around the edges. I’m broke. I need some supperglue, maybe a staple gun… Cause I am NOT all held together as I thought I was. It’s a hard thing to face.
There is grace here. Of course there is. God does his best work with brokeness. I know this. And I wait eagerly to see what good He will work of these circumstances.
But so often these days, I get to the end of my days–my perfectly normal, nothing really catastrophic is happening, why am I not happy days–and feel that I am just sitting in the rubble. That I am rubble. And I wonder where all the kings horses are.