Liam and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

If you had asked me three months ago what my bad habits included, I would've answered like this: late-night oreo/moonpie binges and excessive television watching. Because we all know you can't have one without the other, am I right?!

But three months ago I stopped binging. Cold turkey. My nightly snack, which almost always turned into a binge -- trust me, I am not above standing over the stove, roasting marshmallows for a S'more at 2 a. m.  -- turned into a weekly snack. 

Okay, so maybe I'm not being totally honest. I didn't exactly go cold turkey. And I haven't exactly stopped binging completely either; though, my binges are less frequent and now include a can of peas instead of oreos. By the way: that may possibly be the saddest, most pathetic sentence I've ever written. Who binges on peas?! Originally when I cut out my nightly snack, I started substituting it with a bowl of cornflakes. Cause cornflakes are healthy, right?! And that bowl of cornflakes almost immediately turned into a daily 5-bowls of cornflakes binge (of course it did), so then I had to get myself off the cornflakes. Yes, this is my life.

Ya know how they say you don't really give up old habits, you just replace them with new ones? Well... that has definitely been the case over here. I no longer spend my evenings stuffing my face with sugary snacks and zoning out while watching t.v., but I have been spending a lot more time on my computer. This is good and bad: good because it means I've been writing more (which is one of the ways I stay sane), and bad because it means I've been wasting a lot of time on Facebook and Twitter, looking at pictures of cats and reading buzzfeed lists. I've been spending so much time on my laptop that Liam asks me multiple times per day: "what you typin' in google today, mommy girl?" 

After watching Kristen Howerton's brilliant TEDx talk about this very subject, and reading Glennon Melton's most recent blog post -- she happens to be taking a 40 day break from blogging and social media right now -- I realized that I was using my computer the same way that I had been using food: as a way to numb myself. As a distraction from real life. As a way to escape. So I decided it was time for a change. 

Elevator Time!

For two days, I stayed away from my computer, unless Liam was asleep. Let's just say, this did not a happy Mama make. Or a happy child, for that matter. I was crabby. I was irritable. I wanted to run away. It all felt like too much. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I was going through a withdrawal of sorts. I played in Liam's playroom for hours at a time. I played "elevator" until I thought my head would explode. I mean, how many times is a sane person expected to pretend that a set of drapes is an elevator?! Sure, I had more time to play with Liam, but I also lost my temper, which is not something I usually do. I was so irritable that I yelled at him when he followed me into the bathroom: "Can't I just get one minute to myself?!" And let's face it: the child has been following me into the bathroom since he learned to crawl almost two years ago, but this is the first time it's ever bothered me. I was definitely on edge. 

And you know what? I wasn't the only one. Liam was in rare form during those two days. It wasn't until a few days later, that I put two and two together, and realized he was a having a rough day because I was having a rough day. He was feeding off of my energy. We both agreed we were having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Just like Alexander.

I think this is where the problem lies: for all intents and purposes, I'm pretty much a single parent right now. My husband has a 60+ hour work week, which puts me in charge of pretty much everything at home: cleaning, laundry, dishes, diapers, catheters, meals, baths, bedtime, physical therapy, etc. You get the picture. And I'm fine with this; it's what works for our family right now. But on top of all that, I'm really isolated. I have no friends here in Kuwait. I can't even take Liam out for a walk here. So removing my computer time, my only source of social interaction (unless my husband is home) from the equation, just did not work for me. And it didn't work for Liam either.

So because I'm not able to break up these very LONG days taking care of Liam with things like playdates or phone calls with friends or even a nice walk to the park, I'm okay with using my computer during the day. But I think being conscious is key. I make it a point now to play with Liam for an hour, and then take a little computer time for myself. Or if I have to send a quick email, I let him sit with me and practice reading the words I'm typing, and then he gets to type an email to his Daddy. So far it seems to be working. I don't feel guilty about spending time on my computer, and the time I am spending seems to be more productive. I don't feel like I'm going to lose my mind either. I guess moderation really is key -- not only when it comes to oreos and moonpies, but computers as well.

 
Linking up with these fine ladies for another Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's sentence was: I have a bad habit of...
Janine: Janine’s Confessions of a Mommyaholic
Kate: Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine?
Stephanie: Mommy, for Real
Kristi: Finding Ninee

Bittersweet

Where does one begin when they've neglected their blog for almost three months?

I guess I start here: I'm alive.

We've been back from our trip to the states for almost three months now, and I only just finished unpacking our suitcases a couple weeks ago. That should give you some indication of what my mood (and life) has been like since returning to Kuwait.

I'm only just now beginning to feel like my normal self again. I'd been feeling the way I used to feel after my husband would come home for a two-week vacation, and then leave for six months of work again. As time goes on, one gets used to being away from family and friends, but get a taste of what life is like having them around again -- drinks with girlfriends, dinner with family, movie dates with the husband -- and it's like starting the whole process all over. I had to keep reminding myself that I would eventually feel better. I'd eventually feel normal again. But things kept happening. Newtown happened. I could barely function after what happened there. And to make matters worse, I was feeling a ridiculous amount of guilt, because, unlike what every other Mom I knew/read about was saying -- I'm gonna hug my kids a little tighter -- I was so full of anxiety that my nerves were on edge, making me horribly crabby, so that every little thing Liam did made me want to scream. 

And, then, the day after Christmas, our housekeeper came to work in hysterics because her husband (who was back home in the Phillipines) was shot 12 times by a masked gunman on a motorcycle. They believe that the hit was meant for someone else, because her husband lived a quiet life, and didn't have any known enemies. Her pain was so raw, so visceral, that I could almost feel it. I did the only thing I knew how, in this particular situation, and gave her some money to send back home, to help pay for the burial. We had helped her a few months earlier with her adult son's burial, who had recently died in a car accident. It makes me sick to think about a woman losing her son and husband within six months of each other. I can't wrap my head around it. When things like this happen, I have a really difficult time dealing with the reason why life has to be so hard for some people. I have a hard time accepting why some people have to endure so much suffering. The only thing that seems to help is reminding myself (over and over again) that all I can do is try to live my life a little fuller. Because what is death for anyway, if it isn't to remind those of us here to live?

On a lighter note: my husband was reminded of the reason why my friends/co-workers nick-named me "frigid brigid" ("fridge" for short). I don't do emotions very well. My husband said to me a few days after: "I thought you were going to offer our condolences? Did you even give her a hug?" My response: "Yes, I gave her a hug. Okay, maybe I didn't give her a hug so much as I let her hug me, but still. I gave her money. Money is better than hugs anyway." I have issues.

Couple these events with my worsening anxiety, and I've been a ball of nerves. I've always had what I would consider "situational anxiety" -- anxiety thinking about a particular event (like my thesis, before I finished it, although I did just have a nightmare about it the other night) or going to a place I'd never been before or making phone calls or leaving the house -- ummm, ya know, normal people stuff. Lately, I can be sitting on the couch minding my own business and my heart suddenly starts racing and I have a hard time catching my breath. Or some days, like today, I wake up so full of anxiety that my hands actually feel weak (probably from clenching/tensing in my sleep), and my legs feel as if they'll buckle beneath me when I get out of bed. The other day my husband looked at my trembling hands and said, "Oh my god. You look like a junkie coming off of heroin." This sort of anxiety is totally new to me. I wonder at what point I take my doctor's advice and begin taking the anti-depressant he prescribed for me. I had a bad experience with them during college -- weight gain, sleepiness, etc. -- but he has assured me those were "old school" pills. For now, my anti-anxiety pill seems to do the trick, and I only have to take it when I need it. But the way my doctor explained it makes total sense: taking an anti-anxiety med without (or instead of) an anti-depressant, would be like continually putting out a fire, instead of dealing with what was causing that fire in the first place. I've been willing myself into feeling better, but no matter how positive I am, or how many freakin' self-help books I read, I can't seem to make my way completely out of the fog. 

So, for now, I do what I do best: I organize the heck out of everything. I'm naturally an organized person; or, maybe, I've simply become an organized person over the years, since it appears to be the only way to control the chaos that always seems to accompany my anxiety. Feel like your life is spinning wildly out of control? Begin obsessively organizing anything with labels -- canned goods work exceptionally well:

I can't tell you how much this soothes my soul. I begin organizing as if my life depended on it. My poor husband, though, has a hard time finding anything when I get like this, which I don't quite understand since I've explained my organizational system to him over and over again.

One more thing: because I feel particularly vulnerable when I write about this topic, I feel the need to express WHY I choose to write about it. Often, writing about one's own struggle with depression and anxiety can come off as highly self-indulgent (at least, I worry it may come off that way), especially when I feel guilty even dealing with these struggles, because I have so much to be thankful for, and everyday so many other families deal with heartache and loss and trauma. (If you want to understand the guilt, read this. I swear this woman lives inside my head. She writes about her struggles with an absurd hilarity that I can't compete with. And, if someone can say it better than you, let them). So, here is the reason I share this part of my life: I am a Monkee, friends. A disciple of Momastery. We believe in shameless truth-telling. We believe in basking in the light, instead of hiding in the darkness. We believe in living more authenticly, so that others (women, especially) will feel free enough to do so, as well. Okay, so I'm a little obsessed with the whole movement, but I've never before seen women come together like this. A group of women who lift each other up, instead of breaking each other down.

As I was finishing up this post earlier, Glennon (from Momastery) posted this quote:

And there you have it.

Okay, friends, I promise happier stuff tomorrow. I needed to get this out of my system.

Gimme a Break

Sorry for the silence lately. I’ve been in a little bit of a funk. And, to top it all off, my laptop crashed suddenly, which is enough to make anybody crazy. It occurred to me today that writing about it might help me feel better. Plus, when I started this blog, I made a promise to myself that I would write about the lows with as much openness and honesty as the highs. If I’m going to write, I’m not going to worry about presenting a perfect portrayal of myself. 

Some days are hard for me. Just plain hard. Some days, like today, take every ounce of energy I have just to make it through. Heck, just getting out of bed is hard. Today, I rolled out of bed, and made my way straight for the couch. I woke up knowing instantly that it was going to be one of those days. Except for doing things that couldn’t be avoided -- Liam’s catheters, changing diapers, and making meals -- I clung to my spot on the couch. When Liam finally got annoyed with me, I rolled off the couch and stayed curled up in a ball on the living room floor. He spent most of the afternoon using me as a jungle gym. By 4 o’clock, I gathered enough energy to finally start the day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression; though, I don’t typically use the word depression, because it makes me uncomfortable. It feels too harsh. Too serious. Too clinical. I prefer to simply think in terms of good days and bad days. Typically, I have a couple bad days a month. Before I became a mom, I would just go with them. I would let myself experience the bad days with the full knowledge that I would be back to my normal self again soon. I used to give myself a break. But now, as a stay-at-home Mom, I deal with a level of guilt that didn’t exist before. Now, I feel bad for needing a break. I feel guilty. I worry that as an adult Liam might remember me on days like this. He might remember the days when I wasn’t fully present. That guilt is ten times worse than the bad day itself.

My husband gave me some good advice today. He said, “Why don’t you just let yourself have a bad day when you feel like this? I get burned-out at work all the time. You have a full-time job. Of course you’re going to feel like this occasionally.” You know what? He’s right. (Did you hear that husband? I said you’re right. Don’t get used to it). 

I think that as women, and especially as mothers, we don’t always give ourselves the same consideration that we so often give to others in our lives. We give others the benefit of the doubt. We give them a break. We allow them to be flawed without thinking less of them. I, for one, am going to start giving myself that same consideration. I’m going to stop being so hard on myself. I’m going to make an effort to love myself in spite of my imperfections. When I feel like I’m drowning, I’m going to give myself a chance to breathe. When it all becomes a little too much, I'm going to give myself a break. I hope you will do the same.

Life is Like a Roller Coaster

If I had started this blog two months ago, like I was supposed to, it would have gone something like this: 

I’ve turned into a Mom who yells -- a Mom who yells a lot. Get your hands outta the toilet. Get off my treadmill. Don’t bang on Daddy’s laptop. Stop. No. I said No! Do you want a time out? Five minutes ago I was locked in my bathroom, hyperventilating, with a toddler screaming on the other side of the door. This has become my daily shower routine, although the screaming begins with my first step on the treadmill. No such thing as a bad workout? Try running on a treadmill with a toddler screaming in your face. I finish being more stressed out than I was before I started. Laughter is the best medicine, you say? Well, Liam doesn’t allow laughing in this house. My husband and I have to watch The Daily Show in silence, or saying LOL aloud, while Liam shifts his head back and forth between us, monitoring our behavior. 

I wrote those words at a moment of desperation. I didn’t know what else to do, and something in me said, pick up your laptop and write. So I did. Writing my frustrations down that day somehow made it easier to breathe. Thankfully, these days life is a little bit easier, but that could change at any moment, of course. That’s the thing about parenting: it is chock-full of ups and downs.  

I wanted to start a blog to chronicle these ups and downs. The ups and downs of parenting, of raising a child with special needs, of marriage, of life in the middle east, of dieting (which is, by far, the hardest thing on this list), along with all the other typical ups and downs that everyday life brings. But I also wanted to start a blog for my Liam. I want to record these very important milestones he’s embarking upon – milestones he probably won’t remember. I want him to know just how far he’s come. I hope one day he’ll choose to tell his story as well. 

Rather than waiting for this first entry to morph into the most brilliant thing I’ve ever written, I’m just going to press “Publish". I’m going to put my perfectionist tendencies aside (which usually lead me to procrastinate or simply not do something at all), and be brave. It’s far from perfect, but I’m going to do it anyway. You’ve got to start somewhere, right?