This was written a few months ago. Took me a while to hit the publish button.
I can’t be anything but myself. I have lost the ability to put on a brave or happy face. People ask me how I have been and I don’t have it in me to lie and say great. I had a tough few months. We had a tough few months. I am down but not out.
There are good days and bad. But my stress has been so bad I have had to wear a night guard during the day to stop myself from grinding my teeth into chalk.
It is not just my kids’ issues. Though that is a big part of it. My girl has had a rough few months but after a $h/tload of doctors and tests, medication and supplement and food changes, the last week or so have been better.
This goes beyond a stomach ache, a bad visit to the doctor, a sleepless night.
I cannot put into words the unbelievably overwhelming feeling of helplessness when your non-verbal child looks you in the eyes and begs you to take away her pain and sadness. As I type this and try to express it here, I just can’t. Tears fill my eyes because as many times as people tell me what a wonderful mom I am, I can’t help but feel like the worst one in the world when I have failed her. When she squeezes my hand and stares at me. When I listen to her cry herself to sleep. When I go in to cuddle her better and she pushes me away. It takes away my peace, my sleep, and my desire to interact and makes me want to lose myself in work, in business, in vodka. It takes away my ability to relax. How dare I enjoy my life when my daughter is not?
As I type this on my phone I am on a plane back home after spending a weekend visiting my husband’s family. My in-laws are God’s gift to the world, two of the most wonderful people. We stayed at their house this weekend and even as I tried to relax, I could not. I found myself up at 6 am, scrubbing their kitchen floor on my hands and knees. When the whole family was relaxing in the living room, I was in the kitchen cutting watermelon and cantaloupe or making a fresh pot of coffee or clearing out space on my father in laws’ computer. And as they thanked me over and over again I wanted them to stop because I was doing it for myself as much as I was doing it for them.
And when a few people mentioned how thin I looked and asked me what my secret was, I almost laughed. I just looked back and said `stress.’ Because that was the truth. No special diet, no counting points, just a nausea in my gut that sometimes robs me of the ability to enjoy eating.
Don’t get too worried. I am far from anorexic. But I do have the “lucky” gene that robs my hunger when I am extremely anxious of depressed. Why I feel the need to suddenly confess this at 46, I have no clue. I’ve had that “lucky” gene since the day my mom died 32 years ago. Strange, right? I remember sitting Shiva, feeling numb, and everyone telling me how good I looked. Because I couldn’t bring myself to eat.
And the irony of it all, is that as I began to heal a little, I got my appetite back. The compliments stopped. and so began the struggle in my head. I was angry at myself for being so weak with food. For letting myself gain the weight back. It was almost as if I willed myself to be depressed so I would stop eating.
All of this was my own little secret. I was pretty good at keeping it for many years. And now, as I work through my stress and my struggles, it’s all I got. But I no longer care to keep it a secret. I don’t care to keep any secrets. I am who I am. Some days are good. Some not so much. I don’t have the energy to pretend.
These blog posts were supposed to be about them, not me, but the longer I’m in this, the more I realize the problem is in me. It’s about my ability to control my emotions. The ability to let the stress roll off me.
Some months I’m good at it. I do yoga. I breath deep. My house is clean. My dinners are planned.
Other months, I grind myself teeth. I drink too much when the kids are away. I wake up when it’s still dark. I let the family order takeout. And I just watch them eat, until the numbness goes away and I return to the living.
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