Sore Makes Me Less Sorry For Myself

I had an old friend check in on me yesterday. Whenever life mentally beats me down, I kind of go hermit and hide from people. I start to refrain from checking in and just kind of try and keep afloat. We have become better in the last year of the every few months check in and as someone who I would consider one of my closest friends and someone I admire in life and motherhood, her check in came in right on time.

Having confessed to her last year my personal struggles with all things life and then finding out hers was similar and not all smiles and cute kids, she always asks about my big struggle. Yesterday I told her "I work out, A LOT, to burn off some of the stress."

I added an "LOL," to lighten the heaviness that might come with that commentary and realized this morning how happy I'd felt all week being so sore and sleeping so well, because I had kicked my butt physically. I think being sore made me feel less sorry for myself after my relapse of high anxiety and deep depression last weekend.

I think it's something that can be hard for people to grasp but because my mind is often like a hamster spinning on a wheel to nowhere, a focused workout or even a treadmill run takes all my mental energy and harnesses it for good, leaving me able to rest at ease later. I wish I could call it a vanity thing like I wanted to be "hot" and "slim" but that has almost nothing to do with it. I like to look healthy, which has a wide definition, different for everyone, but skinny is not my goal.

When I had my first realization of how deep my depression and anxiety where I was about 22 or 23. I had lost both of my grandparents within a year and my mom had a cancer scare with a large tumor removed. I had been through a lot with personal relationships and was mid-college trying to figure out this thing called life. In my therapy they emphasized the importance of routine, physical activity and structure. 

I would say I religiously follow that rule about my personal struggle with depression and anxiety that physical activity is tantamount to my mental recovery. I always feel badly when I don't work out and the sore is better than the sorry for myself. I always catch myself being at my worst when and if I'm not moving around enough.

Working out has always been my therapy, especially when we couldn't afford someone for me to talk to. When I work out it's usually just myself and my music. Music is therapy part two. There is nothing I can't do, and no mental anguish if I have the perfect play list, even if that play list is all depressing stuff.

I rest better at night, both physically and mentally, when I know I have physically exhausted myself. This can sound kind of masochistic but I actually just love that sense of accomplishment. I know plenty of people who live on protein shakes and hardcore diets and serious fitness goals and I'm happy that works for them, but I like knowing I can indulge in ice cream guilt free because I kicked my ass throughout the day.

When I feel sore, not only am I far less sorry for myself in general, but I know I did something right to keep feeling that work out as the day goes on. Yesterday I was laughing out loud at how much it hurt from soreness to run and to do other exercises because I had given myself consistently great workouts throughout the week. 

This morning I realized how imperative my workouts are for everything. I recently started taking my daughter to the gym with me. Not only is she old enough to actually take in what I'm doing, but she can sit and chill while I get my workout in, and if it's slow enough, join me a bit. Now my mom gave me a huge complex about my body, which I am fighting tooth and nail to NOT to do my daughter at all. I always tell her she's fantastic. "Fat" is like a swear word in our house. I want her to understand health and happiness, so I try to lead by example.

Some people may view my twice daily workouts five days a week as excessive or obsessive. But one could also say the same for Keto-dieters, taking all kinds of supplements or meal-planning, weight watchers and so on and so forth. To each their own. For me it is 90% mental health practices and 10% fitness related.

Also, I like working out. It is something I actually enjoy. I don't "enjoy" running but I'll do it sometimes. I do my best to make anything that makes me sore, at least less of a chore than other things. We all have workouts we like, and workouts we don't. I try and keep a decent mix.

For me working out is part of health care. It's preventative and part of a healthy lifestyle. Look I eat cookies, and cake, and many "unhealthy" things but all in moderation. So working out is meant to bring me some balance, both physically and mentally. It's what I strive for.

I think it would be easy to see my posts and say I'm a work-out-aholic. It could be easy to exchange one form of obsession or compulsion for another, but I think the work out obsession may be safer than a binge-eating situation. Some of the most functional people I know have a good workout routine and decent eating habits, even if they have a cheat day from time to time.

After my recent mental mis-step I'm just taking pride in the fact that I'm very aware of what to do to get myself back on my feet, so to speak. I know what my mind and body need and I'm not afraid or ashamed to share that. I love that being sore keeps away the "sorrys." I don't need to throw myself a pity party because we all have our mental woes. I need to continue to heal, and continue to grow. My fitness regimes feed that growth and healing and keep those endorphins flowing freely!

Also, Elle Woods is my girl so, I kinda like to follow her life model. Happy Friday!

When Your Lot In Life Is To Play "That Bitch"

There's an amazing monologue in the movie "Mean Girls" where Tina Fey starts talking about this "Burn book," where all of the girls in it are called names and she says "Well, I don't know who wrote this book, but you all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores." "Bitches" is in that same category. And yet, "Bitch" has now become slang and as women we kind of took it back as our own.

This isn't really a feminist rant thing but while I wish we could take these common words out of our vernacular and especially out of the mouths of men, I will admit that ever since I was about 12 I realized that even though "bitch" is technically a "swear" or bad word, that if you own it as a strong title of being unafraid or even brave, it seemingly loses it's negative connotation. 

My first experience being "that bitch," was facing off with my mom. I had to stand my ground and there was no room for weakness. This is something I learned with anyone with addiction or substance abuse issues as they can prey on you and attack if you cannot muster the energy to be "that bitch" in most scenarios with them. At least that way my personal experience with it.

Ironically, when you really know me, even when you first meet me, you probably wouldn't get the "bitch" vibe from me. Nor do I try and carry around with me any type of feeling of "If you cross me, you'll be sorry." Regardless, I am often cast the starring role in all productions of being "That bitch."

Sometimes this can serve well, and sometimes it really takes it's toll on me mentally.

I've learned with my mom to accept that with any situation that she disagrees with when it comes to me, it's because I'm "that bitch" in her eyes. There have been a few employers who have brought out that role in me because I'd been backed into a corner and refused to compromise myself or in some cases, my marriage, just because they wanted me to better play the role of "quiet, compliant and does what she's told with a plastic smile."

This whole secondary persona that has followed me, is often quite haunting. Being the "controlling" one, the "planner" the "arranger" and the "mess cleaner upper" aren't "fun" things to do. You win no favors or affections doing these things. Sometimes I wish I could be the person who doesn't care. I wish I could not pay bills without a care or worry. I wish I could just arrive at work late and leave early with no consideration for anyone else. I wish I could go buy what I want, when I want to, but alas, I have other responsibilities.

So wait, has responsibility and adulthood just morphed me into "that bitch?" I was violently shoved into growing up before I was ready, so did that bring me in to my "that bitch" ways? Interesting thoughts on this thoughtful Thursday.

I've said in therapy and owned it over and over that I truly believe I will just always be "that bitch" in the eyes of many close to me. I wish that I wasn't painted into that but:

  

I think what makes me sad sometimes is I feel I rarely have the chance to prove myself otherwise. When you're cast in role early you get typecast, no? Won't Elijah Wood always be Frodo and Matthew Perry will never not be Chandler Bing? Thus, just call me "that Bitch."

I'm not so sure if you screamed that name on the street I'd turn around, but there is a large part of me that owns the fact that part of me is just engraved within my core. I think the people who have known me the longest know it's under there, but have rarely awakened it. There are definitely a few things that bring it out immediately.

When I was a nanny, anyone that was about to harm the kiddos in my care, in any way, shape or form, saw me as "that bitch." I was not putting it out there that I was nice. Sometimes they had friends that I didn't like and with those friends, I was very much "that bitch." When it comes to my friends being hurt or taken advantage of, I will come out swinging if necessary and most recently you can see me do an award-winning performance when it comes to my daughter. I will be your worst enemy if you mistreat her or do anything around the realm of harming her.

There are some things I'm extremely rigid about, but in other ways I think I'm just a big softy. My recent brush with depression and anxiety just reminded me though, that in some villainizing ways, I will always be "that bitch." If it comes to a good cop bad cop thing, I will always be the bad cop.

I'm the "ruiner;" the one that squashes the fun. I'm the rule-keeper and the one with all the budgets, schedules and plans ready to enforce! Some days of this are better than others. I like to think maybe I'm kind of similar to Deadpool, that not-so-super hero comic character. He's lovable but rude, sarcastic and kind of a mess. He is well-intentioned and ultimately saves people but in a very unorthodox and unattractive way more often than not. 

While there is a part of me, and especially after my mental relapse, that wishes the obverse was true, my ability to handle all of the things, plan, create rules, goals and be "that bitch," ultimately serves everyone around me, whether they like it or not. While I know how my controlling tendencies drive my husband insane, I also keep us out of major debt and in good standing with all of the bills we pay on time.

Because of my rigidity with routines and my stick-to-itive-ness on schedules, my daughter seems to be thriving more with the new school year, even if she complains when I take things away and make her do homework and chores. 

And lastly, my being "that bitch," was the beginning of my mother's "rock bottom" that inevitably got her sober so it's hard for me to have regrets. Mostly, right now, I regret the fact that I step into that roll so well and so easily. I regret that the shoe fits, so I wear it.

I've found myself wondering if I had the opportunity to be a little more relaxed and free, who could that be? What would that even be like? For this thoughtful Thursday, while owning my lot in life as "that bitch," a girl can also dream that one day the world would soften her and make her "that fun friend," or that "sweet soul," or even that "big ol' softie." It could come with growth, with age, or just with exhaustion but maybe one day I can retire that roll and master a new one!

Dining Out With My 6 Year Old Is Stressful And I'm Done Pretending It's Not

We live in a weird time, especially in terms of family habits and meal routines. I was raised with the idea of, "What is put in front of you, you eat, like it or not." I now live so grateful that anyone would cook for me that I eat everything, even if I in fact hate the food. When I studied in London my host mom made steamed white mushrooms with everything. Add enough salt and pepper and I stomached them, no complaint. I detest regular mushrooms.

My dad made me eat green beans so much that to this day, I never make or order them; I would never pick them on my own. When I was growing up I used to end up eating two dinners because my dad would feed me before I played at the neighbors and they ate later than us so when I went over and was asked "Do you want to join us for dinner?," I was under the impression it was impolite to say no and not partake.

I have no such rules in my life or house. We rarely eat together at the table, but more often in front of the TV. And I have inadvertently made the habit of eating in my room whilst doing chores. Why? Is it being busy? Is it being lazy? Is it just really bad habits? Is it not caring? It's probably a weird mix of them all. We sit down for dinner with friends and on holidays. We sit down for actual meals on occasion, but if I'm being honest? We're in a kid food conundrum and we all eat at different times and have completely different schedules.

I always feed my kid before I feed myself. I eat completely different foods than she does. I ask often if she wants to eat together and if she doesn't really want to, I don't force her. We have never had much of a budget to go out to eat in any regularity and I learned quickly that in my daughter's current culinary phase it's a waste of time and money.

If the mac and cheese looks or tastes "different," if the breading on the chicken isn't right, if the cheese on the pizza isn't what she wanted, if the hot dog is weird, she won't eat it. So I spend $10 or worse on a stressful time out, where I'm arguing with her, scarfing down my food while I can before she won't sit still, and then I leave with leftovers for her or us both that either further go to waste, or I have to reheat and stomach myself later on. This is not my idea of a good time.

She does better out to eat with my husband but the older I get, the less and less willing I am to risk my time and more-so my money on some culinary caper that could figuratively and literally backfire. I also just don't like monitoring my child to the point of insanity and the whole technology at the table thing as a distraction doesn't sit well with me if we are making an attempt to GO OUT and have "quality time." She can sit in front of the TV at home, why take a mini TV with us?

When we do sit as a family, we talk and joke and eat and then clean up. But there are nights when just her and I sit down and I'm watching her eat, forcing her to get done before she can watch TV and then it's more stress than to just let her watch HER shows, with HER food, while I go be productive or maybe relax in my room. It's okay to think this isn't the best system, because I hit my wall with it and then we end up back at a table or restaurant for more trials. This is just what works. For us. For now.

On vacation the eating out thing just wrecked me. I felt fortunate to have my best friend willing and able to feed my child at their house, and all of the things she loves, with no argument and perfect negotiation skills. We ate all meals at the table, and my daughter loved every moment. If I'm being real, my husband is only home for dinner two nights a week, and he cooks separate things for me and especially for her. She always wants, "daddy's grilled cheese." When she's with mommy it's usually quesadilla time.

She's difficult because if you go to anywhere that isn't Chili's, Red Robin, Panera ( and Panera I can at least enjoy) she might just go on a hunger strike or just ends up eating all french fries and no protein. I stopped torturing myself by taking her out to eat because I can't stand the negotiation. We don't have those issues at home TV dinner or not, she just eats and then clears her plate before asking for dessert.

You can read this and think I'm a bad mom who needs to re-evaluate habits but I've written before about how dinners by the light of the TV were my staple with my dad when my mom left, so they feel okay, and natural. My daughter and I do chores and homework to earn our relax time and as you can imagine her being done with things always precedes my finishing up my "to-dos," so feeding her first never feels like I'm slighting her.

As far as going out to eat, when you're married to a chef you get very stingy with not getting what you pay for when it comes to meals. I almost exclusively dine at my husband's restaurant maybe once a month because I know exactly what I'm getting. I'm also a weirdo in that I have no issue dropping $300 on a gourmet dinner but if I go to Red Robin, feed 3 people for $70 and get sub-par, mishandled food, I get completely irate and go back into hibernation.

Perhaps it's because that $70 is half of a week's worth of groceries, which would be no hassle compared to a crummy meal and handling 6 year old whims out in the world. Hence, I can justify it, and any restaurant worth spending $300 is probably serving the real deal so I can handle that better. Regardless, I have officially stopped pretending that my daughter's stressful dinners out thing is anything but actually stressful and I'm finally in a good place with it.

On vacation our first lunch was a huge flop for her and we even made it her way. I was so anxious. We had to pre-feed her before a wedding, AND before a gourmet dinner out because rather than order and have her not eat it, at least we knew she ate. In New York we ate at Panera twice in 48 hours and she did not enjoy an actual NYC slice of margarita pizza because the cheese looked weird.

It's not worth the stress of me arguing with her at dinner. It's not worth the energy taking her out honestly. I really dislike pretending my kid is that "perfect kid" at restaurants. In fact, going out to eat is kind of a racket anymore, in my personal opinion. You will find some GREAT places, but I'm much more confident in my Chik-Fil-A, Panera and say Tijuana Flats purchases than a P.F Changs, Applebee's or Outback Steakhouse purchase. I at least know my child will carb and protein load at the aforementioned establishments.

I'm very much done doing all that to myself. In every sense, it is not worth it and pretending it doesn't  affect me negatively is equally as stressful. So much like my general "not doing what I 'should' be doing" phenomenon, I am very much over making this unnecessarily harder for myself.

It is in my mindset to better implement dinner table dinners, but last night we were all watching Spiderman together, each of us eating comfy in the living room, laughing and enjoying full family interaction. To me, it is convenience and comfort over "tradition" and routine. I remember not being able to wait to finish my meal and getting away from the table to get back to whatever I was doing, so I think my "cheat" of in front of the TV eating experiences cuts down on that in a weird way because she's already where she wants to be.

I'm also starting to own my war wounds. After a tumultuous handful of years and finally grasping some calm, I don't really want to fight for things that are more maddening than helpful and that increase both my daughter's and my own anxiety. Her comfort is her quiet time with her shows and movies and her favorite food, which she gets exactly from me. I always feel better when I'm lost in visual storytelling and drama as opposed to forcing uncomfortable dinner interactions with family over a race to clear your plate.

In this mode of healing, I don't feel bad that we are still developing good things and memorable routines. We have plenty of time for family dinners out and table dining when she's ready to commit to the moment. For the 6 year old attention span right now, I pick my battles carefully. And as for this Friday, I continue to push through to more growth and continue my journey, no matter how weird, how "unconventional" and how lackluster some of our habits may be. Here we grow!

Case of the Mondays; Still Recovering From Three Kid Weekend Bonanza

This morning has been, "Just another Manic Monday, Ooooh oooh." Work has involved unnecessarily difficult customers with long-winded phone calls and the busy work seemed to be never ending. Here I am after my lunch run, finally getting to my blog and putting off a few things that can definitely wait.

So this past weekend I had my friend's son and daughter as house guests and I learned that I am 1000% supposed to only have one child. More importantly, I have a higher appreciation for anyone with more than one child, and the utmost respect and appreciation for the life and child I have created. I didn't realize how QUIET my house is with just her. Immediately, things that were once so easily done, required more tact or extra help and the things I had become accustomed to were on hiatus.

The perfect example would be going to the bathroom. Immediately I banned all children from my master bedroom and bathroom unless being given my permission for anything otherwise. I figured I needed some kind of "safe zone." I would close my bedroom door and my bathroom door but then they would bust in with some kind of issue. I couldn't even pee alone! My daughter is 6 now so I am much more used to being able to go to the bathroom alone. Not this weekend, though.

Peeing alone is like a mom-luxury that is always coveted. It was one of my favorite things about going back to work! There was no kid busting open a stall; no uncomfortable complaints about a smell from a nearby stall by the tiny person yelling at you to hurry it up. 

As far as the bed time stuff, my daughter goes down quietly and early. These kids cry loudly and go later. By Sunday I was a mombie and felt hungover from life. I could barely remember what or if I ate anything, all I knew was to have everything the kids could possibly need ever and keep feeding them. They ate their way through Saturday, Hungry Caterpillar style.

When my friend picked them up she joked, "Now you know what my life is like." I thought, well yes maybe but I think we all have a special place and special kind of patience for our own children that just doesn't always transition to "the other kids."

My husband hit it outta the ballpark helping as much as he could but Sunday morning I just hit this mental limit where I couldn't really deal very well. It was loud, there was no such thing as enough coffee and I couldn't think straight. I'd had not 10 minutes of peace because it was "take time for you, or get sleep so you can handle tomorrow." I always choose sleep. 

After the kiddos had left, my husband and I kicked into high gear on putting the house back in functioning order and by about 3PM all of us could barely move. My daughter was happy to not share and argue and watch hours of My Little Pony or play tablet. I was soooo happy that I could watch something without being chased after every 10 minutes. You could hear TVs but there was no other noise. 

What's in the Joni Mitchell song? "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got til it's gone?" Yeah all of that and more.

Besides the fact that we had children staying with us, I realized how much I had become accustomed to my coping mechanisms, my down time, my rebooting, and my mindful eating practices that having them disrupted, even for 48 hours just really messed me up mentally. It was like I started shutting down and not being able to formulate complete thoughts. It was super stressful.

It definitely made me ready for vacation but also made me super grateful for raising my daughter to enjoy her down time, just like her mother does. She was just as exhausted and mentally spent when they left, I could tell. I knew she liked having the company, but I also know how hard it is not to be able to just be yourself in your own place. 

This morning was a little frenzied and mentally I felt like it pushed me right back into that stressed place but I took a good run on lunch and kind of got myself out of the funk. This weekend was a lot of learning about myself but I feel good about that. I feel like the lessons were imperative to keep my forward momentum and stay the path to positive growth. I know it sounds hippie but, it feels like that is what I'm working with.

The kids had fun. There were many smiles and lots of silly memories made. There were nonsensical arguments and constant tattling. There were many funny things said and really weird things done but they had a good time.

So I'm still recovering from Three Kid Weekend Bonanza and my Friday vacation launch can't come soon enough but I'm here! I came, I blogged, I conquered! Happy Monday readers!