As we are gearing up on our first legit road trip as a family, I've been combing the pantry for things to pack. One thing I hate, is buying extra stuff you don't need, when you could have just brought some home supplies so I'm over-preparing, over-packing and overly doing all the things. As I was pantry poaching I found some things that needed attention as about to expire or expired but just recently so still edible.
There was a huge can of pumpkin that needed attention. And this the season for pumpkin spice everything so pumpkin bread was happening. I had the large can of Libby's Pumpkin so, 4 loaves were happening and hubby brought home the few small items I needed to complete the task. Now I'm bloated on pumpkin bread and sending away loaves left and right so I don't become an actual pumpkin. With the baking all day, however, came all the insight.
Yesterday I admitted out loud that my family is "the poorest," of our friends. I don't say this as we are actually poor or going without, but compared to our friends, we have lesser financial freedoms and luxuries. I didn't say this in a mean, or sad or "pity us," way. In fact, I said it in an embracing way.
This has all come to light in proximity to our trip. We are staying about an hour away from all others migrating for our friends' wedding, because it was about $50 a night cheaper and we can't afford to try and keep up with everyone else in party mode. While we had a blast in NYC and PA, I learned quite a lesson about our travel mode: less is way more.
In NYC we saw very little and our daughter was more obsessed with The Subway, Central Park and just saying "I was in NYC," than taking in any of the epic things there. We were extremely well entertained and taken care of, but mostly she was just happy hanging out and taking it all in. We didn't need to do all the "stuff."
I also learned that we need a home base crash pad that is NOT a hotel. Hotels are fabulous but overpriced for a place with no kitchen, no readily available food, and no real space. We were lucky enough to stay with my best friend in PA and not only was she the hostess with the "mostess," but she gave us a place to play, rest, keep food and water, do laundry, and just "be" in between visits and mini golf and all the other things.
For this trip, the far away booking of the condo with indoor outdoor pool on Hilton Head Island, was based on price and mileage. I found out about a month ago how long it would take us to get to and from the wedding venue panicked that the hubby would be annoyed. Instead he seemed more excited to be away from it all.
The wedding is in Savannah. When you Google Savannah all the gorgeous images come up. The brick streets, the parks, ghost tours, the history, the food. After our NYC experience, I made the decision not to torture myself with dragging the child all over to restaurants and experiences she didn't care about, which made our destination to stay even more appealing for the wedding trip.
On the one hand we'll be away from friends, but as the poorest of the friend group, I am breathing easier knowing I don't have to go to expensive restaurants, not be able to enjoy anything because I'm obsessing about the costs, and then trying to keep up with everyone for what to do. In Hilton Head we can make breakfast, dinner or sandwiches to take with us, or maybe grab some food at a cheap local place that won't make us stress.
We don't drink. I don't stay up very late. A vacation should be about family time, and a reboot, and keeping up with any other expectations of what it should be, is no longer a "thing," to me. If we get asked why we stayed so far? Easy, we couldn't afford to be in Savannah city proper and we found a place more suited to our needs in a different area of interest. If we get asked why we aren't going to do all the things and eat at all the places? Easy, we can't afford that kind of stuff. We'll hit the beach, the park, a new preserve, and maybe splurge for ice cream later.
The expiration of the pantry items was like a call to action for "make something or waste something." It dawned on me that this upcoming trip was a call to action for "make the best use of this time for what works for you, and forget the expectations of others."
I'm sure other people don't carry the weight of this stuff on them as I do, but if you even slightly do, you'll know exactly what I mean. Expired pantry items bother me because I put money into those and we didn't use them in a timely manner or properly utilize them. Expectations are the same in that you put your hopes, ideas and scenarios into something and when you don't utilize the time you have, poof it's gone and you leave disappointed with the final product.
The difference is, I'm ready to hit the expiration date of my expectations. No more of that crap needs to weigh me down. I'm not always ready to just toss things from the pantry. Some dates have more wiggle room!
As I have a two day work week in front of me, I'm embracing these ideas and many others. As I'm packing and planning and handling vacation expectations, I'm just ready to be with my family a bit.
Tomorrow will be my last post of this week and I'll come back with stories galore next Monday!
Showing posts with label life stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life stories. Show all posts
Monday, October 7, 2019
Monday, September 30, 2019
When All You Can Do Is Wait It Out
My daughter had some kind of flu bug or cold last week. She missed three days in a row of school and by day four she still had this residual low grade fever. I don't freak out about stuff, until someone tips me in the exact right direction to do so. This was Friday afternoon into Sunday morning, the freak out.
You Google things and all of the sudden you diagnose with cancer, shingles, pneumonia, bronchitis and so on and so forth. It gets ridiculous. You start telling all the moms you know and then they start telling you about classmate A having the flu for 2 weeks, classmate B getting some unknown viral infection and so on and so forth. I turned to my rational moms, the ones that know me, and know our family circumstances well enough. With a little extra laziness, essential oils, and Lysol-wiping down my entire home, by Sunday she woke up super normal.
It was one of those "All you can do is wait it out," moments. Of course with that, comes the waves of realization of how many times we're tested in the "wait it out" arena. We wait out test results, arguments, money to be allocated here, there and everywhere properly. We wait on text message responses, scheduling questions, doctor's appointments, dentists, plans to emerge, phone calls and so on and so forth. We have to wait it out often, but we never get used to it, and rarely are we calm.
When you get to that moment of just having to wait, there is usually unrest. Think of the hospitals with waiting rooms, waiting areas and the airports where you sit and wait to board. These places are uncomfortable, usually cold for me, filled with grouchy people, all because we are made to wait. Was it not the late, great Tom Petty who sang, "Waiting is the hardest part?"
Mostly it's just not an easy or simple thing. Years ago when my daughter had surgery I told the doctor, "Overshoot the time frame. If you know it will be done in 2 hours, tell me 3 because at 120 minutes I'm banging down that door to make sure she is okay." I had friends specifically come to distract me for that time because otherwise I would just sit there staring at the clock.
I think I've quoted and regurgitated that whole "Patience is a virtue" thing since my dad embedded it within me at such a young age. Of course I said over and over, "Yes it is a virtue I do not possess myself." The waiting stuff is difficult, I don't care who you are.
This weekend I really had to remind myself of this over and over and over, that, all we could do was wait out the fever, wait for her to feel better, wait for her body to push out whatever was ailing her. That then transcended to, I have to wait for my body to respond to supplements, workout routines and getting consistent rest. I had to wait for friends and family in my life to reciprocate my reaching out, I couldn't "nag them" into it or make them respond according to my timeline.
Waiting things out is uncomfortable and unpleasant. You have no control. It was just like the recent hurricane, we just had to wait and see. Then that pushes us into the whole "we'll see" avenue of this walk of life. We just have to see how things go, how things turn out, and what all happens.
Unknowns are murky but a huge part of life. Not having control plays into the whole waiting it out conundrum as well. Mostly what the fever situation brought up within me, outside of the waiting stuff, was to be more trustworthy of my own gut instinct.
The maternal instinct stuff is incredibly real, as is following your gut. We have a neighbor across the street and they instantly thrust their daughter into friendship with ours and then into our care. Everything I know about the situation of their household, raises red flags for me. I've heard the little girl be not nice to my daughter, she's a picky eater, rude in general, and I've seen some things with the parents, step parents and grandparents that concern me a lot. So much tension and one kid in the mix. I stopped planning play dates because I just didn't want to get into all their personal lives and the kid was being mean to mine so for me, done deal.
This has been strange to explain to my daughter. My husband said that the girl across the street seemingly grew up and was nicer. What I explained to him was, in my gut I thought it better to not have much to do with them. What we know of the circumstances are unpleasant, and it's not my job to host that girl and make her a better person. It's my job to raise my daughter. My gut says no thank you and let's just wait and see how that family sorts out their stuff, eh?
We get used to instant gratification. We get used to getting things bigger, faster, stronger, better. Alas there just isn't much else to do when all you can do is wait it out. We have an upcoming road trip next week and I think what I worry about most is my daughter constantly complaining in the car, asking how long until we are there and her general inability to wait. As her mom, I get it, but it's definitely what I'm fearing most.
We get impatient and get sick of waiting so we act rashly. We act impulsively and text someone we shouldn't, hang out with people we shouldn't or get involved in things we shouldn't be all as some half baked distraction from the wait. What a cycle. All I know is if the fever broke, I'm hopeful to break the rest with waiting too. While it's just one day at a time, and keeping patience a virtue, I guess we really will see how it all turns out, each step of the way!
You Google things and all of the sudden you diagnose with cancer, shingles, pneumonia, bronchitis and so on and so forth. It gets ridiculous. You start telling all the moms you know and then they start telling you about classmate A having the flu for 2 weeks, classmate B getting some unknown viral infection and so on and so forth. I turned to my rational moms, the ones that know me, and know our family circumstances well enough. With a little extra laziness, essential oils, and Lysol-wiping down my entire home, by Sunday she woke up super normal.
It was one of those "All you can do is wait it out," moments. Of course with that, comes the waves of realization of how many times we're tested in the "wait it out" arena. We wait out test results, arguments, money to be allocated here, there and everywhere properly. We wait on text message responses, scheduling questions, doctor's appointments, dentists, plans to emerge, phone calls and so on and so forth. We have to wait it out often, but we never get used to it, and rarely are we calm.
When you get to that moment of just having to wait, there is usually unrest. Think of the hospitals with waiting rooms, waiting areas and the airports where you sit and wait to board. These places are uncomfortable, usually cold for me, filled with grouchy people, all because we are made to wait. Was it not the late, great Tom Petty who sang, "Waiting is the hardest part?"
Mostly it's just not an easy or simple thing. Years ago when my daughter had surgery I told the doctor, "Overshoot the time frame. If you know it will be done in 2 hours, tell me 3 because at 120 minutes I'm banging down that door to make sure she is okay." I had friends specifically come to distract me for that time because otherwise I would just sit there staring at the clock.
I think I've quoted and regurgitated that whole "Patience is a virtue" thing since my dad embedded it within me at such a young age. Of course I said over and over, "Yes it is a virtue I do not possess myself." The waiting stuff is difficult, I don't care who you are.
This weekend I really had to remind myself of this over and over and over, that, all we could do was wait out the fever, wait for her to feel better, wait for her body to push out whatever was ailing her. That then transcended to, I have to wait for my body to respond to supplements, workout routines and getting consistent rest. I had to wait for friends and family in my life to reciprocate my reaching out, I couldn't "nag them" into it or make them respond according to my timeline.
Waiting things out is uncomfortable and unpleasant. You have no control. It was just like the recent hurricane, we just had to wait and see. Then that pushes us into the whole "we'll see" avenue of this walk of life. We just have to see how things go, how things turn out, and what all happens.
Unknowns are murky but a huge part of life. Not having control plays into the whole waiting it out conundrum as well. Mostly what the fever situation brought up within me, outside of the waiting stuff, was to be more trustworthy of my own gut instinct.
The maternal instinct stuff is incredibly real, as is following your gut. We have a neighbor across the street and they instantly thrust their daughter into friendship with ours and then into our care. Everything I know about the situation of their household, raises red flags for me. I've heard the little girl be not nice to my daughter, she's a picky eater, rude in general, and I've seen some things with the parents, step parents and grandparents that concern me a lot. So much tension and one kid in the mix. I stopped planning play dates because I just didn't want to get into all their personal lives and the kid was being mean to mine so for me, done deal.
This has been strange to explain to my daughter. My husband said that the girl across the street seemingly grew up and was nicer. What I explained to him was, in my gut I thought it better to not have much to do with them. What we know of the circumstances are unpleasant, and it's not my job to host that girl and make her a better person. It's my job to raise my daughter. My gut says no thank you and let's just wait and see how that family sorts out their stuff, eh?
We get used to instant gratification. We get used to getting things bigger, faster, stronger, better. Alas there just isn't much else to do when all you can do is wait it out. We have an upcoming road trip next week and I think what I worry about most is my daughter constantly complaining in the car, asking how long until we are there and her general inability to wait. As her mom, I get it, but it's definitely what I'm fearing most.
We get impatient and get sick of waiting so we act rashly. We act impulsively and text someone we shouldn't, hang out with people we shouldn't or get involved in things we shouldn't be all as some half baked distraction from the wait. What a cycle. All I know is if the fever broke, I'm hopeful to break the rest with waiting too. While it's just one day at a time, and keeping patience a virtue, I guess we really will see how it all turns out, each step of the way!
Thursday, September 12, 2019
The Blanket Bumble - Best Friend To The Rescue
Last month on vacation my daughter left a little blanket at a Holiday Inn in PA between NYC and our home base of Bainbridge, PA. At this Holiday Inn we didn't have the best experience before the blanket leave behind. I don't know if it's a male thing but my husband wanted to make sure we left with what we paid for and not a cent more.
With his vast hospitality knowledge we left with quite a discount and without the blanket. This was the first trip where I allowed my daughter to pack her own stuff. There was no judgement and just a few guidelines as far as what to pack, and what she could and could not bring. She asked if she could bring a small blanket for the plane and I said yes.
She grabbed a little pink one she had had since she was a baby and off we went. It made it to hotel #1, my best friend's house, NYC, and then the final hotel before departing from our possession. We realized it had not made it into the rental car for the journey back to home base the same day we checked out of the hotel and my husband called to confirm they had it, to then have it set aside and sent back our direction.
When I was younger my uncle had taken me on trips with my cousins from time to time to Baltimore and such. I was the little anxious girl who couldn't travel without her stuffed animals. I once left like 5 stuffed animals in a hotel as he was not one to remember the excess stuff in the midst of adventure. I was beside myself. One call to the hotel and one FedEx box later, they came home to me less than a week after the departure.
I asked my husband after his quest for better Holiday Inn service to handle the exchange. I was ill-prepared for the drama that would ensue.
First I was harassing my husband every other day, which I'm sure he loved about, "Oh did you call them? Did they give a tracking number? Did they return your call?" The responses kept varying from "I am waiting for the Manager," to "Oh they are emailing me the tracking number."
I started to think he was just saying whatever he need to in order to get me to leave him alone. It was the most obnoxious thing. The whole time I'm texting my best friend about the whole thing and she's agreeing with me that it sounds like the hotel is dropping the ball or hating on us for the lax customer service commentary at check out.
There is this song and dance around everything and people saying it has been sent or that a tracking number will be emailed for three weeks. Three weeks of the weird, broken and strange communications or dare I say lack there of.
Finally I call myself and the employee says they never got a credit card number. I give them the card number. It's not working. Impossible but technology is fickle. I give them a debit card number with money to be spent in that account. It doesn't go through. Impossible and so I say, "I think it's the system you're using." What do they tell me to do? I have to call FedEx.
Then I call FedEx and they inform me that they just changed their system. In order to give Holiday Inn the shipping label I must set up a personal Fed Ex account, buy said label and EMAIL the Holiday Inn people the label and wait for them to send. This seems like a LOT to ask of front desk associates who haven't though to USE THE POST OFFICE instead, or have yet to figure out the new mode of FedEx.
Finally my friend says, "Do you want me to just go and get it?" This thing is 90 minutes away. The stubborn mom part of me wants to win the blanket battle and make this hotel get their shit together. They have it. We want it back. Will my daughter live without it? Absolutely, but seeing as they still have the damned thing, can we just have it back?
Best friend to the rescue. Calling to say it would be picked up was another great adventure. I gave the name and spelled it and gave them the pick up window. They said "Okay, but she needs to be prepared to show ID." They can't figure out FedEx but card like a bar for a blanket apparently?
Yesterday I got the picture, my new favorite picture by the way, of my best friend outside of the hotel with the blanket on her shoulder. Operation Blanket Retrieval was a success! She selflessly offered to send the blanket by way of the post office, a genius idea by the way, tomorrow and I said not to. I said to wait.
This may seem odd but the entire exchange has kept me in a weirdly pensive perspective. I realized that, one small thing left behind was a weird stress. No one was losing sleep but it ricochet'd into an argument and nagging between my husband and I, my daughter just wanted a blanket back, an experiment in horrible customer service wrapped in weird karma, making things work for yourself, and best friends coming through in ways they ALWAYS have, with small steps for your child and huge steps for humankind.
It's just a blanket right? But that blanket was a baby shower gift from a friend that my daughter likes. I tried to buy another but they no longer make it. I tried to have it shipped and give an establishment my money to return my item to me, only to have it be, for lack of a better phrase, as shit show. My best friend selflessly volunteered to go and get it and return it and now I'm left, calm, grateful, highly amused and in no rush for return.
Maybe that blanket lives at Aunt Angela's awaiting for my daughter's triumphant return and will be the story of her six year old self. Maybe that blanket shows up with a Christmas package. Maybe that blanket shows up in October some random ass day because my best friend is sick of looking at it.
All I know is this, we will never be staying at Holiday Inn again, and with the blanket bumble comes simplistic reminders of ALL THAT WE HAVE. I'm so lucky I have a best friend willing to go that distance in every sense. I'm lucky I have a husband that tried but got distracted and I'm lucky I'm so stubborn and persistent that the blanket didn't end up in a donation bin for no good reason. My daughter is lucky she has a mom who cares about a pink heart and peace sign blanket and that her mom also chose the best person in the world to be her only Aunt Angela and drive to fetch that thing.
These are my Thursday thoughts! We are so close to Friday!
With his vast hospitality knowledge we left with quite a discount and without the blanket. This was the first trip where I allowed my daughter to pack her own stuff. There was no judgement and just a few guidelines as far as what to pack, and what she could and could not bring. She asked if she could bring a small blanket for the plane and I said yes.
She grabbed a little pink one she had had since she was a baby and off we went. It made it to hotel #1, my best friend's house, NYC, and then the final hotel before departing from our possession. We realized it had not made it into the rental car for the journey back to home base the same day we checked out of the hotel and my husband called to confirm they had it, to then have it set aside and sent back our direction.
When I was younger my uncle had taken me on trips with my cousins from time to time to Baltimore and such. I was the little anxious girl who couldn't travel without her stuffed animals. I once left like 5 stuffed animals in a hotel as he was not one to remember the excess stuff in the midst of adventure. I was beside myself. One call to the hotel and one FedEx box later, they came home to me less than a week after the departure.
I asked my husband after his quest for better Holiday Inn service to handle the exchange. I was ill-prepared for the drama that would ensue.
First I was harassing my husband every other day, which I'm sure he loved about, "Oh did you call them? Did they give a tracking number? Did they return your call?" The responses kept varying from "I am waiting for the Manager," to "Oh they are emailing me the tracking number."
I started to think he was just saying whatever he need to in order to get me to leave him alone. It was the most obnoxious thing. The whole time I'm texting my best friend about the whole thing and she's agreeing with me that it sounds like the hotel is dropping the ball or hating on us for the lax customer service commentary at check out.
There is this song and dance around everything and people saying it has been sent or that a tracking number will be emailed for three weeks. Three weeks of the weird, broken and strange communications or dare I say lack there of.
Finally I call myself and the employee says they never got a credit card number. I give them the card number. It's not working. Impossible but technology is fickle. I give them a debit card number with money to be spent in that account. It doesn't go through. Impossible and so I say, "I think it's the system you're using." What do they tell me to do? I have to call FedEx.
Then I call FedEx and they inform me that they just changed their system. In order to give Holiday Inn the shipping label I must set up a personal Fed Ex account, buy said label and EMAIL the Holiday Inn people the label and wait for them to send. This seems like a LOT to ask of front desk associates who haven't though to USE THE POST OFFICE instead, or have yet to figure out the new mode of FedEx.
Finally my friend says, "Do you want me to just go and get it?" This thing is 90 minutes away. The stubborn mom part of me wants to win the blanket battle and make this hotel get their shit together. They have it. We want it back. Will my daughter live without it? Absolutely, but seeing as they still have the damned thing, can we just have it back?
Best friend to the rescue. Calling to say it would be picked up was another great adventure. I gave the name and spelled it and gave them the pick up window. They said "Okay, but she needs to be prepared to show ID." They can't figure out FedEx but card like a bar for a blanket apparently?
Yesterday I got the picture, my new favorite picture by the way, of my best friend outside of the hotel with the blanket on her shoulder. Operation Blanket Retrieval was a success! She selflessly offered to send the blanket by way of the post office, a genius idea by the way, tomorrow and I said not to. I said to wait.
This may seem odd but the entire exchange has kept me in a weirdly pensive perspective. I realized that, one small thing left behind was a weird stress. No one was losing sleep but it ricochet'd into an argument and nagging between my husband and I, my daughter just wanted a blanket back, an experiment in horrible customer service wrapped in weird karma, making things work for yourself, and best friends coming through in ways they ALWAYS have, with small steps for your child and huge steps for humankind.
It's just a blanket right? But that blanket was a baby shower gift from a friend that my daughter likes. I tried to buy another but they no longer make it. I tried to have it shipped and give an establishment my money to return my item to me, only to have it be, for lack of a better phrase, as shit show. My best friend selflessly volunteered to go and get it and return it and now I'm left, calm, grateful, highly amused and in no rush for return.
Maybe that blanket lives at Aunt Angela's awaiting for my daughter's triumphant return and will be the story of her six year old self. Maybe that blanket shows up with a Christmas package. Maybe that blanket shows up in October some random ass day because my best friend is sick of looking at it.
All I know is this, we will never be staying at Holiday Inn again, and with the blanket bumble comes simplistic reminders of ALL THAT WE HAVE. I'm so lucky I have a best friend willing to go that distance in every sense. I'm lucky I have a husband that tried but got distracted and I'm lucky I'm so stubborn and persistent that the blanket didn't end up in a donation bin for no good reason. My daughter is lucky she has a mom who cares about a pink heart and peace sign blanket and that her mom also chose the best person in the world to be her only Aunt Angela and drive to fetch that thing.
These are my Thursday thoughts! We are so close to Friday!
Thursday, September 5, 2019
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:
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!
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
The Definition Of Relapse
Relapse, by definition is "a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement." When you grow up with an addict, the word relapse pertains directly to using drugs or drinking alcohol again. In mental health, a relapse could be anything from engaging in behavior you felt you had control over once again, having a bad day of anxiety, or a weekend of depression. Okay, that is my mental health definition of a relapse, and also, an interesting segue into this post.
I have said that things were going good, going well and calm. I was feeling pretty okay with the flow of things in general. I wanted to blame my anxiety on the drama of the whole Hurricane Dorian watch. I wanted to say it was induced by the bad moods and general hysteria of the people around me in the world. Now that I have my head above water again, I can call it what it is: "a relapse."
My relapse was born of many triggers. Triggers are so strange. Some of them make sense when you look into them. Some of them blindside you and seemingly come out of nowhere. While the hurricane stuff did push my anxiety high, I had something come up in life on top of it all that felt as though the rug was pulled from under me and I fell down hard, left to get up with no help. This unplanned thing, this new information, sent me spinning with no focal point or way to stop from spinning out.
I tried to stay calm and use that internal dialogue to talk myself down, but the thing about talking to yourself is, it can be kind of one-sided. With other circumstances overruling schedules, I was left alone with myself, with no one really to talk to besides my six year old and I started to shrivel. My six year old is fantastic company, but these forces made feel sad and shrinkable. You know that scene in The Little Mermaid where Ursula shows you the weird shriveled plant people? Yeah that was me, the poor, unfortunate soul.
I have said that things were going good, going well and calm. I was feeling pretty okay with the flow of things in general. I wanted to blame my anxiety on the drama of the whole Hurricane Dorian watch. I wanted to say it was induced by the bad moods and general hysteria of the people around me in the world. Now that I have my head above water again, I can call it what it is: "a relapse."
My relapse was born of many triggers. Triggers are so strange. Some of them make sense when you look into them. Some of them blindside you and seemingly come out of nowhere. While the hurricane stuff did push my anxiety high, I had something come up in life on top of it all that felt as though the rug was pulled from under me and I fell down hard, left to get up with no help. This unplanned thing, this new information, sent me spinning with no focal point or way to stop from spinning out.
I tried to stay calm and use that internal dialogue to talk myself down, but the thing about talking to yourself is, it can be kind of one-sided. With other circumstances overruling schedules, I was left alone with myself, with no one really to talk to besides my six year old and I started to shrivel. My six year old is fantastic company, but these forces made feel sad and shrinkable. You know that scene in The Little Mermaid where Ursula shows you the weird shriveled plant people? Yeah that was me, the poor, unfortunate soul.
I reached out to some people as a sounding board but I had to be selective on who could handle my situation. In my upset I wondered how much of this internal uproar was my anxiety, how much was a bout of depression, and how much was me just overreacting. I needed someone to check me a bit and give me a real answer. There was validation the response that I got, which was my feelings were not only valid, but what I was going through was really unfair. This validation victory was short lived.
The thing about relapse, is it's familiar. When you're healing and focused on progression and you're pushing towards your goals, it's easy to look back at where you were when you were in a less great place and be like, "I hope I don't go back there. I hope I don't feel that way again. Things are so much better now, I'm not going back." When the relapse happens then you get this cloud of "How did I get here?," above you; a fog if you will.
That fog left me disoriented. Maybe it was the hurricane's fault because much like Dorian, over the weekend I just churned slowly wreaking internal havoc mentally. It came out in random crying jags, and often. I'd be in the kitchen thinking I should eat something and just think about the situation and be crying into the sink. I couldn't focus my eyes when talking to my daughter or her playdates from time to time. I felt so damned blah.
I let my daughter see me through this, though. She asked about it and I said, "Mommy is having a hard time." The one time this weekend I lost my temper, the one time I became so unhinged wasn't even at my daughter, but rather in proximity to being pushed to my max. I immediately felt like shit because I scared her when I let out a yell about being done with things and how much I just tried and kept feeling like I failed. When we both calmed down and started to re-tell the events and how mommy lost it, my daughter said, "Turns out Labor Day is a bust." Somehow this just made everything in my heart light again. Not only was it completely accurate but she made it fun and sweet.
Yesterday I was half lifted out of things. I felt a baby step forward but was still not far enough out of everything to call it, "moving on, moving up." Today, though, I feel like I'm starting to process everything more constructively. Full on steps are happening for Wednesday.
Depression and anxiety are beastly. You can go for months using your coping mechanisms, therapies, tools for self care and everything else properly and then boom, something trips you up. It's the same with drug and alcohol recovery to where you can be sober for days, months, years, and experience something that just triggers you or throws you from your cadence, and before you know it you're using again.
It shows me how delicate the balance is. It shows me just how careful you have to be with everything. It was difficult for me to reach out and to explain the whole scenario and talk about it. It still is, honestly. It feels multi-faceted and filled with back story; overly-complicated much like Shrek with onions having layers.
I feel as though the past 5 days for me have just been the epitome of a relapse. In my personal therapy quest my therapist reminds me that this is okay and it will happen from time to time. This is all part of the growth process and recovery from trauma, but also just a part of life in general. Not being hard on myself is a struggle. I have to admit though, this particular relapse just completely wrecked me for a couple days there.
Everything felt futile and I felt extremely alone. I started feeling slightly insane as though I had made something into a "bigger deal" than it was in reality. That's a jarring feeling, in my humble opinion. It made me feel out of control, which is something I don't do well.
There are times when your patience and "go with the flow" abilities are essential. It is all you can do. There are other times when taking control, when gripping the wheel and getting back on course is essential. This is another delicate balance.
I don't like feeling as though I have no say in things and life just happens upon me. I no longer want to be just a viewer watching my life go by. I strive to be an active participant. I no longer just succumb to the whims of "not having a choice," or feeling like I can't have an opinion, a plan, goals and even dreams. I stayed quiet too long so now I feel like, "I'm very much allowed to say what I want to say!," at least in situations in my home and personal life.
While I feel as though this trip up in my mental health was really sucky and unfair, today I feel less wobbly about labeling it as an important learning experience. This relapse took me down for close to a week from beginning to end. Only last night did I start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I felt as though I had been staying so positive that I was bound to feel a bounce at some point. After all, it is only fair because what goes up must come down.
Relapses are rough! I don't care who you are or what your definition of relapse is but any recurring flair of uncertainty and uncomfortable-ness is less than desirable. I don't pretend to be immune. As for this particular bout, I had a pretty good run beforehand. I have some more work to do now, some "extra" added on. This is my time to really plant my roots firm and push on the growth because it is situations like this one than can make those better days sweeter when the bitter days are overly sour.
We easily take things for granted, whether we know it or not. The bad days put the good ones in perspective so I want to give myself that win. For anyone reading this who wants to reach out and talk, I hope you do. I may have felt super alone in my down time but I know that in reality, I'm not, and neither are you.
Thanks to my readers for being patient with me for all of this and I'm so glad I was able to share. On this September Wednesday morning, I'm grateful we have just a couple more days to the weekend! We got this!
Thursday, August 29, 2019
The Hurry-Cane
If you watch the news, you are aware that there is a hurricane heading towards Florida. To me, it should be re-named a "Hurry-cane." Why? Because everyone is in a HURRY; a hurry to to do what? Wait it out. Hurry up and wait!
Already water is gone from store shelves, people are at gas stations filling 10 spare cans, and gas stations are out of fuel. Traffic is ridiculous while people play with ideas of evacuation. It's hysteria.
We have lived in Florida for a decade as of July and have seen one legitimate hurricane. The last time was an anxious, stressful and exhausting experience mostly because it was our first big one and because everyone out of state was all over us. They increased the mania because they just had no idea, which while I understand, but is not remotely helpful.
As for me, we err on the side of caution. We have supplies. We are ready. Things are different mentally for us all from the last round and this time we will be more capable than ever to handle whatever turn this thing takes.
I'm loving the memes on Facebook and Instagram making the whole thing funny. That, and hurricane parties are what Florida is know for after all. I actually didn't understand the whole "stock up on alcohol and party" mentality for a hurricane until Irma. My husband's boss sent us with insanely good wine and food and to calm my anxiety and stress, nothing is better than red wine and steak right?
I was in a hurricane-panic induced food coma and slept through the worst of the storm. My daughter just remembers cooking outside and staying up late because we turned the AC way down to make the place hold some cool in anticipation of a power outage and told her to soak up that technology not knowing how long we'd be out for.
I remember people banding together, especially the community members in our neighborhood. My husband did a huge cook out for everyone the night before the storm was supposed to hit. Literally the waiting on the unknown was the worst part. You never know what the damage will entail. There were tree branches and things fell on cars and roads. Some signs came down but we had nothing too crazy. Others weren't so lucky. But, just the not knowing was maddening.
Sometimes with the hurry-cane I just want it to hurry up and get over with already. I just it to arrive, do it's damage and leave. Get outta the way! Go away Dorian. Also, I must say that the hurricane names are weird sometimes. Like Andrew and Michael are regular, mundane names but Irma sounded like a mean German Grandmother name and Dorian? I can't NOT picture the Mask:
As for me, we err on the side of caution. We have supplies. We are ready. Things are different mentally for us all from the last round and this time we will be more capable than ever to handle whatever turn this thing takes.
I'm loving the memes on Facebook and Instagram making the whole thing funny. That, and hurricane parties are what Florida is know for after all. I actually didn't understand the whole "stock up on alcohol and party" mentality for a hurricane until Irma. My husband's boss sent us with insanely good wine and food and to calm my anxiety and stress, nothing is better than red wine and steak right?
I was in a hurricane-panic induced food coma and slept through the worst of the storm. My daughter just remembers cooking outside and staying up late because we turned the AC way down to make the place hold some cool in anticipation of a power outage and told her to soak up that technology not knowing how long we'd be out for.
I remember people banding together, especially the community members in our neighborhood. My husband did a huge cook out for everyone the night before the storm was supposed to hit. Literally the waiting on the unknown was the worst part. You never know what the damage will entail. There were tree branches and things fell on cars and roads. Some signs came down but we had nothing too crazy. Others weren't so lucky. But, just the not knowing was maddening.
Sometimes with the hurry-cane I just want it to hurry up and get over with already. I just it to arrive, do it's damage and leave. Get outta the way! Go away Dorian. Also, I must say that the hurricane names are weird sometimes. Like Andrew and Michael are regular, mundane names but Irma sounded like a mean German Grandmother name and Dorian? I can't NOT picture the Mask:
So here we go, slowly bracing ourselves for the unknown in this hurry-cane situation. I'm hoping to fill my tank this afternoon and call it a day. We shall see!
Monday, June 10, 2019
Week Of Anniversaries - Some Better Than Others
So, Thursday marks a decade since I graduated college. Friday marks a decade of marriage. Saturday marks a decade since we left Oregon to start our journey to Florida, and 3 years since the car accident. The car accident anniversary is murky; everything else is good, happy milestones.
Graduating college was a trip. It was something else and it was definitely overshadowed by the wedding, but I kind of liked it that way. My college stuff was rough. I still have some resentment because I literally found out my last semester that I was in the completely wrong program for what I actually wanted to do with my life. But, we continue.
If you look at our wedding now, it was unimpressive. To us, it was this huge send off into life together and literally everyone pitched in. The dads split the venue, my sister helped with the cake, my other sister bought a bunch of wine, my dad did the ceremony and helped with my dress, too. We did a lot on our own. My husband catered it with a friend and his mom bought the supplies. Our friend brought a PA system and I made a playlist on my iPod he played. The boy I nanny-ed for all those year played songs on guitar too. Everyone had a blast.
It was after that we moved away and started a life that was just ours. We've struggled a lot. Our past handful of anniversaries have been less fantastic. For our first anniversary we went to St. Augustine and had a blast. After that, with the exception of a quick overnight when in Pennsylvania we have been with the little one and just tried to grab a dinner.
This weekend is a night away about 90 minutes away from home and I'm ridiculously excited honestly. It's been a long time since we wanted to make the effort to spend time together. Last year we stole 3 days together, not anniversary related but we barely even have a date night anymore so this is kind of a big deal.
We will be driving on the car accident anniversary, which makes me a bit nervous, but I love being further and further away from that day. My daughter talks about it a lot. She isn't afraid to discuss it at all, and I always answer her questions and tell her how it was because she only remembers bits and pieces. Even my husband has a rough time remembering.
It's so weird thinking about all of this. A decade being married, a decade of no longer being a student and fully a part of the working world, and 3 years far from that horrible day. All in the span of 3 days.
This is the first year in a long time none of it has plagued me, I'm not just feeling completely weighed down. I want a one night break. I want to just enjoy each other. I don't want to be afraid to drive.
My best friend told me that marriage is made up of a lot of bad years and her husband always says he wants to get those over with so they can just make it to the good. I wholeheartedly agree. And this is the first time in a long time that I've felt like maybe year 10 could be a wholehearted good one.
Graduating college was a trip. It was something else and it was definitely overshadowed by the wedding, but I kind of liked it that way. My college stuff was rough. I still have some resentment because I literally found out my last semester that I was in the completely wrong program for what I actually wanted to do with my life. But, we continue.
If you look at our wedding now, it was unimpressive. To us, it was this huge send off into life together and literally everyone pitched in. The dads split the venue, my sister helped with the cake, my other sister bought a bunch of wine, my dad did the ceremony and helped with my dress, too. We did a lot on our own. My husband catered it with a friend and his mom bought the supplies. Our friend brought a PA system and I made a playlist on my iPod he played. The boy I nanny-ed for all those year played songs on guitar too. Everyone had a blast.
It was after that we moved away and started a life that was just ours. We've struggled a lot. Our past handful of anniversaries have been less fantastic. For our first anniversary we went to St. Augustine and had a blast. After that, with the exception of a quick overnight when in Pennsylvania we have been with the little one and just tried to grab a dinner.
This weekend is a night away about 90 minutes away from home and I'm ridiculously excited honestly. It's been a long time since we wanted to make the effort to spend time together. Last year we stole 3 days together, not anniversary related but we barely even have a date night anymore so this is kind of a big deal.
We will be driving on the car accident anniversary, which makes me a bit nervous, but I love being further and further away from that day. My daughter talks about it a lot. She isn't afraid to discuss it at all, and I always answer her questions and tell her how it was because she only remembers bits and pieces. Even my husband has a rough time remembering.
It's so weird thinking about all of this. A decade being married, a decade of no longer being a student and fully a part of the working world, and 3 years far from that horrible day. All in the span of 3 days.
This is the first year in a long time none of it has plagued me, I'm not just feeling completely weighed down. I want a one night break. I want to just enjoy each other. I don't want to be afraid to drive.
My best friend told me that marriage is made up of a lot of bad years and her husband always says he wants to get those over with so they can just make it to the good. I wholeheartedly agree. And this is the first time in a long time that I've felt like maybe year 10 could be a wholehearted good one.
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