Untethered

Tags

Andrea Linett, anxiety, Coronavirus, COVID-19, family, Google Classroom, jobs, judgment, Kim France, Lucky magazine, motivation, parenting, remote learning, schedules, social distancing, stress

 Lately I am having trouble keeping track of time. My “schedule” has reverted to something from a past life. I sleep until 10am on an average day, and I don’t go to sleep until around 2 or 3:00am. Sleep does not come easily, regardless of the hour. When I lay down my throat feels tight. Stress, maybe? (I will assume WebMD will not be my friend here.) My dreams–when I remember them–are a mess.

Remote learning started for my kids this week. Navigating Google Classroom has been challenging, and I am once again grateful that my 16-year-old son is self-sufficient, because getting my 8-year-old through her work is difficult. My husband and I share that responsibility at the moment, because he is on “Spring Break” this week. Next week when teaching resumes he will have less time available. I will manage, obviously, but I am not looking forward to it. My daughter is bright, but easily distracted. She’s also pokey. So an assignment that would theoretically take 30 minutes always takes much longer. It’s torture, for both of us. I assume it will get better… need it to, really. Because as close as the end of the school year is, it’s not close enough.

I have two Zoom meetings on my schedule today, and I managed to confuse the time for both of them. Neither is work-related; one is my daughter’s Girl Scout meeting (hello again, Brave New World), and the other is something fun for me… a Zoom with the Kim France and Andrea Linett, formerly of Lucky magazine (along with probably several hundred interested fans). I looked at the email with the timing and log-in info this morning, so I knew when it was scheduled for. For reasons unknown I rewrote that time in my head, and tried to log in an hour early. On the other hand, the Girl Scout meeting is at 4pm, and I kept thinking it was at 5pm, even though it’s in my calendar (which I failed to look at). I can’t fully explain any of this, except to say that in the current situation, time has little meaning much of the time, so on the rare occasion that I actually need to keep track of it, I screw it up. The days are pretty much an endless blur. On the one hand, I am getting more sleep than I have gotten in years. On the other, it’s not always restful. I get more anxious the minute my head touches the pillow.

Like most people, I’m finding everything surreal. Without the structure I’m used to (school drop-off, work, school pick-up, after-school activities), I feel untethered. Like, who am I if there’s nowhere I’m expected to be and relatively little I’m supposed to do? I had good intentions. I initially tried to create a schedule for us to follow while we were social distancing, but it was a massive failure. The reality is this: We wake up, eventually. We eat together. I do a little bit of work remotely. We help my daughter with her school work. I spend too much time online. I read, usually nothing of substance. We eat lunch and watch a show. More schoolwork. More internet. Sometimes we play family games. We do laundry, and so many dishes. We all eat dinner, eventually. Still more dishes. To illustrate, last night we ate dinner at 10:30pm. I know, it’s ridiculous. This was more extreme than usual, but it makes my point. Without the framework of normal life, we are all untethered.

Clearly I still haven’t found my “new normal.” We’re getting things done, in our off-kilter way, but I can’t find any way to confidently apply the word “normal” to what’s been happening, and placing “new” in front of it doesn’t spin things. I believe we will find our rhythm, I do. But it hasn’t happened yet.

I’m sure there are those of you reading who feel I should be stricter, be enforcing some kind of schedule. But I can’t make myself do it. Judge away, but I can’t pull it off. This loose, untethered thing is where I’m at right now. It’s my reality. It will evolve, I’m sure, but I am not there yet. My family is not there yet.

Since there is little in the way of outside world to intervene, we are doing our thing. I have lovely friends who have been sharing their family schedules, and I look at them, I do. I admire them. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I feel guilty. But I’ve figured out that I will not be following in their footsteps, however wise they may be. We will keep floating along, for now at least. It’s a strange new world, and we are all doing the best we can to get by.

Day 22: I Finally Shave My Legs

Tags

anxiety, blogging, cleaning, Coronavirus, COVID-19, family, fear, frustration, games, stress

 This isn’t really about shaving my legs at all. Mostly, it’s about playing games. The literal kind, that is. 

Let’s say you have four people trapped in a house for 22 days. Two of them are adults, one is 16, and one is 8. What games can you play that will entertain everyone? This is a legitimate question, and if you have an answer, please feel free to respond. This shit is hard.

We bought cards on Amazon, because of course we’re having trouble finding ours. I bought three decks, but one of them turned out to be miniature (objects on Amazon may be smaller than they appear). Anyway. My husband watched a video on how to play Hearts, thinking it was a simple game everyone would like. It turned out two of us were having trouble grasping it, and one of them was me. Sometimes I can quickly grasp the most difficult concepts, I swear. I’m generally quick on the uptake. Unfortunately, occasionally my mind looks at something and just thinks, “Nope.” At that point, you can try 50 different ways to teach me the simplest concept, and it’s not going to happen, because my mind has already concluded it’s too hard.

This happened with basic math in second grade. In my defense, I’d been skipped from kindergarten to 2nd because I was already reading at a very advanced level. The great minds who decided to move me ahead neglected to consider that most people learn to add and subtract in first grade (back then, anyway). So when I was placed in 2nd and they were trying to teach me to add and subtract larger numbers and even how to multiply and divide, my mind shut down. It decided I couldn’t deal with math. And I never adopted a different perspective until 11th grade when I was introduced to Geometry, which somehow wasn’t math. It just made sense. These days, I’m mostly okay with math. I do a lot of it for work, and I cope with it just fine. But it took a really long time to come around.

I can’t tell you what triggered me today with Hearts, but it pissed me off. We were going through the game, step by step, but I wasn’t following what was happening and it made me cranky. This in turn frustrated my husband who had only been trying to find a game that worked for all of us. I was getting madder and madder as the game went on, until no one was having fun. The game reached an abrupt conclusion, and I decided I needed a shower. Also, I hadn’t shaved my legs since before quarantine, because why?

Today I shaved them because I was feeling irritable and icky and in the end my hairy legs were contributing to the ickiness. So I shaved and showered, and I feel a tiny bit better. Not completely, but a bit. I still put on leggings because it wasn’t really about what my legs looked like at all, you know? The tiny bit of self-care made me feel somewhat better, and better is good. I’m not shooting for perfection. Getting through right now is sometimes a one minute at a time thing. I’m feeling strung out and emotional and scared, really scared. Every day it feels like there’s another news story about someone approximately my age with no underlying conditions who was still taken out by COVID-19. And it freaks me out. I try not to focus on it, but it’s really hard to ignore, what with the being stuck in the house, spraying down our groceries with bleach mixture, and leaving our mail sit for three days because what if someone infected sneezed on it? The fear is everywhere, and we are all living in it, pretty much every second. So if my brain suddenly decided a card game is incomprehensible, how can I blame it? Maybe it just has nothing left to give right now. Maybe not succumbing to panic is a full-time occupation.

On that note, I’m supposed to watch a video on how to play Rummy with four people. Help.

Table Update

Tags

blogging, gratitude, motivation, organization, struggle

  I did it! I organized my bedside table/cabinet! It’s the little things. The cabinet is so deep that I even emptied a cardboard box full of books that had been sitting unpacked since we moved here… I won’t tell you how long ago! And still, there’s more room. I love this thing! Isn’t it lovely? I should have taken a before photo for more impact; my bad. I’ll try to do that next time I find myself with an unexpected burst of organizational energy. There are two likely candidates: 

1. My original (much smaller) bedside table, which is sadly still filled with a ton of my stuff. But I never go into there, so it can’t be stuff I desperately need. Meanwhile, my husband doesn’t have a bedside table. Whoops! 

2. A small filing cabinet that also hasn’t been cleaned since we moved here. I pulled a fair amount of office supplies out of my current bedside cabinet, but they’re just sitting waiting for a home. But the filing cabinet (which also has drawers) is such a hot mess I can’t actually use it. True story.

Both options are so bad I’m embarrassed to take before photos, no joke. Maybe later. I’m out of energy for now. 

A New Normal

Tags

anxiety, blogging, children, Coronavirus, COVID-19, family, gratitude, hope, jobs, music, pandemic, quarantine, Stacy London, stress, What Not to Wear, work

 Hey, how’s it going out there? Yeah. Here too. It’s a lot, and I for one am still struggling. A friend asked me a couple of days ago if things were going any better for me, and if we had found our “new normal” yet. Well, crap. I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for one already—I guess I missed the memo. That seems to happen to me a lot. People around me just naturally seem to gravitate to their spots in a new set of circumstances, wherever that may be. Example: My kid starts at a new school, and moms around me find their squads, or villages, or whatever the current catch phrase is. From an outside perspective (and trust me, it is one) it always seems so graceful, natural even, like water flowing towards its destination. Me, on the other hand? I’m more like the character in the sitcom who gets thrown into a position where I’m supposed to rock climb, with zero experience and no equipment. Funny to watch, probably, but am I getting anywhere? You’ll come back from commercial break and find me still standing in the same spot—alone, sweaty and disheveled—scowling up at the face of the rock.

This is Day 16 or 17, depending on how I count. And man, this is still just so weird. I’m supposed to find normal in the midst of this? For real, though? We have created a certain rhythm, I guess. We stay up late and mostly sleep in, save for my husband who has to be online to teach. But even for him, it’s still sleeping in, because he no longer has an hour and 15-minute morning commute. He wakes up, has breakfast and coffee and BOOM! he’s at work. My son and I spend a lot of time in pajamas. I’m not seeing anyone, and it’s easier. I put on leggings and a bra if I’m going out for our daily walk, but the change from pajamas to leggings is subtle. Squint and it would be hard to tell the difference. My daughter does tend to get dressed, just because. I think it’s her unflagging hope that something might be different today, and I don’t want to steal that from her. As little clothing as we are all using, it shocks me that there’s still so much laundry. I mean, how? I’m sometimes wearing the same pajamas for several days in a row. Where is the laundry coming from? (Side question: Where are the socks going? My daughter has 18 unmatched socks. Eighteen!)

I spend too much time online, because it’s the place I go to feel connected. I did have a Zoom meeting with other Girl Scout moms this weekend, which was great. As it turns out, whatever social interaction I normally get is typically either at work or through Avery’s friends’ moms. That’s it. So stick me in my house, and it’s hard. Talking to adults who are not my husband or my boss is necessary for my sanity. Being stuck in my head with little distraction from my own thoughts is a very bad idea. So bad. So this particular new set of circumstances is a challenge, to put it nicely. To put it less nicely, it’s a bitch.

Yes, my family eats together, and my daughter gets to play with her dad. We are catching up on our tv shows and taking on some new ones. (Picard is awesome, by the way. Yes, I am a nerd.) We do dishes (everyone eating at home two to three meals a day creates a lot!), try to keep some semblance or order and generally enjoy each other’s company. I encourage my daughter to read. My son is very much loving his sudden lack of academic pressure. I am trying to be helpful and stay relevant at work while never being at work. We are all hanging in there, trying to figure it out. But I haven’t quite been able to get into a mode where I can view any of this as “normal.” I don’t think I’m in denial; I am quite aware that this is apt to drag on for a very long time. I read the news while wasting hours on Facebook, so I know the drill. I’m trying to slowly ease my daughter into that reality, but I think the rest of us have a fairly clear picture. But I can’t figure out how to reach a place in my head where this feels normal.

My daughter and I took a walk by ourselves tonight, since my husband was lesson planning. We walked by our park, and there are signs here and there which read: “Enjoy the outdoors responsibly” with a icons of a bicyclist, a roller skater and a runner, and between each one it says “<—6 feet—>”. Nothing creepy or sci fi/dystopian future there, nope. Let me be clear: I get it. These signs are necessary. The social distancing is necessary. The “safer at home” rules are very much necessary. I am in full agreement, and following all of the rules to the letter. But it’s hard to shake the absolute weirdness that has infiltrated every aspect of our lives. It all happened so fast, and I admit I’m struggling to keep up. This may be the new normal, but it doesn’t feel anything like normal. I’m slow to adjust.

Bright side: I saw two live concerts from my couch today. I’m loving that part of this reality. Tomorrow Stacy London of What Not to Wear fame will do another Instagram Live Q and A with her audience, who can basically FaceTime her and ask her their pressing fashion questions. She is delightful, and I have been a fan and admirer for a long time. Little known fact: I was such a big fan of WNTW that I was chosen to Skype a message that was included in the series finale, basically talking about what the show had meant to me as a viewer. I mean, I was one of a few dozen chosen, but it was still very cool. I love Stacy London, and listening to her help other fans is always so much fun. She’s smart and funny and approachable. Her book The Truth About Style is fantastic, as an aside. It’s all of the adjectives I just used to describe Stacy, plus thoughtful and touching. Deep, even. If you’re looking for a great quarantine read, I highly recommend it. I forgot to include her recent Instagram Live sessions in the list of things I’m grateful for in the midst of all this craziness. She makes things feel brighter for a little while.

Anyway, it’s 12:35 a.m., and while I won’t post this tonight, it’s time to wrap it up. Have you found your new normal? And if not, what would you like it to look like when you get there? Oh, and could you send directions?

Grief/Praise

Tags

anxiety, blogging, children, cleaning, Coronavirus, COVID-19, family, fear, Glen Phillips, gratitude, jobs, John Wozniak, Marcy Playground, money, motivation, music, pandemic, parenting, stress, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Tom Cantillon

My favorite singer/songwriter has a song called “Grief and Praise,” which is based on the title of a book by Martin Prechtel (and the deeper concepts therein). This post probably won’t delve that deep, but lately I’ve been listening to a lot of Glen (the aforementioned singer) due to the welcome distraction of his near-nightly Facebook Live shows. His songs are on my mind, and this one fits. I’m trying to find a balance between allowing myself the space to grieve what’s happening now and my unfortunate tendency to spiral too far into the negative. Balance is not my strong suit, ever. I’m working on it. To that end, I will end this post with a list of things I’ve gained from the recent turn of events. There have been a few.

I’ll start with some real talk: This shit is hard. Once more for those at the back: This. Shit. Is. Hard. Seriously, though. The numbness that lack of routine creates is very strange. Today is Saturday, but weekends aren’t really weekends right now, are they? My family is up late (kids included) every night. I have a horrible time falling asleep, and wake up feeling ill at ease and not rested. The hours go by, at once excruciatingly slow and yet somehow the day ends and I feel like I haven’t done that much (aside from laundry… so much laundry, but I digress). What am I doing with all of this time?

I’ve started to work from home, somewhat. I’m doing the best I can, as we all are, but I don’t know what the future holds, or how much of my job can be justified if–and likely when–this continues. Looking ahead I know in all likelihood school will not resume in person until fall. This both terrifies and depresses me, but I’m expecting it. Bottom line, if my daughter is home, then so I am. My son is old enough to watch her, certainly, but he will be dealing with online classes as well for the next couple of months, and more importantly, he’s not her parent. My 8-year-old isn’t going to be able to navigate Google Classroom by herself. So where does that leave my job? I have no idea. I know I’m far from alone in dealing with these challenges, and no one has come up with any real answers yet. I was speaking to a friend about this earlier and described it as “uncharted territory,” and she said she had been using that exact phrase on repeat for several days. No one knows how to do this. As much discussion as there had previously been about how telecommuting was the wave of the future, it’s safe to say no one expected the future to arrive all at once.

Until recently, my daughter’s schedule had me exhausted. I never had time to myself, and it frustrated me. Now, I have time… so much time. I should be using it to bang out the projects I always complained I lacked the time for, right? Yeah, no. So far, not so much. We deep cleaned the house the first couple of days, obviously. But there are organizational projects I’ve been meaning to take on for ages, and I keep just thinking about them. As much time as I have, the tasks themselves still feel insanely overwhelming. My theory is that it’s because nearly every bit of headspace is filled with pandemic-related thoughts; there’s no room left for projects. Or maybe that’s just my current excuse, but it feels real.

For example, my bedside table is actually a very large cabinet. My husband found it one day by the side of the road, and because he’s very wise, he texted me a picture. “YES!” I responded excitedly, and he dragged it into the back of the car and brought it home. In its former life, it was someone’s entertainment cabinet, but in spite of its size (about three feet wide and two and a half feet deep) it’s my bedside table. I have too much stuff both in it and on it, and it really needs resolving. But there’s a box of stuff in front of it as well, so I can’t fully open the glass doors without dragging the box out of the way. So I stand there and think about having to move that box just to get to the actual project, and it seems like too much. I’m exhausted before I ever start. And since life itself seems like too much right now… working from home, staying out of each other’s way (since my husband is working from home as well) and keeping my daughter entertained, dealing with the cabinet necessitates a level of energy I can’t seem to dredge up. Kudos to everyone out there who’s killing it under the same circumstances, but I can’t seem to get there.

Okay, enough of the dark stuff. Here are a few positives: 1. I am finding time to read regularly for the first time in quite awhile. It’s not exactly great literature, but it’s a welcome relief from what’s happening in my head. 2. Online concerts. Several artists I love have been playing on both Facebook Live and Instagram. So far these shows have been free (one artist has been taking donations for various deserving charities), and the joy of having these concerts in my living room right now is indescribable, really. It’s saving my sanity, and I am deeply appreciative. 4. We are currently financially okay. This is no small thing, and I have little doubt I would be wreck otherwise. NOT having to confront income insecurity right now is my number one cause for gratitude. 5. My family is both healthy and together. For once, our schedules are in perfect alignment. We all eat lunch and dinner together (breakfast varies), and there is tons of Daddy Time, which is a precious commodity, and normally fairly hard to come by. It’s special. I don’t like the reason we’ve been “gifted” all of this time, but the time itself, that’s a gift. My son is a junior in high school, and time had been going much too fast lately. He’s been doing SAT prep and college felt like it was looming. Suddenly, POOF! We have time together, and for once it’s not slipping by at hyper speed. I’m pretty sure that someday I will be even more grateful than I am right now to have had this period, strange as it is. Most parents see less and less of their teenager before s/he leaves for college, but for now, he is literally stuck with us. I don’t hate that at all.

So there you go, a bit of balance. Some praise for a situation that can feel mired in grief. Finding that balance takes practice. But you know what? I have time.

How Many Days?

Tags

anxiety, blogging, Coronavirus, COVID-19, family, fear, parenting, safer at home, social distancing, stress

Everyone is talking about how many days it’s been since social distancing started for them. It’s the start of a fair percentage of the posts I read, both on friends’ Facebook timelines and celebrity Instagram pages. This is Day 10 for us, more or less. I went to work that Friday for half the day so as not to inconvenience anyone, but I made the decision at the 11th hour on Thursday night to keep my kids home. As it turned out, their school district was only about 10 hours behind me in reaching the same conclusion.

Why are we compelled to number the days? Is it like hash marks on a prison cell? I know many of us are feeling trapped, even if we understand and agree with the rationale for #saferathome and social distancing mandates. Does numbering the days remind us that they are finite? That we won’t be trapped within the walls of our homes forever?

I have only left my house to take walks. My husband does the shopping. I do not share the belief that we as a country are overreacting to this virus. I am not prone to panic, but I know that at some point I woke up to the fact that COVID-19 was not the same as previous viruses. I understand that the media has been known to create hyperbole, so I didn’t arrive at DEFCON 5 levels of concern all at once. In fact, a lot of the early discussion left me rolling my eyes. But I am a big believer in following my gut, and maybe 14 days ago it began ringing all kinds of alarms. The night I decided we were not sending the kids to school the next day, my husband and I discussed it. He initially was in the “What’s one more day” mindset, but he also thankfully respects my gut, and by then it was screaming at me, full stop: KEEP THEM HOME! And so we did.

How many days will it be? I have no idea. Too many, for damned sure. Not everyone is following the mandates or believes it’s as serious as the experts say. Sometimes I wish I didn’t believe it, but those internal alarms are still going off. If anything, they’re growing louder. I suspect the restrictions on movement are going to keep getting heavier, because those who are not listening are continuing to put others at risk. I don’t know what triggers the alarm for other people. I suspect that for some the denial or disbelief hang around until it happens to someone they know. That’s not good, because it means there will be a terrifying number of people sick or dead before everyone finally starts listening.

Tonight I read about L.A. closing the beaches, parks and hiking trails because people were not following the social distancing guidelines. I’m certain my own city will follow suit, and my gut is own telling me that we will next move from “safer at home” to “shelter in place.” How long will it be until groceries can be obtained via delivery only, or we are no longer allowed to take walks?

All of these things concern me, but I recognize my total lack of control over them. I can’t make someone else “get it” or take the virus more seriously. But then, no one can. I see people losing their minds in Facebook groups trying to scream the warnings louder and louder, and I sympathize, because I agree with them. But at the same time you can’t transmit belief, and no matter how strong your feelings are. It’s futile.

So this is Day 10. Where will be all be on Day 15? Will more of us be convinced, and what will have happened to change minds? That’s the stuff that keeps me awake at night and wakes me up with a jolt every morning. What fresh hell will the news bring? How bad will the other numbers be today… the new cases, the deaths? I am scared, and trying not to transmit that fear to my kids. It’s so hard, and I know I’m not alone.

I can tell you that on Day 15 I’ll still be in my house–all four of us will. We’ll probably be a whole lot more tired of it, but tired is better than sick, or worse. I hope most of you share my concerns. That said, I really, really want to be wrong.

Life 2.0

I wanted to come up with a more creative name, you know… Life in the Time of Corona, or something similar. But all of the good ones are taken already. I was a bit slow to react. Nothing new there.

Ironically, my 16-year-old son said this is his ideal break. He’s amazing, but cerebral and introverted. He generally talks to his friends on a video game platform, so there you go. My 8-year-old daughter, on the other hand, is basically living her worst nightmare. She’s so social that after a full day of school and extracurriculars (cheer, contortion, Girl Scouts, gymnastics) her first question when we get home is typically “Are we doing anything?” It’s never enough; people are like air for her. So the big question is, how do I keep her from suffocating in this season of social distancing?

Today, we discovered the Marco Polo app thanks to a friend’s post. It’s kind of like FaceTiming with a pause button, because the friend can respond to the video whenever s/he wants. Mostly she’s been using it in real time, more or less. While I don’t want her whole life to become about screen time, it does seem to be a necessity at the moment, and not just for her.

My husband is now teaching from home, and like everyone else in this Upside Down world he’s getting up to speed as fast as he can. I’m working remotely as much as possible, and she’s doing math on both a computer and an app. (I’m trying to get her to read for at least an hour a day as well.) There’s even an online PE Coach these days (shout out to Coach Wood on YouTube). It’s a Brave New World, but I’m not feeling all that brave. Mostly, I’m overwhelmed. This is Day Seven, for us. I chose to keep them home a day before the school district made its decision. Weekends are definitely included in that count, since none of us can decipher them from weekdays anymore (maybe this will improve now that my husband is teaching online).

As much as I loved my weekends and longed for a nice break, this certainly wasn’t what I had in mind. Unlike my husband, I wasn’t born to teach, and encouraging my daughter to stay on (some sort of) track is stressful for both of us. My son is thankfully fairly self-motivated, because homeschooling her feels very much like a full-time job. One I didn’t sign up for. Last night I looked at the calendar on the fridge and started to laugh. “Oh look, next week is Spring Break! How quaint!” My husband laughed too, and we probably sounded slightly unhinged. A week ago, my thoughts about Spring Break were filled with annoyance, because while my kids’ break was scheduled for next week, my husband’s was scheduled for April, as was mine, but even our breaks didn’t overlap completely. We had planned for my father-in-law to come be with my daughter next week (my son is capable, but having him watch her would have eliminated his break, and as a junior with a tough course load and AP classes, he deserves one). Now look–AbraCorona!–our breaks overlap!

I’m tentatively thinking I will still view next week as a Spring Break of sorts… give the kids a week of truly unstructured time in which they aren’t required to stay in any kind of learning mode. The week after that the school district is supposed to begin some kind of “flexible learning model.” I don’t think anyone knows what that means yet, but hopefully it will be a starting place, and will give them (and especially her) some kind of structure that doesn’t require me to enforce it.

Like most people, I think I’m in a state of sustained shock. As crazy as portions of my life may have been prior to this, I don’t think my whole life has ever changed so abruptly on such a fundamental level. I mean, parenting, maybe? But obviously I knew that was coming. But this, waking up in a dystopian novel? This takes the cake. I know everyone’s in the same boat, and that helps. No one was prepared for a pandemic, or social distancing… two weeks ago I thought everyone was overreacting. There had been talk of scary viruses before, after all. How was I supposed to predict this? How were any of us?

Right now I’m wondering if I’m going to be any better at this version of life. I’m trying to stay mostly positive, at least around my kids. It’s not about me. My number one job is to help them navigate all of these drastic changes. My fears about the future are really fears about their future, after all. I have to believe we are all going to get through this and that their future will be a bright one. I really have to.

How’s everyone else handling this? Any tips or tricks to share? I’m all ears, truly. I’ve got the time.

Zigzag

Tags

acceptance, family, friendship, grief, self-esteem, strength, stress

The thing I’ve noticed about grieving is that it’s not really a straight path to feeling better. The timetable itself can vary, obviously. It differs depending on the loss itself and it changes from person to person. A coworker of mine lost her father only a week ago. While it’s true that he hadn’t been well for a very long time (and was in the hospital for months), it still surprised me when she said, “I’m fine. I’m strong—I have his personality.” My immediate thought was, “Well, I guess I must not be strong.”

This is untrue; I am both strong and a survivor. That said, I tend to wrestle with grief (or depression, or whatever) for quite awhile before finding my way through it. I get there, but the course is long, and never straight. I take a zigzag route to O.K.

Some days I can get up and make it nearly halfway through the day before I think about my mother-in-law. Then I get slapped with it, and the sting of whatever memory intruded on my temporary peace is sharp. Other days I wake up thinking of her, and can’t shake off my sense of loss. On days like that I’m barely managing to function.

As an emotional eater, I’ve literally been wearing my grief. I keep telling myself that it’s time to get my shit together and get back “on plan” food-wise, but eating nearly always makes me feel better in the moment, even if there’s a heavy (ha!) price to pay at the end. I’m also not terribly stoic, at least outside of work. I spend more time crying than most of my family, and that’s okay. It’s part of the way I grieve, and it’s certainly less damaging than the eating.

It’s been six months since the loss of my mother-in-law, and while I no longer cry every day, it’s still several times a week. Apparently the universe likes to toy with me, because just in case I was starting to feel good about my halting progress toward emotional well-being, WHAM! My former close friend decided to exit, stage left.

When I wrote the previous blog, I was mostly zigging. I mean, I felt heartbroken and awful about her decision, but not about myself. Today I’ve unfortunately taken a sharp zag. I’m questioning everything all over again: my role in her departure, exactly long she’d wanted to cut me out of her life… helpful things like that. I actually had a nightmare in which I’d crashed her wedding and was subsequently caught, shamed and thrown out. In real life I was a member of that wedding. It seems like yesterday.

She was there when I found out my father died, there for the births of both my children… she was in the room when my daughter was born. How the hell did we end up here? My head races in circles and I make myself crazy and miserable with questions that aren’t apt to be answered, and my heart breaks and breaks and breaks.

The memories of her are literally everywhere: clothes we bought on shopping trips together (often the same item, only hers in a smaller size), gifts she’s given me… it’s endless. Separating from a close friend feels as bad or worse than breaking up with a boyfriend. She was in my life for 20 years, and no boyfriend (other than my husband) lasted that long. When someone who has known you so well exits, it makes you question yourself. It seems like after gazing deeply at my soul for all these years, she decided she didn’t like what she saw there. It’s difficult not to let that mess with me. I’m trying not to, and I’m hoping to zig again soon, but right now I’m stuck in a zag.

A large portion of our Facebook friend lists overlap (real-life friends, not the internet-only type), so even when I’m seeking distraction online, there’s little to be found. Her friends—our friends—pop up in my feed, and their posts often have her name attached. More tears, more questions, more pain.

A friend (who actually isn’t connected) referenced the old, “It’s better to have loved and lost” adage, and while I suppose it’s true, I winced. She was like my sister… only thankfully my sister never decided I wasn’t worth knowing. While I knew we’d been growing apart, I never could have imagined this. On top of the grief, I feel betrayed, because she was someone who was supposed to be “safe,” one of the few I could always count on. My notion of safe has been rewritten.

I am in pieces, crying as I type. I don’t know how to do this, but I have no choice. Endless steps forward, but more scars from the journey.

Zig, zag.

Hey Universe, if you could let me go more than six months without a catastrophic emotional event, I’d appreciate it.

Adulting

I don’t remember when I first heard the term “adulting,” but it’s probably only been in the last few years. I liked it immediately, because it seems to imply that behaving like an adult is something we can put on and take off, like a particularly uncomfortable pair of shoes.

I remember for a long time, even into my 20s, I expected that at some point I would grow to feel like an adult. Maybe it would be finding my true love… nope, found him; still felt like a pretender. Maybe when I got my first well-paying job. Nope, had one—pre-kids. It was miserable and incredibly high-stress (think The Devil Wears Prada, but for entertainment law rather than magazines), but it failed to bring on those grown-up feelings along with the paychecks and the 401K. I’ve had children, and have the stretch marks and fine lines to prove it. I’m a very good mom, but a lot of the time I still feel like I’m acting as an adult would, rather than truly feeling like one. Don’t get me wrong, there are days, and many of them, when I feel old. But old and adult are not entirely the same. However old I am or however old I feel, one thing I’ve learned is that this adulting shit is hard.

Six months ago, I lost my mother-in-law to cancer. I loved her very much, and her loss has left me feeling wounded. But life doesn’t stop for grief. Day in and day out, I got myself and my daughter ready for work and school. Made it to work on time, worked hard, then came home and put the dishes away. Took her to basketball and cheerleading practice and remembered to read with her. I found the time to help my son stay on top of his grades and tried to ask the right questions to make sure we’re staying connected. He’s 14, and he just finished his freshman year of high school. It was a difficult, complicated year even without the loss of his grandmother, whom he was exceptionally close to. Other than my husband and myself, she was his person. His rock. I’m proud of him for keeping it together to the degree that he has, and proud of myself, too. I’ve cried a lot, eaten too much and snapped at people who didn’t deserve it occasionally. Maybe more than occasionally. But I’ve kept going. I’ve made dinner when my husband was working a second job to make ends meet. I’ve done ridiculous amounts of laundry and occasionally even managed to fold it and put it away. I kept right on putting one foot in front of the other, through grief, money stress, and life. It’s been hard, and I’ve wanted to stop. To throw in the towel and just regress. I’ve spent a lot of time feeling exhausted, and recently one of my eyes has started twitching again. I’ve done as much howling as crying since my mother-in-law passed away. “Crying” seems like too polite a description for the snot-filled waves of rage and pain that sometimes wash over me… howling comes closer. But there I go, one foot then the next, moving forward. Plodding, maybe, but moving.

I recently had a friend decide that our relationship wasn’t working for her any longer. After 20 years of life and memories, she decided she preferred her life without me in it. It’s complicated, as these things are. I am heartbroken, gutted and reeling. I saw it coming like a slow-motion crash, but I couldn’t seem to stop it… I was powerless. There’s been some crying, and some howling too. I have no doubt there will be more as I try to process what is for me an enormous loss. My initial instinct was to question what was “wrong” with me. Something about me must have caused her to leave, right? But shockingly, that feeling only lasted about a day, then I shook it off. I’m human, and I have flaws. I don’t always behave like the best version of myself. In relationships, there is nearly always blame on both sides, and this is the case here, too. I own my part of what went wrong, though ending things is not a choice I would have made. I am sad that she will no longer be a part of my life, but I am not viewing that as a sign that no one else could want to. I am growing. I am learning how to be sad without beating myself up. I am learning how to grieve and keep moving.

Back when I was dating, I spent a lot of time—and I do mean a LOT of time—clinging to relationships that weren’t working. Twice when the guy involved tried to end things, I begged and pleaded for him to stay. In one case, I literally threw myself to the ground and held onto his legs in a feeble attempt to keep him there (and as I typed that I threw up in my mouth a little bit). Ironically, that relationship continued awhile longer, then I finally left him. But that’s not really the point here. The trouble when I was dating was that my self-esteem was so low that I was terrified that if someone left I would be alone permanently, that no one else would ever love me. That I was in fact unlovable. That fear made me cling desperately to guys who were so clearly NOT Mr. Right. Being alone scared me more than being with someone and unhappy… until it didn’t. I grew up.

Here’s the thing: As sad as I am over my friend’s decision, at no point did it occur to me to beg her to change her mind. There was grief, yes, and that familiar (and still uncomfortable) sense of powerlessness. But there also was and is acceptance. We’ve both been unhappy. She is leaving, yes. But I will be okay, and other people will love me. Other people do love me. I have friends and I will make more of them. Her decision isn’t a condemnation of everything about me; in fact, ultimately it’s about her. She feels her life will be better without me in it. That’s an awful thing to swallow—it sucks and it hurts, but it doesn’t mean I’m damaged or unlovable. It just means that there were things in our relationship that didn’t work. Would I have ended the friendship? Honestly, no. That’s not who I am. I haven’t felt satisfied by it in a long time, but I wouldn’t have cut her out. I kept hoping things would get better, that we’d move beyond our issues. That said, I accept her decision. Without argument. With only a touch of bitterness. With grace for her and for me. With love, even, because it’s easier to swallow than anger.

This adulting stuff is hard. Sometimes it sucks. As a different friend said, I’ve had “a bad run” lately. I suppose that’s true, and I don’t feel much like an adult when I’m grieving. But I keep on acting like one, regardless. Maybe that’s enough.

 

Orchestrated Mental Vomit

Tags

anxiety, blogging, parenting, planning, work, writer's block, writing

What? You don’t like the title?

It’s recently come to my attention that there are people out there – in the Blogosphere as if that’s an actual thing – who time their posts according to when they statistically are most likely to get the most reaction. Wow. In this case I can honestly say, “I can’t even.” How is this possible? I can imagine that these are careful, logical souls who either write for a living or wish they did and pursue that wish at a level I haven’t managed to reach. Yes, I know that you’re supposed to treat writing like a job, and schedule it accordingly. This is tough for me for a couple of reasons. First, as I mentioned in my previous post, I have an actual job. One I love. I also have two school-age kids who require shuttling to and from their respective schools, and expect dinner on the table, even. I had to fight like hell to get that last post written, because my son was at a friend’s and my daughter really wanted my attention. It took several tries to complete, but I pulled it off, more or less. I accidentally posted it before the final edit, because that’s what happens when your attention is thoroughly divided. I went back and fixed it, but somehow it had gotten two views by then. Great.

While it’s all too easy to blame the very real distractions and competition for my attention, I would find it difficult to pull off the whole timed blogging thing regardless. Why? Writing is something that more or less controls me. I’m motivated or I’m not, which is why I went a year or so without a post. It’s more than writer’s block, it’s very nearly writer’s amnesia. It’s like I manage to forget what a gift this is, and how good it feels, which is more than slightly strange, because I feel most like myself when I’m writing. How did I manage to forget the thing that makes me feel most like myself? I’ll go out on a limb and assume it ties in to my self-destructive tendencies, somehow. When I am writing more regularly, the urge to write arrives unbidden, and I can only hold off for so long before I’m forced to vomit my thoughts onto the page, or screen. Whichever. I can wait when I actually have to, such as when I’m working, because I’m a grown-up, because I love my job, and because it’s a super-security conscious place so every room is covered with video cameras. Yup, not kidding. So any desire I did have to indulge my more selfish, less-adult tendencies would be thwarted by my interest in keeping my job. So there’s that.

Back to the mental vomiting. I really do write in bursts – it’s frequently or not at all. Orchestrated it is not. When the urge strikes if it’s remotely possible I give in, even if I’m supposed to be doing something more useful, like sleeping. I try to convince myself it can wait until tomorrow, but that inner voice warns that I won’t remember any of what I intended to write the next day. And it’s probably right. Writing doesn’t happen for me in anything resembling an elegant, controlled way. All of these thoughts careen around in my head until I’m sick and dizzy and have to purge them, so out they come. Yes, I try to mop them into somewhat more appealing piles, so that those choosing to read won’t think, “What the hell happened here?!?” That’s what editing is to me – mopping up piles of mental vomit. And I’m supposed to wait until a certain time of day to post something? Let it sit there, unpublished? Not going to happen. If I wait too long or read something too many times, it will start looking worse and worse to me. Yes, of course I edit, often several times in a row. But not hours apart, never that. I’d come back and decide that everything I’d written was absolute crap, and no one would ever want to read something so awful. No really, I would. You see then why it’s necessary that I post shortly after the, um, regurgitation happens, yes?

So with respect to these über-bloggers, whose posts get 200 or more likes at a go, I just can’t do it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday I’ll be a more advanced blogger with loftier goals. Until then, I’ll just be here, mopping.