Getting through the tough times, takes a little reminding and a little vodka.

I have a lot of things I wish I could change but one of the things I wish most to change takes so much effort, time, and commitment to fix. So I don't always do it right, and I don't always recognize when I do need to change it and I forget how much it takes until I'm fully engulfed. I spend a lot of time allowing myself to get sucked down deep into a blah cycle of self loathing, frustration and sadness aka the ol' depression. It is something that is always with me, but there are times when it claws away at my being; reducing me to a shell of the person I ACTUALLY am. 

There was a time, many years ago, when I was much more void of emotion and feeling. I always felt they were signs of weakness, admitting struggle just showed that you can't handle life. I spent many, many years bottled up and terrified that I was the weakest, most unstable person in there world because hey, look at EVERYONE ELSE, they can get out of bed without a panic attack. They drive to work without puking from fear. They can talk to people and not burst into tears because everyone obvi hates you and doesn't want to hear what you say. Let's just say it was a fun lifestyle. Loads. 

I hid a lot of who I was then. Choosing to keep people at arms length and share only the tiniest glimpses into my life than let people in. My walls had been built, the foundation poured and cemented by years of self doubt and instability. There was no getting through them. When I think back to the people I knew then, even the guy I dated seriously at the time, I feel absolutely awful. No wonder things seemed so toxic, I was a ball of anger and frustration waiting for someone to light the fuse so I could go off! And boy did it get lit. Anger was the only emotion I had time for. I was angry at everyone. Angry at my friends, angry at my boyfriend, angry at my parents, my sister, the sun, the clouds, that guy on the bench over there... Or so I thought. I was angry. But I was also sad. And lonely. And afraid. There were layers to the anger I never once looked at in all those years. & now I look back and greatly regret it. Things could have been different and I wouldn't have lost those years with the people I love and care about because I was so bitter and angry. 

Eventually something changed. I met a really great person who ask what was actually SO bad in my life? Not the trivial shit either. Like actually bad-was I dying? Was I homeless? Did I go without food for days? Was I in constant fear of being raped? Beaten? Murdered? Would someone be able to do those things to me because as a woman, I drove a car? Or had a job? Or went to school? She encouraged me to look outside myself, beyond the anger and bitterness. They ask what really was the problem here, in my little insignificant life, full of privilege and hope-what really was the issue?

Me. 

That's what it was. And not in the regular self loathing way either. More so in the I've gotten to the bottom of the barrel and there's a mirror and ohhhh crapppp. I held on to things that need not be held on to. I refused to forgive issues passed that needed forgiveness. I would not let people in because they will just leave or hurt me anyways, so why bother!? I was angry at myself for never being true to who I was this whole time. Underneath the anger and the stoicness, was hurt and fear and pain, bottles up from years of allowing others to dictate my happiness for me. 

In time, I learned people could not talk to me certain ways. I learned to stand up for myself and what I believe in. I learned people value your input, even in the times it differs from theirs, as long as it's true to you. I learned to embrace my quirks and use them to my advantage. I learned who I was and that being an ENFP, sanguine-choleric, words of affermation person, that there are not just weaknesses, there are also strengths to my personality. I figured them out and ran with it. I learned friendships are much stronger when they are two-way streets. That people value advice from someone who listens first and wholeheartedly. I learned it's ok for people to see you vulnerable, it strengthens your bond and your ability to trust them. The person I have become is a much truer version of the person I have always been-a slightly overly emotional wreck who cares very, very deeply about the people I meet. 

I still have my moments when I shut down and don't want to care (usually after mistrust). It is hard to remain positive when it hits the fan. But for the most part I have tried to remain true to the person I have grown in to. yes I cry more because I care more, I will always drop anything for the people in my life and do what I can to help them, I trust more and have greater friendships for that. I try to be an open book when appropriate, sharing stories and thoughts that may help people but also for the sake of sharing in others lives. I listen contently and have empathy. But mostly every day I try. 

Things gradually shift from the dark days to the light, when I remember to be thankful & happy with what I have, who I am, where I can go. And I realize in these days of lightening, that I am again excited for life. I am enthralled by my children, I look forward to my husband coming home-if for nothing more than to stare at his handsome face. I give more of myself to the people I love on these day and want nothing in return, but for them to know I love them. I try extra hard when I feel light coming through, because I am excited again for this life. 

I have learned that this depression does not define me, neither does my anxiety or OCD. It exists and I live with it. But it will not be my outline. It will not be what I am known for or what people notice first. I make a conscious effort each day to pull myself from it's grips. I know it is hard to do and that each if us down in these trenches have to navigate them our own ways. I feel for you in your struggles, I hope for you to find your safe place that will bring you out of dark days. For me I remind myself. I remember that I have food to eat, clean water, house to live in and am safe. That I am free to do as I please. That I have opportunity and knowledge. That  my kids are cared for. That my husband is cared for. That we have what we have and that's what we need. That life is good and better than we think, even at the lowest of my lows-life is good. 

A Tuesday after Mother's Day.

All natural

Medicated

Cesarean 

VBAC

At the hospital

At home

In the car

Naturally conceived

Unplanned

In vitro

Surrogate

Adopted

Partner coached

Midwife

Doctor

It doesn't matter how you become one, it just matters that you did. Happy Mother's Day! You all are amazing. (Or rather happy belated because this is late because kids)

Motherhood will never be my second nature. I fumble through it and cringe most of the time. We never have, nor ever will, totally know what we are doing. Ever single time I think 'I've got this' my three year old pees his pants in public when he's been potty trained for nearly a year. Or my one year old tackles a crawling baby, bops it on the head then beelines to me like 'took that little sucker out, didyouseethat ma?' Yep, I saw it and now I'm red faced and cringing again. 

I was not that girl who played Barbie and house. I never was the mommy. Never has someone said "you're so nurturing" mostly because that seems weird! I much preferred climbing way up high in the tree tops, running through muddy fields, splashing in the creek and riding behind anything with a motor on some improvised cart or sled. So, maybe I was a bit of a tomboy (hasn't changed per say, but I do love me a heel/dress/made up/nails done combo...on a Tuesday. So paradox, much difference) I think a lot of that helped shape the kind of mom I am today. I know the joys of a tree swaying beneath you in the breeze and the thrill of a throttle. I am glad for the boys I have, all smelly two of them! 

Motherhood surprised the shhh out of me. I was the most unprepared. The most overwhelmed by the emotional aspect of it. I couldn't keep it together any more all because of this tiny squawking, frog legged baby. Growing up, I certainly never, ever ever saw myself with two children (or married but that's a different story). I don't think anyone really thought I would have kids, I never really even baby sat. Ever. I didn't learn to change a diaper until I was in my 20s. So motherhood freaked me out. And I freaked myself out by how much I loved it. And even after children I never imagined my desire to have more would be so great. 

Yep. 

I said it. 

I do sometimes want more kids. 

But I also sometimes want no more kids. 

Sometimes I want less kids than I have, for like two hours. Wouldn't that be nice, two hours of less kids. And silence. Pure quite to hear myself think. Or breath. Or pee alone. That's gotta be the life, those young couples and single folk out there peeing alone on the weekdays. Sleeping in on the weekends. Eating a hot meal every time! Whhhaaaa?!?

 

But I digress. 

I do actually like having kids. I like my boys, their quirks and dirt and all, hell I would gladly add another boy in the mix because I feel like I get boy-mothering: they hit, fake shoot things, run crazy, bring pockets full of dirt inside, always hands in pants, farts are funny, always eating, sorta smelly, jumping off things, living on the edge, all things trucks bikes motorcycles are good, but they love mama super lots. I accept that things will get broken, tears will fall, and a stern mama goes a long way! Not that it always happens, I'm a pretty huge pushover/constantly overwhelmed by my two kids soooo watch out world, parenting expert over hurrrrr.  But most days I think yeah, this is covered. (don't get me started on my irrational fear of girl-mothering, somehow I think all the few things that come naturally to me as a boy mother will fail me hugely as a girl mother). 

There is a big part of me that will always feel like a failure as a mother for one thing or another (not breastfeeding long enough. Processed food sometimes. Hudson's not saying words yet! Neither of my kids know a second language! Ughhhh). But today, or actually Sunday, I won't think twice or three times or 875 times about if I am doing a good job. I won't wonder if I did right by my children. Instead I will celebrate the fact that I was lucky enough to have them, that they have saved me more than once and that maybe, someday they will think they were lucky enough to have me.