Motherhood

Today is Mother's Day. The one day of the year where mother's are revered for their sacrifices, pampered by their families, and given a moment or two to sit down and rest.

It's our day. It's one day. And after today it's going to be 364 days of all-go-no-quit, mama do this, mama do that, "Mom can I have...", "Mom can I go...", "Mom can you help me with..."

Being a mother is the most difficult job I have ever done. There is nothing else in my life that has caused me so much fear, doubt, heartache, worry, and stress. But at the same time it is the most rewarding, fulfilling, and IMPORTANT job I will EVER do. The only problem is, I don't even know if I am doing it right. I'd like to think that I am, but the cold hard truth is that I have no idea if I'm doing a good job at this or not.

Being a mother has not been easy for me. "Motherly Instinct" was such a foreign concept to me when I had children of my own, and I have struggled to do this right.
I have sat up in the middle of the night,  weeping at my own inadequacy and ineptness.
Burning hot tears of despair have rolled down my face and I have tried to convince myself that everything was going to be okay, and that 'this too shall pass'.
I have awoken in the middle of the night screaming, crying and shaking because of the unending nightmares of all the horrors of the world befalling my children, and my inability to protect/save them.

Being a mother is a hard, thankless job, almost all of the time. I have gotten up in the middle of the night to change soiled bedding. I have slept on the floor next to the bed of my feverish child, my cell phone alarm set to go off at 2am so that I can take her temperature and give her more fever reducing medicine if needed. I have rocked my children when they were scared, kissed tears off their cheeks when they were sad, and brought down a firm hand of discipline when they were out of line. I have been yelled at by my children. I have had eyes rolled at me and disgusted heavy sighs heaved in my direction. I have had my ears filled - constantly -  with whining, crying, begging, arguing, and back-talk. I have endured screams of pain, rage, and despair coming from the mouths of the tiny little humans that I made from scratch. I have spent the last 12 years living, as it were, in a prison of my own making.

So much of all of this has been done with no sleep, no thanks, no reward, and no relenting. Sometimes this job all feel like too much. Too, too much. But I get up and do the job anyway.

When Darkness Falls

There is something about me that a handful of people know but that is not actually public knowledge. Something (or rather, some things) that I have been living with for the past 3 decades of my life. I’ve never put these words out into a public forum before, and to be honest I’m not sure why I am doing so right now.

Maybe it’s my way of reaching out.
Maybe it’s a cry for help.
Maybe it’s an attempt to not feel so damn alone in all of this.
Maybe it’s so that, should I lose the battle and darkness win out, when searching for answers as to the WHY of it all, people will be able to look on here and go, “Oh, it was like that.”

I have Anxiety. I have Depression. Yes, it’s just like that.

I have what I refer to as ‘high functioning  anxiety’. I call it that because whatever else is going on, however scared I am or hopeless I feel, I get up, get dressed and I soldier on through my day. I function. I function dangerously close to ‘well’, considering how much I do in a day and how little rest I do it on. High functioning anxiety. That’s what I call it... that’s the lie I tell myself.

The reality of my Anxiety is that it is crippling. It is debilitating. It keeps me so weary and so scared and so hyper vigilant that I can’t ever relax. I can’t ever relax, I can’t ever let go, and I can’t ever feel at peace. I have Anxiety.

I have chronic Depression. I won’t ever refer to it as ‘high functioning depression’, because most days I feel as though I am barely able to function at all. I do function of course... I get up, get dressed, and I soldier on, just l Ike I do with the anxiety. The difference though is that, while I am able to put my Anxiety to use for myself, I can do no such thing with my Depression. There is no good that comes out of the big D. There is no benefit, there is no lesson, there is no silver lining. There is only the long, dark, bitter cold chasm.

I have Anxiety. I have Depression