D.U.M.P.E.D.

Today, I got D.U.M.P.E.D. on. A deluge of cranky, sassy, whiny, needy came my way in a constant, forceful current. I was drowning all day long, holding on to the fact that hubby would be home to lift me out of the ugly day pit. No such luck--too caught up in his busy day and didn't have anything left for me. I tell you, nothing feels more vulnerable and more lonely than to be ignored by the only other adult you come across during your day. I absolutely despise days like these. I unequivocally loath days like these. The days that make me question what the hell I am doing, the days where the shame gremlins come to feast on my best-attempted reserve of self esteem. The days where motherhood has lost all its glory and I endeavor to selvedge the lackluster remains of my day. The days where my dark uglies--my deep insecurities and darker emotions--strangle me from the inside and hold me hostage. The days where my needs get pushed so far back that everyone around me seems to forget that I am a human being, not a slave or a short-order cook or a whipping boy.

Disheartened
Unappreciated
Melancholy
Peaky
Exhausted
Depressed

I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling this gaping, God-sized hole and nothing to fill it with. I feel desperate for some kind of rescue breath...and alone. So terrifyingly alone.

I think the logical part of my brain kicks in on occasion and brings up every doubt I've ever had about myself being a mother. It's such an illogical choice--the only position you acquire only to work yourself out of a job. What am I doing? Why do I put up with so much only to receive so little?

In short, today royally sucked.

And at the end of this threadbare day, I look back, and the only thing I can hold onto is that I didn't collapse and spend money to cope my way through it. I was present and felt every overwhelming emotion today and now I feel everything and nothing--but mostly just lonely and forgotten. And desperate for a break. 

Bittersweet: Brave, Beautiful, Broken, Brutal, Better

I cannot ignore it any longer.

So many nights have passed and I have continued to fold and tuck neatly away the stirring to write down my thoughts.  

Set it as a resolution for next year...
Let it go...you're not a writer!
Do it in the morning...
Like you have energy for one more thing...
What would they all think? 
No one will read it.

Excuses served up by my shame gremlins à la mode.

I have a very adamant need to end the day with my husband, to pillow talk until he falls into a deep sleep--which happens so very quickly once he decides he's tired and makes me utterly jealous because of his devotion to just drifting off to sleep. My brain does not allow such behavior unless I've swindled it into slumber by taking melatonin. So when my husband falls asleep, my heart promptly desires to take the light drizzle of my thoughts and put them to paper. And then I push it away and read a book. Something about a quiet, dimly lit home and the peace all around me finally gives me permission to reflect on the day. So tonight, I slip quietly out of bed and to the computer, hoping not to wake anyone, and try to push my vulnerability back. I begin to peel away the layers one by one of homemaker, mother, wife, friend, church member, neighbor, sister, daughter, until I reach the inner sanctum that rarely gets the time and attention it needs: me, myself, Tiffany.

It's entirely entrancing; the thought of reaching bullet-proof status. I know that it's an unrealistic quest and one that I have traveled towards up until a year ago. Perfection. Oh, to reach perfection...To do it all, while fit and energetic and beautiful and young without breaking a sweat or facing a struggle or getting a stretch mark! If only it came true, right? It takes everything in me to beat back my shame gremlins as I peel back each layer. I'm in there somewhere...

Today, I start with homemaker, thinking about the things I did and did not get done and resolve myself to the 11th commandment: Thou shalt be Tiffany. I give myself permission to start again tomorrow and rejoice in the fact that I dug out the master bedroom and bath from some of the clutter plaguing it. I think of my mothering endeavors and feel overwhelmed on the whole, while also taking just a bit to savor my triumph of each day. Today, I did not yell as much as I have been lately. I demonstrated calmer communication. Small victory, but victory indeed. I am still struggling to find the time to work on my Christmas projects and don't know quite how it will all get done. Today, I worked on rebuilding trust with my husband. Marriage is the most bitter sweet experience I've found. It takes almost every bit of my capacity to keep going and keep trying. Patience with the process, Tiffany. Steady on. Today, I pushed through my embarrassment of looking like a mommy train wreck and answered the door to a friend. My rambunctious littles did not approve of the interruption and proceeded to wreak havoc. Sigh. Today, I thought about the women I visit with from church--it didn't get past thought and head towards action, but I made the effort to daydream carrying out my visits and attending choir practice on Sunday. Today, I called my little sister to wish her a happy birthday, and sent my parents a picture of my son half-naked and "ready to go to a baseball game" in the middle of November. Today, I blew big time and ate WAY too many sweets containing chocolate and didn't eat a nutritious breakfast or lunch or get dressed or exercise or do yoga but I did take the time to finally order some hand soap and lotion that doesn't cause rashes. Thou shalt be Tiffany.

I am broken. I am brutal and better than yesterday. I feel such a strange balance between my bitter habits and my sweet, redemptive characteristics. I am brave and brave enough to say it: I am beautifully bittersweet.