random thoughts
I've been scarce lately, not just on-line, but in real life as well. I have this disconcerting feeling of just not quite being present in any moment. It is a feeling I am familiar with in the same way I am familiar with the shape of my body or the colour of my eyes... something I have so much experience with but rarely think about without having a mirror right in front of me.
This journal has been serving as my mirror of late and I am really enjoying the act of writing out my thoughts and the sense of community and... dare I say it... acceptance when someone lets me know they've read it. It makes me concious of the thoughts I put out there in a way I never was when writing as theantibarbie, because as many people read that journal - not a one did I know in the quote-unquote real world. Oddly enough this switch has actually led me to be more open and *cough* honest in my writing. Because I know that someone out there can call bullshit if I put forward lies and half-truths (though I still reserve a tiny bit of poetic license).
The problem is it also makes me self-edit when there's something hounding my thoughts that is difficult to talk about. Things like marriage troubles, disenchantment, money troubles, parental struggles (with my son and with my own parents), and all that other stuff I would casually label as boring - but is, in fact, stuff that makes me all squirmy. I guess I want this journal to show off how "happy" and "wonderful" and "amazing" everything is. I don't want people to see my scars, to see me as weak and wounded, or *gasp* helpless or *big gasp* clueless.
But, the reality is, I am scarred, I am scared, I am weak sometimes, and clueless often. I need help, I need friends and hugs and to stop hiding from myself.
My history is not unimportant, as it made me the messed up narcissist I am today, but it is the past. I am no longer the twelve year old begging the bus driver to just let me off the bus so the kids will stop teasing me. I am not the teenager wondering if bulimia is really "that" bad... but, thankfully, remembering how much I hate throwing up. I am now a mother who gets freaked by the other moms at playgroup because I think I'm just not cool enough to talk to them (Kristi - I totally thought you were too cool for me - HA, there, I said it) because I do still see myself as this awkward adolescent... my early 20s were a mess... and some days it feels like I suddenly woke up with a husband and a toddler and, oh shit, a bun in the oven... who the hell am I???
So, a few random thoughts that have been keeping me up at night:
My mother still doesn't know I am pregnant - who knows, she might find out on here. I tell myself I did my due diligence because I called her last weekend and left a brief message and she's the one who didn't call back. The reality is I am scared. I am scared because we're not that close and the last time I called her up to excitedly tell her I was pregnant her reaction was less than enthusiastic. She came around and is so happy to have a grandson - but.... we're this distant, impersonal family and I just don't know how to relate within that. So, I have made excuses all week - too late to call, too early to call, too busy to call - but I'm not buying them and I don't know who else I could be making them for. This Sunday I am going to try again and hope that I get an answer and hope that I can get over my own insecurities and ambivalence about this pregnancy to somewhere where I can sound happy and excited and avoid the awful feeling I was left with the last time. Maybe I should just tell the answering machine.
Speaking of family, I haven't been very good to mine. I have been absent and I'm not certain I can blame it entirely on the whole pregnancy thing. My house is and has been a complete mess, our finances are now a little mess because I wasn't paying enough attention as I was paying bills and put more money out there than I needed to or we could *really* afford. We're not headed to the food bank (or even the discount food store) quite yet, but we don't have as much of a bubble as I would like. I have barely been cooking or doing my other household stuff. Sebastian has watched our old school sesame street dvds so many times I swear both of us can recite them. I've been letting my fear of what is coming and all the things we need to do paralyse me to the point that I am hating on my home and can't deal with the mess and disorganisation, but also can't fathom all the work it would take to fix it. We keep making small strides and finding ourselves right back in the same place.
And I have to write to my grandmother... I think I am the only grandchild who never writes... my cousins all seem to have gotten the correspondence gene and I am totally missing it. It was, and remains, on of the things I am "working on" it seems like a lot of my life is things I am "working on."
I guess that isn't necessarily a bad thing - constantly working to be a better person is worthwhile and fulfilling. I have lived so much of my life feeling like I was at a stop-gap, that the end was just over the next rise and I could finally rest my weary head and move on. Maybe that comes from growing up with sit-coms and video games and not that many friends. No matter what it stems from it is my demon to overcome - this idea that at some point everything gets easier, everything stops changing, that there is a point where nothing will sneak up on me and I'll just die of old age surrounded by friends and family... no surprises, no tragedies, no other shoes dropping. I have had enough. Ha.
I guess you takes your breathers where you can get them in. You find the things that re-connect you to your sanity and your core self - be they yoga, crafting, painting, writing or whatever - and you make yourself a little space to come home to.
I keep getting so caught up in the bits and bobs of everyday life that I forget that losing an hour's sleep might be a fair trade for a chance to sort my thoughts out. That, perhaps, making the time to make cool things might be worth figuring out a way to balance that with a toddler who absolutely will not sleep while the sewing machine is running - I'm sure he'd watch evil Dora even if the walls were falling down all around. That we all need our outlets and even if I don't understand my husband's love of video games that involve the blowing up of other people, maybe I just roll with it because it makes him feel sane.
And maybe that little bit of extra work to get things the way I want them to be is more than worth it to be happy(ish) in a home that we are altogether unhappy with at this point.
Spring is in the air and not a moment too soon.
ETA - I wanted to mention the awesome, amazing mom's night out we had yesterday (cleverly masquerading as a babysitting co-op meeting). It was so much fun and so amazingly therapeutic. I just love the ladies in my mom's group!
This journal has been serving as my mirror of late and I am really enjoying the act of writing out my thoughts and the sense of community and... dare I say it... acceptance when someone lets me know they've read it. It makes me concious of the thoughts I put out there in a way I never was when writing as theantibarbie, because as many people read that journal - not a one did I know in the quote-unquote real world. Oddly enough this switch has actually led me to be more open and *cough* honest in my writing. Because I know that someone out there can call bullshit if I put forward lies and half-truths (though I still reserve a tiny bit of poetic license).
The problem is it also makes me self-edit when there's something hounding my thoughts that is difficult to talk about. Things like marriage troubles, disenchantment, money troubles, parental struggles (with my son and with my own parents), and all that other stuff I would casually label as boring - but is, in fact, stuff that makes me all squirmy. I guess I want this journal to show off how "happy" and "wonderful" and "amazing" everything is. I don't want people to see my scars, to see me as weak and wounded, or *gasp* helpless or *big gasp* clueless.
But, the reality is, I am scarred, I am scared, I am weak sometimes, and clueless often. I need help, I need friends and hugs and to stop hiding from myself.
My history is not unimportant, as it made me the messed up narcissist I am today, but it is the past. I am no longer the twelve year old begging the bus driver to just let me off the bus so the kids will stop teasing me. I am not the teenager wondering if bulimia is really "that" bad... but, thankfully, remembering how much I hate throwing up. I am now a mother who gets freaked by the other moms at playgroup because I think I'm just not cool enough to talk to them (Kristi - I totally thought you were too cool for me - HA, there, I said it) because I do still see myself as this awkward adolescent... my early 20s were a mess... and some days it feels like I suddenly woke up with a husband and a toddler and, oh shit, a bun in the oven... who the hell am I???
So, a few random thoughts that have been keeping me up at night:
My mother still doesn't know I am pregnant - who knows, she might find out on here. I tell myself I did my due diligence because I called her last weekend and left a brief message and she's the one who didn't call back. The reality is I am scared. I am scared because we're not that close and the last time I called her up to excitedly tell her I was pregnant her reaction was less than enthusiastic. She came around and is so happy to have a grandson - but.... we're this distant, impersonal family and I just don't know how to relate within that. So, I have made excuses all week - too late to call, too early to call, too busy to call - but I'm not buying them and I don't know who else I could be making them for. This Sunday I am going to try again and hope that I get an answer and hope that I can get over my own insecurities and ambivalence about this pregnancy to somewhere where I can sound happy and excited and avoid the awful feeling I was left with the last time. Maybe I should just tell the answering machine.
Speaking of family, I haven't been very good to mine. I have been absent and I'm not certain I can blame it entirely on the whole pregnancy thing. My house is and has been a complete mess, our finances are now a little mess because I wasn't paying enough attention as I was paying bills and put more money out there than I needed to or we could *really* afford. We're not headed to the food bank (or even the discount food store) quite yet, but we don't have as much of a bubble as I would like. I have barely been cooking or doing my other household stuff. Sebastian has watched our old school sesame street dvds so many times I swear both of us can recite them. I've been letting my fear of what is coming and all the things we need to do paralyse me to the point that I am hating on my home and can't deal with the mess and disorganisation, but also can't fathom all the work it would take to fix it. We keep making small strides and finding ourselves right back in the same place.
And I have to write to my grandmother... I think I am the only grandchild who never writes... my cousins all seem to have gotten the correspondence gene and I am totally missing it. It was, and remains, on of the things I am "working on" it seems like a lot of my life is things I am "working on."
I guess that isn't necessarily a bad thing - constantly working to be a better person is worthwhile and fulfilling. I have lived so much of my life feeling like I was at a stop-gap, that the end was just over the next rise and I could finally rest my weary head and move on. Maybe that comes from growing up with sit-coms and video games and not that many friends. No matter what it stems from it is my demon to overcome - this idea that at some point everything gets easier, everything stops changing, that there is a point where nothing will sneak up on me and I'll just die of old age surrounded by friends and family... no surprises, no tragedies, no other shoes dropping. I have had enough. Ha.
I guess you takes your breathers where you can get them in. You find the things that re-connect you to your sanity and your core self - be they yoga, crafting, painting, writing or whatever - and you make yourself a little space to come home to.
I keep getting so caught up in the bits and bobs of everyday life that I forget that losing an hour's sleep might be a fair trade for a chance to sort my thoughts out. That, perhaps, making the time to make cool things might be worth figuring out a way to balance that with a toddler who absolutely will not sleep while the sewing machine is running - I'm sure he'd watch evil Dora even if the walls were falling down all around. That we all need our outlets and even if I don't understand my husband's love of video games that involve the blowing up of other people, maybe I just roll with it because it makes him feel sane.
And maybe that little bit of extra work to get things the way I want them to be is more than worth it to be happy(ish) in a home that we are altogether unhappy with at this point.
Spring is in the air and not a moment too soon.
ETA - I wanted to mention the awesome, amazing mom's night out we had yesterday (cleverly masquerading as a babysitting co-op meeting). It was so much fun and so amazingly therapeutic. I just love the ladies in my mom's group!