Hindsight

I find myself wishing recently that I could withdraw or rewrite some of my Grandfather's eulogy.

In the eulogy I wrote, I talked about him being a man's man who loved his family deeply and who held the women in his life in the highest esteem.

And that's all very true, and I certainly felt that way at the time I wrote it.  The man was 150% all about his family.  Through and through - he provided for them, taught them, raised them, had fun with them.  Gave them things his parents weren't able to give them.  And he saved.  My God was he a saver.  But he also had problems that I was blind too - sort of.

1) when it came to loving everyone equally, I'm not so sure he did that.
2) when it came to mental health, I believe he often suffered with what we now understand to be mental illnesses of depression and at times anxiety, but he would have fought you to the death to be labelled as such.
3) he thought the best way to make you strive for more or better was to help you see the worst possible options as a means of driving you to be better than that.  Let me explain, because these are truly the reasons that I wish I could re-write it now.

I've spent many years trying to figure out "how I got to be the way I was."  There were lots of great things he taught me.  For example, he taught me to save at least 10% of my salary from day one.  I did, and it's saved me more than once in a crunch, and I have a real shot at retiring by the age of 55 and living pretty modestly and comfortably throughout retirement despite any of the set backs I've had.  He also taught me that the day I stop learning would be the day I died.  I am surrounded by people who I am often envious of, because they just go about their lives without seeking the meaning of everything, but I am plagued by this innate need to peel back layers, understand, learn from my mistakes and others, while others just simply move from one mistake to the next,  No worry, no dread.  Just meh - and on they go on their merry way.  I learn which is wonderful.  But it also means I've got anxiety at times that can be very debilitating.

But I also beat myself up in insane ways over my weight.  I brood over every piece of food - the good and the bad.  I've done diet after diet and exercise after exercise.  I've done weight loss surgery, plastic surgery, taken pills, and done everything short of actually take myself out of the equation entirely...and even that, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say I hadn't actually tried dismally at that once even.

And when I've thought back trying to pin point who in my family had actually reinforced that I was physically beautiful, or otherwise even Just fine the way I was, I could pinpoint exactly who said what and when.  Because clearly my self esteem or lack thereof had to have come from something I was hearing or seeing regularly enough to warrant it becoming a self fulfilling prophecy.  I can look at a photo of me as a teen, and while maybe I did mature early, I was smoking hot and slim and normal and nothing near what I envisioned myself to be back then.  I am certainly bigger than I ever imagined being possible now.  And the only voices that I remember hearing that countered those other voices were my mom's and a cousin's husband.  I can tell you exactly when each reinforced the good in me, because it was so infrequently heard, and so precipitated likely by a frenzied experience of hearing how horrifyingly fat and worthless I was, that they needed to be loud enough to be heard.

The voices who made me feel worthless, and horrifyingly fat and destined for a life of vomit inducing profiles, hiding from the world or putting myself on display at the circus?  My grandfather's.  My brother's.  In some ways my mother too who tried simultaneously to use similar tactics to my grandfather's and only countered the arguments when I would hit a breaking point, and who I believe tried desperately to overcome those feelings herself.

It makes me wish that the counter voices, the voices who reassured me of my worth and my beauty were louder, more frequent and more relevant than all the other voices.  It makes me wish I'd seen my mother stand up to my grandfather on my behalf, in front of me to stop him dead in his tracks.  It makes me wish our baby boomers didn't respect their elders to such a degree that they'd at least call them out on their bullshit.

And so when I find myself struggling with the decision about whether to reinforce my daughter's beauty or her brains, I try my damnedest to reinforce both at the same time.  At 5 she has already told me how un-pretty she feels.  And this is despite me trying desperately to model body positive behaviour for her even when it's not natural for me to do so.  And I wish I could find the right words, that would be the loudest of them all, that would tell her not to listen to other stupid and jealous people.  Words that would scream from the highest monuments, that other people's jealousy means absolutely nothing and that I've never seen anyone so beautiful as she is.

She stops the world, quiets a room, commands attention in every single way.  And it's her beauty inside and out that does that.  How do I make her believe that...?  How do I believe that for myself now that all the damage is done?

Hide away

I still want to run away alone with my daughter and hide away from the world.  All the great things happening around me mean little to nothing.

I'm an empty shell of a soul.  I am the absence of anything solid.

Tide Shifting

So I done got told to update this blog for goodness sakes.  The last thing I had up here was so depressing.

Well, it rightly was.  I have depression.  I have anxiety.  Hello - means often times my thoughts are actually depressing.  :)  Fancy that.

What had precipitated the last post was the fact that my brother, whom I knew had been looking for reasons to fully distance himself from the family, finally found what it was he needed as an excuse and decided I was no longer a good enough influence on his child and therefore he wouldn't be bringing her near me again.  Now let me assure you that what he found pales in comparison to some of his nasty habits, and it's not even my habit that has him making this decision...but whatever.  I'm tired of clawing at things that would eliminate his excuses.  I don't want him in my life if he doesn't want to be in mine.  With that realization, which admittedly came AFTER the last blog post, I found a liberating peace in my life.  While it's been painful to have to tell my mom that her kids won't likely be in the same room for a good many years, she's had her own similar experiences with her own brothers, and I think she understands.  Besides which, she's good at staying out of things...so there's that.

But after that moment of liberation, I started to plot a course to better things, and the tide is finally shifting in my favour.  I've been offered a new job with more money and better title and better learning opportunities.  It's a really exciting change that I think will be better for our family in the long run.

It's not coming without it's fair share of anxiety.  At the moment I feel like a great big bungled up ball of whoa...and there's no way to release it because I can't submit my resignation for at least 1 more week.  The biggest anxiety I'm having though is putting my daughter back into a daycare situation.  There's no way to make it work with commuting to stay home til she goes to school, and be home in time to collect her from school.  They don't give parents 5 hour workdays and pay them this great.  SO, we're trying to lock down on a sitter that makes the most sense, but it's breaking my heart already.  She's been in daycare before.  But it seems like I'm giving up the cup of christ by handing her over.  It's no easier than when I did it the first time.  That's because no matter what job I do for another company, it will always be at odds with my baser instincts of being a mom first.

But onward and upward.  In 20 years, when my daughter heads off on her own path, she'll have seen an example in her mother of a woman who stopped at nothing to ensure her family was well provided for, and who broke herself in two trying to be everything to her and her daddy.  Not such an awful legacy to leave behind.  She'll have witnessed confidence in the face of adversity, and thoughtfulness in a woman who truly looked for every possible way to make the best decisions for her family each and every single day.  She'll see a woman who spent as much time with her child as humanly possible, playing, engaging, and caretaking...and she'll see a woman who hopefully made the world outside our home just that little bit better.

Right?

The big job changes come at the end of the month and hopefully keep me busy and engaged and inspired for a good number of years to come.  I'm beginning the second half of my work journey - and I'm hoping it's a wild and woolly ride!

Onward and Upward.

Lost

Lost in my job.
Lost in my home.
Lost in my family.
Lost in my soul.

Feels like no one is knocking on my door, but some how there's so much to be done, to be said, to be felt from so many angles and people that I'm tripping over...and I'm lost.  Like I'm invisible to everyone around me.  My feelings mean nothing - they're easy to be trampled on.  As long as I don't infringe on anyone else's inalienable rights to be assholes, I should be able to survive and be happy right?

It makes me want to shut the world right off.  Makes me want to take my child and live in the smallest cabin I can find in the woods, and become a homeschooling hermit.  Makes me want to not speak to anyone...anytime...account for anyone else's feelings but my own and my daughter's.

Makes me want to hide and tell the world to just Eff Off.  If the world needs to be filled with and run by assholes, who am I to fight that?  I'll just find a small slice of something the furthest I can get from anything otherwise labelled as "civilized" and live off my own resources.

I'm close to a breakdown.  Maybe this is it already and there's no turning back.

Truth is, the people you love and who supposedly love you should be trying to be with you any chance they get.  I seem to be surrounded by people who are trying to stay away...so maybe I'm the problem here.  Maybe I need to just go away to make people happy.

Maybe the world would be a much better place if I weren't a part of it for all of those people.  I clearly don't bring anything worthwhile to the table that would make anyone want more.

Lost.  Invisible.  Alone in a sea of needy, greedy, fucked up people.
Stop.  I want off.

The Big Difference

I saw a meme on Facebook that caused an epiphany for me.  It`s a great quote, but I don`t know who actually wrote it to give proper credits, but it`s too true not to pick up.

"The hardest part of my job each day is being nice to stupid people."

It's definitely not a nice thing to say, but it's one I know I've muttered too many times in the last 20 + years.  In fact, many years ago, some colleagues and I admittedly would take our coffee breaks at a coffee shop across the street from our work and compare the idiocy we'd had to deal with that day in competition for a completely fake award we dubbed the "dummy trophy".  Also, I'll confess as I write this, I recognize (as I likely did way back then) that this is far from "nice", but inevitably and very truthfully, it's the only visibly safe way to cope with some of the things smart people can be faced with in day to day life.

Which is kinda where my epiphany plugs in.  The general population learns in high school science class that every action has an equal reaction.  Simply put, EVERYONE knows that if you do something like push a ball, it will roll away.  Not rocket science.  It's basic logic.  And THAT's what differentiates the really smart people from the, shall we say, not quite as smart people.

Really smart people realize that there is not just simply an equal reaction, but that there are two equal reactions - one positive and the other negative.  Using the same ball example, when the ball rolls away, you no longer have the ball and must chase it in order to roll it again, OR risk losing it forever.  On the flip side, clearly you can be entertained by the rolling ball, you can analyze it, you can even potentially watch the ball bounce off of or be redirected by the things that impede it's path.  In every action, there is a risk and reward decision that must precede it.  That's why smart people have angst - and probably why the genius have gotten over their angst in not giving the negative reactions any power over the positive ones.

So I'm far from any declarations of "genius".  I'm far too angst riddled for that.  And my angst centres directly on the fact that I recognize that by every decision/action I take, I am both sending positive and negative messages, and that I honestly have no control over which message resonates loudest for the receiver of it.  It's also why I am constantly at odds with my job.  My job is not soul filling, nurturing or making the world a better place.  I get paid well to do a good job that makes other people filthy rich.  BUT, I make damn good money that keeps my family fed, healthy and living a good first world kind of life, and which affords me the luxury of finding other ways to make the world a better place for others.  It's not enough, but it feeds the smallest corners of my soul and gives me hope that retirement will be more fulfilling.  But it's also precisely why the meme speaks so much truth in such a simple statement.  In a world where we're doing things that don't fulfill our souls or make the world a better place, and leave us at constant odds with our own human purpose, well, it is the straw that breaks the camel's back to work with people who seem numb to purpose, and immune to the impacts of "reaction" in their day to day work.  Stupidity in it's own right, becomes the action that doesn't recognize it's negative impact on the world around it.

Which leaves me with a final thought - I learned from a wise teacher when I was very young (before people thought "Stupid" was the new four letter word that could no longer be used in the English language) that "the difference between ignorance and stupidity was that ignorance could be erased with education.  Stupidity won't."  In stark truth, this lesson was taught in specific relation to racism and it's impacts at a time when the world rallied around South Africa and Nelson Mandella as they fought apartheid.  Quite apropos that it's the epiphany I have as tensions rise in New York and Ferguson in the United States.  If insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results, then I'm not quite sure if Stupid or Ignorance is the reaction desired.  My guess is "stupid wins" and he who looks for a new solution to address the racists will move the needle further.  Protesting made a difference in the 60's and there were powerful voices that were silenced all too early.  Their sacrifices underscored the protestors' messages with the biggest yellow highlighter the world has ever witnessed.

Without inching into anarchy, in 2014 there has to be a different way to raise this and eliminate the issue once and for all.

The Single Way to be the Best Spouse

Something I've learned is that marriage is not a competition, but when it hits rough patches as they ultimately do, competition seems to be the way discord manifests itself as a symptom.

I'm not a marriage expert.  Unless you call being married enough qualification to be an expert - which, honestly, might just be enough in most circles.

The biggest thing I've learned in my 41 years on this planet and in the 8 years of my marriage is that respect, loyalty, love and honouring your vows are the ONLY ways you can be your best version of the spouse you intended to be the day you got married.

And the single most important thing I've learned is never to click on some crazy person's blog about how to be the best wife, or best husband.

While the husband ones aren't so bad, the wife ones are truly abhorrent and derived straight from the pages of a book that's so antiquated that it forgot to let people who pour over every letter within it, that the world moved on, women wear pants and work bloody hard.  In many cases it forgets to remind those crazy ass women that it's their turn to be the bread winners, so racing home at night to get the house cleaned, dishes done, meals prepared and the beer chilled, just in time to paste a ridiculous frigging smile on your face as your hubby walks through the door, is bloody insane.  It's forgotten that the virtues of feminism and equality prevail in a modern world, and no person with half a brain in their head is wearing the goofy smile anymore.

You can't be a better wife by doing all that - all that can do is make yourself depressed, anxious, constantly on edge and looking for what you might be getting in return AND that's what gives rise to competition and discord in a marriage.

SO - the best way to be your best version of the spouse you always intended to be, man or woman, is to share equally in the work of daily life, without grumbling and begrudging every second of it, recognizing that your spouse is devoting as much or more to the same ugly tasks of day to day life, and revel in the few and rare opportunities you get to be free of those encumbrances.  Respect your partner for all that they bring to your day to day life.  Fawn over meals even if they're dismal attempts and massive failures, with immense praise, knowing how many planets and stars had to align for your partner to even get as far as they did with it.  And be loyal.  Look past the disgruntled face, the worn out sighs, the disheveled hair...pour your martini and hers.  Bring them chocolate and flowers, beer or movie passes.  Get the sitter all lined up in advance, and ask them out on a real date - the way you did before you were married.  Show your partner, that through thick and thin, you see how beautiful they are, you love them, and you respect them.

Marriage is never perfect.  And there's no simple checklist to make it better.  Do what your mama taught you and just be a decent human being.  Everything else will work itself out.

I'm such a softy

My husband kindly reminded me the other day that it's been too long since I blogged.  And he's right. My only response was that I feel like I have a voice that's not worth listening to at the moment.  I suppose it comes from the generic plights of being a mommy.  No one listens to mommy until they're old enough to appreciate how right she always was...that takes a lot of years before it kicks in, and I know it.

The only thing that's eating at me lately is that I'm such a softy.  It's only mid November and I've been a fuelled up crying machine, with tears pouring out of me at the drop of a hat.  Could be the toils we've been through as a nation recently.  Could be frustrations of motherhood, and stresses of wifedom.  Could be mounting stress and feeling a whole lot "less than" worth anything at work.  Could be just plain old gearing up for the holiday season, OR it could be Seasonal Affected Disorder.  Frig - this could be what menopause is like.

What I know for certain is that since I hit my first bout of depression, I'm a total softy.  I cry for anything.  EVERYTHING hits me right in the heart and like straight away.  I got depressed and the floodgates opened.  Welcome Niagara Falls.  My child pokes my rolls and snuggles into me on the daily basis and tells me how soft, and cuddly and squishy I am...and all I can think is, I used to be so tough.  I used to be impossible to hurt.  I used to be infallible.  Audacious.  Sophisticated and Bitchy (in the best possible way).  I was assertive.  I was, in short, pretty freaking amazing and independent.  A one woman hurricane on a gentle summer night.

And now I'm soft.  I've always been kind, but not to my own detriment.  My sacrifices were well balanced with self service.  Acts I carried out were usually mutually beneficial.  Now.  I give a whole lot, and don't ask/expect much in return.  But by the time I do ask for something, I've let it pile up and boil to the point where I'm ready to bust and the tears and anxiety are uncontrollable.

All this to wind up with the notion that I know I'm not lost.  I'm right here and I still know full well who I am and what I stand for.  My principles have not changed.  But I'm also aware that I'm older.  I care less for people's opinions and in swaying them, than I care about making the world a better place.  And who could argue that such a place in life isn't a better situation than simply being confident and audacious.  I'm still as independent as you could possibly imagine a woman being, but I would be lost and devastated without my family in my corner of the ring.  I guess the only real struggle this change in me introduces is in teaching my daughter how to be just that wee bit tougher and independent and confident when I, though confident and independent, am the first one fighting back floods of tears watching the Christmas parade, or the newest commercial/video online showing a soldier surprising his kids.

In short - I'm a sap.  Pass the syrup.

Good Grief

I just had a big cry.  Well a big"ish" cry.

It seems like the loss of Robin Williams has hit me harder than even I would ordinarily wish to admit.  There are several reasons for this.  I never met Robin Williams.  I only ever watched him on television.  I'm sure I watched every single one of his works from the comfort of my living room.  Otherwise known as the best seat in the house.

I don't ordinarily get choked up at the loss of a celebrity.  Seems this year though, we lost some of the biggest talents I've ever been privileged to witness.  From Maya Angelou to Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and finally to the effervescent Robin Williams.  And I'm dealing with several impending losses of my own - a dear friend is battling a terminal illness and is struggling, my mother in law is terminally ill and just days away from moving on in her own journey, which makes my heart break for my husband.  We're dealing with a lost job, and just generally the day to day angst of how difficult parenting and marriage and the life domestica can truly be.

And despite it being 20 years since I lost my father and 6 since I lost my grandfather, I realize almost daily that the men in my life who made me laugh, smile, buck up and get over my own crap, leave.  They leave.  They just go, never to come back.  And Mr. Williams is now one of them.

Since losing my father, my life has been a roller coaster.  Not a single day of it do I regret, however, so much of it has been spent overcoming that grief.  Living up to impossible ideals imposed on me by myself, and some projection of what I believe would make my parents (both of them) eternally proud.  I'm not one for organized faith, but I do believe in supernatural phenomenon that gives me solace that somewhere out there there are little souls of great people past who shepherd me through each stage of my life's journey out of love.

When down and dealing with my mental illnesses, I could usually find a run of Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumanji or one of his stand up shows on tv, and it wouldn't be long before Mr. Williams cracked the smile on my face.  Even if it was barely present I could feel the monstrous weight of whatever I was being held down with, lift ever so briefly.  Allowing me to breathe, cry, release the intensity of my muscles which had been tightened to the point of painful finger nail imprints in the palms of my hands.  And I guess that my weeping is now because there will be no more "drive by fruitings" or brilliant head sitting.  No more Nanu Nanu's or Russian characterizations of baby delivering doctors to distract me.  Just like my father will no longer challenge me unconditionally to be whatever I want to be, or like my grandpa will never grasp my head in his bear like hand with such firm gentleness that it helped exorcise the demons out for me without even being on purpose.

I hate my demons.  I hate living with them.  I hate having to figure out on a daily basis how to embrace them, just to remove any minute amount of their power over my mind and my heart.  And it breaks my heart more so that my husband can read these demons.  When learning about Mr. Williams suicide, he came up to tell me of his passing (like by some incredible feat of mind reading to know that this would be important), and pleaded with me to "please don't ever do that to him".  My husband knew that in a split second this could be our reality - even likely before I'd have ever been able to truly admit it.

I don't know how to purge the demons.  I try my best to adapt to them.  Manage them.  Rise above them.  Function despite them.

I'm devastated that others like myself, suffering with depression and mental illnesses are still isolated, left to despair.  Mental illness is as physical an illness as any cancer, broken limb or ailment that needs a bandaid, antibiotic or tender loving care.  I wish to god there was a way to make this universally understood.  If a man who is brilliant, a giant ball of energy and exuberance, can be devastated enough by the demons within him to take his own life, how in the world can just anyone overcome it?  I guess if you're reading this, and you're down and not feeling right as rain, I'm begging you to please talk to someone.  Anyone.  Talk to me.  Let's save each other.  Life is so hard.  We don't have to be alone to live it.

Raising Daughters with Body and Smart Positivity

I think I'm going to write another book...One that probably no one will read, but I think it's time to get a mom's perspective on making the choices on messaging we give our little girls about their bodies, and their smarts.  It's not easy.  I've tried so hard to make the right choices about what I "said" to my child and what I "showed" my child about body confidence and smarts confidence.

I put the effort into helping her develop her brain and spend just about equal efforts making sure she eats well, and enough to keep growing and thriving and being smart, and does enough to keep her body moving and getting strong.  I'd be lying if I told you that I also try to model body confidence and a complete lack of body shame when in fact, I carry more of it than even I dare to admit at the age of 41.  It shouldn't matter.  In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter and I know it.  But I'm also acutely aware that what we say, who says it and how is what ultimately resonates and sticks with us for a lifetime.

I remember precisely the one and only time I was ever told by someone that I was "stunning" as a kid.  How frightening is that?  I could tell you precisely the time of year, approximately how old I was and who said it.  I could even tell you what general time of day it was.  EVERY OTHER MESSAGE I got as a child, whether it was spoken or subtext, sent me precisely the opposite message.  So often in fact that it has literally overshadowed my life, lifestyle choices and self confidence, and so much so that this singular moment in my childhood still shines out as if highlighted centre stage with a spot light.  How I wish in the constant drone of all the other messages I heard growing up, that it had been the one message I heard loudest.  Why did it have to be that I was 40, before I believed I could have been exactly what he saw when he saw it, instead of what everyone else told/showed me?

And the truth of the matter is, no one in my life truly did or said anything out of anything but love.  They worried about me, like I worry about my own daughter.  They only wanted what was best for me, but had no other idea of how to share that with me.  And the truth of the matter is also that they were affected by the very same messages they gave me.  They did their best.  Just like I am doing and millions of other very doting and conscientious moms out there in the big bad world.

Body positivity has to be modeled first and foremost.  And when you're raising a daughter mindfully, you recognize that approaching the messages of body positivity with vigilance and rebellion and passion fueled language isn't the best approach.  It absolutely has to be done loudly and proudly and visibly, and thank GOD there are men and women both out there beginning to fight this fight with vigor.  But when you're raising a daughter and you're alone with your family at home, you need to show her through your own self worth, your own confidence and your own bravado to ignore the words and ideals of others.  And let me tell you, this is nothing short of impossible to get 100% right.  And I'll also say, that no amount of "psycho babble bullshit" is going to help us raise our daughters better than good old fashioned instinct.  These are things only active and fully focused mom's with real lives and jobs and personal issues can speak to.

So I'm going to write another book.  One that hopefully brings a fresh set of non-medicinal thoughts to an issue that's at it's core, a gutteral view of how to navigate raising an equally mind and body positive contributor to society.  One that hopefully helps other Mom's like me who struggle daily, find a way to minimize and cope with a life long hurt locker full of shame and body inequity, while learning how not to do it in a way that makes them a vigilante or a target in this hate stoked society we live in.

Fat Phobia

This morning, one of my worst parenting nightmares began to take shape in real life.

My daughter told me someone said she had a fat face.  My 30 lb bone rack of a 3.5 year old beauty has been the brunt of fat jokes, and it's hard not to internalize it, blame myself, and curse the world that being fat is like the lowest common denominator - the worst kind of insult that could be thrown at anyone.

I have done everything in my power to eliminate the word fat from our household.  Not out of denial, but out of a clear understanding that it doesn't actually represent the people it applies to.  And clearly out of the hope that by taking away some of it's presence, takes away some of it's power, and hopefully allows me to raise my child in a way that develops an appreciation for all people, regardless of what they look like period.  Full stop.

By all accounts, though I am morbidly obese, I'm pretty frigging healthy.  I'm not diabetic.  I've never had a heart attack.  I don't have some of those other disorders commonly associated with obesity like high blood pressure and high cholesterol.  I do have aches, pains and generally feel better when I'm lighter, but I'm one of those people who will never be 150 lbs.  It's not in my genetic code to be that way.

I've taken every possible step to lose the weight, out of fear that my daughter would draw bullying based on the simple fact that her mother is fat.  I know how kids are.  I had surgery last year and have lost 40 lbs.  The big win for me has been that I've sustained the loss.  That's huge for a woman who seemed to be an ever increasing size without even blinking an eye.  I cook 90 percent of our meals from scratch and limit our intakes of preservatives and chemicals...I'm wholly focused on making sure that the food that is brought into this house is generally healthy but also not otherwise punitive.  And the reason I haven't lost more than 40 lbs in a year despite my surgery is that I'm keenly aware that I want to exemplify healthy, balanced and non-punitive eating behaviours for my otherwise very petite daughter.  I'm aware with every bite that I take, she's getting either a message that will lead to her own potential eating disorders.  So I'm trying very hard to lose the weight while being as "normal" as I possibly can be.

And still the thing I hear this weekend is that she has a fat face, isn't pretty, or she's drawing fat mermaids.  And I can't stop it.  I can only tell her that telling someone they are fat, isn't nice.  That the other people saying she is fat are simply jealous, and they aren't worth her time or effort.  But the voices have begun, and I have no idea how to protect my child from it and all the ripple effects of every single possible choice I can make.

I'm open to ideas though.  While I'm praying that how I've handled it already has been the right way to do it.

PS. It was an oversight not to call out that part of my strategy in addressing this at home is about self love and body appreciation of all kinds.  My response has been to guide her that all people are beautiful and have infinite value, no matter their shape, colour or appearance.  But speaking louder than her peers and the little voices that are developing in her own mind is already proving to be a challenge.  Fingers crossed I'm louder for a really long time...

He's a Keeper, She's a Keeper. Wouldn't You Love to be a Keeper too?

I always thought I liked the idea of being a "kept" woman.  I seriously did.  And that may make me sound waif-y or stupid or otherwise snooty, but it's the honest to god truth.  In many ways, I still do.

I saw a valentine's card photo online that said "I'm Keeping You".

At once I was stricken by the overtones of the phrase "being kept".  In my mind it was always about being taken care of, and having an opportunity to be the domestic goddess we all know I actually am.  But in my mind's eye, that never worked with the woman as bread winner, and it certainly never led me to think of it as though I would be kept like a pet.  The dog that wags it's tail at the door waiting eagerly for it's "master" to return home.

I gotta say, domestic goddess or not, in my household even if I were to be a kept woman, would not have resulted in me greeting my husband at the door with drink in hand, smile on face and dressed to the nines.  Then again, it's highly unlikely in any situation, that I'd be greeting someone like Ward Cleaver - suit and tie, briefcase in hand, either.

I think it's also because kept or not, I never ever envisioned myself living the luxe life without contributing my fair share to the overall productivity of the home or family.  If I were kept, I'd be probably selling tupperware, building a business, or working my arse off to maintain house and home and garden...looking after seniors and all that OTHER stuff I already do in addition to my full time paying job.

And so, yeah, I subscribe to the "keeper" theories when it comes to finding the ones you love, but no one should ever approach a relationship with anyone like it shouldn't be hard work.  Loving someone is as much a choice as it is a feeling, once you get through that whole infatuation and lust stuff.  And working hard to make it work is pretty intense sometimes.  But like everything else, when you choose to keep with someone, the great times are the most wonderful moments in life.  And any sacrifice you have made to have that, well, those moments make each one worth it's weight in gold and so much more.

So as valentines approaches, and my husband and I officially get past the rocky stretch of road we've just gone through, I'm glad I kept him, and I'm really glad he kept me.  And I'm glad to have a partner in life, as opposed to a pet.  Pet's NEVER clean up their own mess.  At least my husband helps with the dishes!

I love you this much sweetheart.  Forever and Always!
Me.

Time Flies

The past week has been quite the emotional roller coaster here.  My husband has been violently ill, to the point of scaring me, and it's looking more and more like the reason for it is stress.  I'm afraid of how much of the stress he's feeling is my own doing, but am also afraid not to intervene and try as hard as I can to pressure him to let up at work and let things start really breaking.  I mean for real, break til they can't legally enforce any more.

I want to beg him to take a leave of absence, knowing that might cause him more stress than not doing it, and I want to beg him to put this house up for sale and start looking at trailer park solutions.  I know we can't keep going the way we're both going forever.

Which brings me to my own work.  It's making my eyes twitch and giving me a chronic migraine.  Yep.  I've inherited quite the crap storm and I'm left trying to sort it out, streamline it, fix it just so I can figure out a way to co-exist with it...all before I lose my own marbles, and need another crazy sabbatical of my own.

Add to this that last week I registered my baby girl for junior kindergarten and I'm left emotionally drained as a dried up grape.  Only the raisin that's left is pretty bitter.  She is sooo very excited to be going to big kid school, she even started doing her letters and numbers in high gear.  She's already told me she wants to wear a dress on her first day of school, and daily she checks out their progress on her new school.  You see her school is being built right at the end of our street, and that means she can watch as construction progresses...many days she can't understand why it's just not done already.

I on the other hand, as excited as I am to see her happy and diving in with both feet, am emotionally devastated at the thought that my last chances to be a stay at home mom have come and gone.  Literally, there's no way, unless I was choosing to home school her, that I will have that "opportunity" to be the kind of mom I always wanted to be.  I used to dream that I'd stay home with my kids til they were in school full time.  Then I'd go back to work.  And that was when full time school didn't start til kids were 6 years old.  She's  just going to turn 4 in June and will be going to school full time in September.  Unless I win millions so that I can take the summer with her, this is never going to happen for me at all.  It makes me all the happier that I was able to take the full maternity leave.  It was worth chewing up 6 years of my retirement to take that year.  Thank GOD I did that much.  She still snuggles with me, and holds my face in her tiny hands and tells me that I'm a good mommy.  And that fills me.  And her stellar behaviour, politeness and caring for others shows me every single day that I'm doing right by her.  But my god how I wish that I could have done this for her.  Been a 100% visible, dedicated and fully attentive mommy.

Every kid deserves that.  And every mom deserves to be able to do that for their kids without pushing themselves to the brink of death trying to be super mom, breadwinner, housekeeper, and CEO.  Exhaustion kills...My husband and I, and our grey skin tones are virtual proof of this.  I guess at least if we keel over tomorrow, our child will remember snippets of awesomeness, and will hear the stories of how we killed ourselves trying to give her the best we could.  That's reassuring for kids, right?

In the meantime, my little monkey has become a butterfly ready to leap off the leaves and float through the sky.  She's buoyant and light, and graceful, and sweet.  This world is changing because she smiled at it.  And she's about to be let loose, to get her footing and show the world what she's capable of.  I'm infinitely proud of her.  Of the person she is and the woman she will become.  I'm so terribly sad I've not been able to soak up 1000% of her moments the last 2 years.  And so thoroughly grateful for the hundreds of moments I've been given in place of them.

Long time no write

Like everyone else, to describe life as chaotic isn't any kind of overstatement most days.

And honestly in the past few weeks following the Christmas break, it's been on the top of my priority list to get back to this journal and breath a bit...but everytime I've attempted, either my eyes glaze over, I get a migraine or something explodes at work, and well, my attention is diverted.  When I have set aside 10 minutes and don't have those things, the decision on what to challenge or write through next is well so complicated it hurts my brain.  There've been sooo many things I've wanted to journal about the last month to two, not the least of which is the fine line distinction between the kind of pride that keeps you out of a life of destitution and dependency on charity, as that which keeps you in it.  And there have been so many instances where parenting and dieting have been equally challenging as they have been successful.

And then there's just the same ol' same ol ranting about why life can't just slow down for 5 seconds so I can get off the hamster wheel and steady my stomach before the next ride.

The best I can do today I think is to tell you how exhausted I am.  I'm physically exhausted.  To the point where I'm actually starting to worry myself again.  So exhausted in fact, I can't even tell you why and how exhausted this really is.

So bear with me.  I'll be back soon.  I need a nap and a personal assistant.  A real vacation wouldn't hurt either.

I'm a Good Mommy

It's true.  My husband has said so more often than I can count recently...but best of all, my three and a half year old bundle of perfection just told me so!

We seem to have what many would consider a "tough year" most years in this family.  It all simply amounts to being the stuff of life that all the good moments happen around, but this year in particular, we started with close to $100K in consumer debt (not counting mortgages and car payments), and we are now exiting the year with half that problem.  While we started out fighting every unknown bug that could affect a tiny little human, we are now exiting with very distinct bugs and we've not had too terrible a time of it since tonsils and adenoids were removed in February.

And while we're much, much, much happier than we were last January (anti depressants and half the debt problem with limited illnesses is the magic answer), we're sending 2013 out with what appears to be a flaming stake up the arse hole.  In our general geographic area, the kids have been plagued with an outbreak of gastroenteritis in epic proportions, and now we're dealing with one hell of a head cold, which is robbing people of their will to live.  And I without a sick day left to my name, my grandmother has had an accident, my mother has needed help taking care of her, and I have been trying to be the model parent of a sick kid at the same time that I'm trying to be a model employee and model grand/daughter.  Them's the breaks.  I always told my mom I wanted to be supermom...now karma's kicking me in the teeth...asking me how's that feel?

But I'll tell you, the suffering, the sleeplessness, the emotional binge eating and general slavery for others is worth it, when your husband hollers from the rooftops how much he loves and appreciates everything you do.  And when in a moment of pure perfection, your sick child looks over at you, strokes your cheek gently and whispers "you're a good mommy".

I wish we could ring the bells on 2013 right this very second.  I want to leave it feeling like this.  I want to greet 2014 with more optimism, hope and energy than I had last January.  God I hope nothing else tries to kill the holidays for me between now and then.

Make the Good Things Count More

I've come to the conclusion that every good deed we do, should carry more points than anything else we do just to survive or even more, than those we do to disrupt someone else negatively.

I'm addicted to doing good.  I often don't give myself credit for that, because well, in every day ordinary life, that sounds precocious and snooty.  But I honest to goodness believe that my purpose in this life is to make the world a better place through small acts of goodness every single day.  Yes, selfishly, I long to hear someone...anyone...say that I've made a real positive impact in their lives.  But before you get all "look at the self egrandizing bitch go", it's not really because I want accolades or applause.  It's because I look for the confirmation that my purpose is being lived.  I want to make a difference.  I HAVE to make a difference every day.  I think my mom would be surprised to hear this, but I know I learned it from her and my dad.  In some way shape or form, I learned to appreciate everything in the world they gave to us.  I saw what they sacrificed, and appreciated what I was given.  This has made me the person I am today.

I HOPE that over time, those little differences through goodness amass to a whole lot of people who truly miss me when I'm gone, and who truly appreciate what I've done in my life and what my life has given to the world around me because then it was meaningful.

This week we delivered our hamper for a family we adopted for the Christmas holidays.  It's a first for me.  I've organized toy drives, and I've coordinated food drives.  I've even donated toys to the toy drives run by the police brigades and fire halls...but this was different.  This was my family giving Christmas to another family in our community, because we wanted to.  We wanted to teach our daughter through example the absolute awesomeness of giving to others when we have enough to share.  And I'll be honest, I sat on pins and needles waiting for the agency to come back with our match.  I waited on the edge of my seat, hoping against hope, that we wouldn't be matched up with a family whose wish list consisted of video games and designer purses.  I prayed we wouldn't get a family who were so adamantly opposed to birth control that the whole reason they had to apply for assistance in the first place was that they had 6 kids and not enough income to support their sex habit.

And don't get me wrong.  It's not that I believe some kids shouldn't get what they wish for at Christmas. Christmas is about the magic of being delivered miracles...no matter how big or how poor your family is.  BUT there is a certain degree of responsibility that needs to surround the charitable gift and the charitable receipt.  It's that whole idiom "if you give a man a fish, he eats one meal, if you teach a man to fish he eats every meal" in play here.  When I give, it's with the hope that it will give a lift to someone who is already actively trying to help themselves, and for whom it will have real meaning. Someone who asks for charity, but isn't responsible or thoughtful about their requests, isn't going to pay it forward and isn't going to be mindful that the gift came with heartfelt thoughts and meaning.  In any regard, we were blessed with a family match who made us want to give more and do more, and delivering that hamper made me feel awesome.

And so I've been thinking, as I wrap gifts and continue to teach my daughter that these gifts are ones we're giving the people we love to show them how much we appreciate them, that this is indeed my purpose, and probably the unclear path for so many others.

A lot of the things we do on a daily basis out of habit, are indeed acts of kindness for the people in our lives that we love.  These are the small things that overtime make a difference.  As a wife and mother, I cook the meals, do the dishes, tidy up, run kids to dance class, take little adventure trips through new neighborhoods on the way home from preschool.  I get the mail, do the shopping, host the parties, give the smiles, the kisses, the hugs.  I call my mother daily, and make time for my elderly grandmother.  I take time off work to be at my mother in law's bedside and be her medical advocate when no one else is willing or able.  I offer to help a colleague, I take a deep breath and cushion criticisms at work.  I actively listen in meetings, and when I do have to deliver bad criticisms, I remind the person first what I think they do great.  I put myself out there.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  And more often than not, I wish there was more I could do.  I am living the Christian life so many other "christians" have stopped living.  I am by no means perfect, but even trying has to be worth something.

And while I'm not naive, I do believe that if this world is operating on a points system, virtual or otherwise, if even half of us could do more of this every day, even just acknowledging it all for ourselves, we might
feel better about ourselves and be able to deal with many of the symptoms of mental illness in a much better way
we'd be better capable of coping with the onset and the triggers for depression and anxiety and
we'd maybe just maybe, be able to create a system in which doing good trumps doing bad.

We could shift social paradigms that seem to be rife with "I got mine.  Go away."  I smell a personal project brewing for me in 2014.

Frying Pan Meets the Fire

So, I've been frazzled, and busy, and talking on and on about feeling depressed, anxious and teetering on the way less than awesome quotients I impose on myself.  And now there's pile on happening at work.

It's a classic case of the guy who makes more money, hasn't been able to do what's required AND he's drowning, so the shit flows downhill, lands in my lap because well, I can manage it - but it comes without any additional money, no atta girls...just a "got this?  Thanks." and a whole bunch of high tailing it to the rear corners of the auditorium so they can watch in near absolute darkness.

mmm Yeah.  Alright.  So I've let people know I have concerns absorbing someone else's 50% of work load and trying to fit it into my 20% available time, when all the projects that he's downloading are high profile, high stakes, highly volatile, and totally cluster fucked.

And that was met with abject silence.  I guess in silence I have my answer.  And to be honest, with just 2 weeks left of the work year, I'm less than energized, motivated or proactive to be jumping in and throwing anyone a life raft.  I got my own shit to worry about yo.

So now I guess it's a waiting game - I almost don't care that when it blows up, it will be on my watch.  Maybe then, they'll think twice before ignoring an email.

The Beasts Beckon

The thing about depression and anxiety is that no matter what triggers them, you have to accept them and embrace them as living and breathing and almost as if they are a separate but intrinsically connected division of yourself.

It is the Hap Happiest Time of the Year...I know it is.  I just wrote about it last week.  But it seems that the beasts within me are very in tune with that and like to challenge it every time I acknowledge my contentment.  My happiness is therefore dependent on how responsive Depression and Anxiety are within me.

Sure enough, the nightmares are back this week.  Disrupting sleep, and well, just plain invading my life.  And with as much as I have going on (the trigger) the absolute last thing I have time for in this life are the anchors which are depression and anxiety.  Still here they are.  Screaming loud and clear for only me to hear.  Last night the dream was so vivid I cried out several times in my sleep and woke up the husband.

It's not fair.  And it's just that simple.  But it's my cross to bear and I have to figure out how to battle it back just a little while longer, then it can have me for a week or so in January...hear that depression - can you just hold out til then?  Actually, let me get through the rest of this fiscal quarter, til I can haul in a good performance review and (fingers crossed) a decent raise for next year.  Really need the reprieve buddy.  Just a year - please?  Pretty please?  I'd like to feel happy and enjoyment in my marriage, in my home, in my limited parenting skills...just for a while.  I'd like to get just a quick taste of liking my job for just the briefest of moments...you know, to remember what it was like to enjoy working.

Please - just back off a while.I need at least a short period of forgetting what it's like to live with you both.  Maybe I'll come to appreciate the grounding in reality that I get from carrying you both around all the time...Maybe then I'll come to want some of the whacky "unreality" of what you want me to believe.  But right now - I just want a bit of naivete back.  A little bit of "ignorance is bliss"...please.  Pretty please.

The Hap Happiest Time of the Year

Well folks, tis that time of year again where the magic of giving and receiving and celebrating is descending upon us like that welcome blanket complete with the rope and the big rock it's all attached to that are going to yank us into the dark abyss of a lake, surprisingly not very far from here.

Yep...I'm being sarcastic of course, but it's definitely that time of year when family gets together to remind one another of where we come from.  Where we can make the time to appreciate one another and remind each other how much we care.

And of course, then there's Santa and all the wonder and magic He, I mean She, inspires in us all to be gracious givers and even more gracious receivers.  Honestly, it takes a LOT to make just the basics of magic happen at any time of year...and most of all at Christmas.  There are only so many hours in the day for mom's like me to fit in magic making after surviving the office, and daily grind of eat your supper, wipe your butt, wash your hands, and for the last time "PLEASE AND THANK YOU"...er...please and thank you.  Don't you know Santa is watching every single breath you take you little monster.

And this year amounts to no different at our household.  In an effort to better control the budget this year, I got my sewing machine humming in mid summer and vowed that this year, I would make 50% of our Christmas gifts for family and friends.  At the end of the day, I only buy for a couple of our friends, and the rest is family and when all is said and done, I still have 35 people to buy for.  And I'm not the person who gives a small trinket and thinks "cool" we're all done here.  Each gift I give is actually well thought out.  Doesn't mean it's often expensive - I am a thrifty shopper.  But when you have to buy 35 gifts, well, it adds up no matter how cheap you are.

I often wish very much that I were a trinket lover and thrifty-strong enough to say, well folks it's been nice but I'm only buying for the hubby and kid this year.  I just can't.  It's not in my nature.  I've tried, and others have tried, but I'm in such a habit now of starting in January, that by the time December 1st has arrived, I'm ready to decorate, wrap and celebrate.  I honestly don't expect things in return, but I have to admit, I'm probably one of those people you hate at the holidays because they make you feel obligated to reciprocate.  And December is stocked up with celebratory events.  Getting around to see each and every one of the people in our lives that mean the most to us, well, sometimes it's a burden to be so blessed.  Christmas for us literally begins in November when we chip in to help my grandmother decorate, and starts peaking the first weekend in December when visiting begins.  Then it's dance recitals, Christmas concerts, visits with Santa, visits with family, hosting family dinner and my goodness, please let's not forget the wrapping, stashing, hiding and baking...

I'll admit though, I was liking the fact that there was just a bit of extra cash on hand to buy for the hubby and my baby girl this year...that was until our 3 year old started behaving like a mean girl at school, and demonstrated that it was high time she learned what it was like to have less and be a bit kinder in general.  And so we have begun our push to find things of a charitable nature we can do that will help instill in her a strong foundation of humility.  In a real tangible way.

So in an effort to kick start this, we're now going to be adopting a family in our community.  Giving them a Christmas so that my daughter can participate in the shopping and delivering of these things to a centre where our family can then collect them.  It may not make a whole lot of sense to her this year, but this will undoubtedly be the first of many.  We'll also be wedging in time to clean out our closets as a family so she sees that all of us are participating in a donation process and that all of us are working to meet the needs of our community and are being "kind to others".  When they say parenting isn't for the weak or the selfish, they really bloody well mean it.  This was in no way time and effort and money I had budgeted for.  And these efforts really will be wedged in between things that are critical to be done if our magic is going to be kept in tact and as planned.  And while I know the sanctimonious will be happy to remind me that this is truly the joy of parenting and something I should appreciate, I gotta be honest.  I'm already charitable with people who matter the most to me.  I'm respectful and kind and giving to just about anyone, but I'm not a "charity" kind of person either.

And so, the savings I've accrued by hand making so many of our family's gifts to others this year, is now being spent on those who really need it.  And the people who receive my handmade crafts and goodies will know how much I love them because of the effort that was put into them.  And God willing, my child learns by example that it's better to give than receive, to have love and warmth rather than things, and that all people deserve to be treated with decency, dignity and respect.  Crap there's a ton of lessons to be taught - no wonder our parents always sounded so damn preachy.  I feel preachy and I haven't even started for real yet.

Golly, someone better get me a strong soapbox.  I could be here a while.

30% Awesome

So, I've been bad about posting, and that's probably because I've felt crummy.  I've felt so up and down over the past couple of months, that I'm afraid I'm back on my meds and I don't think I'll ever come off them now.

I struggle daily with feeling like I'm supposed to be sooo much more awesome than I actually have turned out.  Could be that Pinterest is responsible for me feeling so much the failure - there aren't enough hours in the day to learn and make all the things that inspire me on that site - but more than anything I think it comes from the execution or lack thereof of day to day tasks that seem to escape my capabilities.

My 3 year old challenges me at every single step - getting out of the house in the morning's is like trying to change the weather (in other words, it's impossible to leave on time).  Getting her to eat a meal is a never ending fight, and it's only because she's not willing to do as she's asked or expected.  Then she advises that it's "killing her" because well, she's repeating what I'm saying - her snail pace and her stubborness are often what I decry are "killing me".

Then there's work, and it's on one hand something I appreciate whole heartedly.  On the other hand, my ability to climb or move or change things up is extremely limited.  They want someone who can travel.  They want someone who will sing their praises.  They want someone who has already drunk the special koolaid and well, I'm afraid I tossed that cup before it even hit my lips.  And that means rot here and be happy about it, or find something else, and since finding another job is like well, trying to grow a new limb, I'm really trying hard to swallow my pride and rot with a smile on my face.  I'm not sure how long that will appease the powers that be, but it's my only game plan.  And even I know it sucks.

Which leaves me to wonder if I'll ever feel more than say 30% of the awesome I instinctively feel I'm supposed to be?  I'm less than the average person, in twice the average person's body, which brings me to the other thing I fail miserably at - weight management.  Add mood management to that I I feel about as infinitesimally small as a tick.

Which means I don't have a lot of wisdom to espouse at the moment.  I also don't have a lot of time.  I'm failing at all these things because I'm trying to make our Christmas gifts - my list is long, and I'm trying desperately to manage the hits to our pocket book this year by making as many gifts as I can.  I'd say roughly 50% will be handmade goodies and crafts...but all this takes every single spare second, and I started back in August.  I'll be working it right down to the wire.  It's keeping me awake at night.  The lists.  The lists of commitments made, the lists of things left to do, the lists of how I'm failing my kid, my husband...then the worries kick in, and it's about why my daughter does what she does, and am I handling it the best possible way - the answer of course is always no but I'll be damned if I can find something better.  AND then there's the millions of ways I'm failing my husband.  I want so much to make things better with him, and I'll say we're stronger than we have been in our relationship in over a year...but I have no drive, no interest and no time to invest and he suffers from it.

So when in doubt, give in right?  I guess I'll try to find a way to lower the bar of my own expectations and be satisfied with my 30% awesomeness.  Maybe one day, I'll come into my own all by a surprise.  I'll wake up one day and never look back because each and every day won't be the drudgery of same old same old...it will be one more day of freaking fantastic, or as my daughter says "it was a perfect day today"...well, maybe one day in the far off future, I'll feel that way too.

One day.

ebbs and flows

Life is full of ebbs and flows.  Jolts and lurches forward.  Screeching stops and gradual accelerations.  Depression, mental illness for that matter, is really not very different.

When I'm at my worst, it's usually because I'm dealing with a perfect storm, and I've forgotten in the midst of trying to balance a million fire balls in mid air, to take a breath, take meds, do yoga or invest in the silencing of my brain.  And when I'm sniping and snapping at the smallest things, and I can even feel my face showing complete and utter disgust in the world, what hurts the most is knowing that the recipients of my ire and the pain and despondency of no hope are all in my own head and are at that moment, uncontrolled.  I had a moment like that briefly yesterday.  We've all been sick, and stressed and running a mile a minute and when we went to my mom's for dinner yesterday I struggled to lug all our crap into the house, had to call my husband back to help me heave crap in, then couldn't get in the door without fighting a million hurdles and it just felt like I was trying to navigate a medieval gauntlet from hell.  "Jesus H Christ!" I snarked.  "One of you kids come and deal with this ball!  Get it out of the road!"  I looked up to see my mother and my step brother looking at me like I'd walked into the room breathing fire.  I wasn't, but that's how it came out.  I was mildly frustrated, but at the brink of my perfect storm, that's how I look to the world at large.  Mild frustrations are treacherous climbs the likes of Mount Everest.  And a smile looks like Satan has usurped my body for his own and my possessed spirit is seething it's disdain.

If I could change these moments, you best believe that in a New York City second I would change them.  I'd do a 180, slap a happy ass smile on my face and act like I'd just been through the sexcapades and taken home the bronze, (cuz you know if you win the gold you were trying too hard to have any fun).  And I'd give absolutely anything not to let my daughter or my husband see or feel them.  It breaks my heart when those moments overtake me - for that reason more than any other.  I'm living with the knowledge that my child will have to say one day "there was a time when I didn't know what would greet me when I got home.  My mom or the evil doctor inside her."

But the moments of happy are sheer, exquisite joy.  That's the trade off.  You can never be normal - well I can't.  And that's probably because there is no such thing as normal.  But you can be your best sometimes, and you can value that above everything else, because that's what separates us from the beasts inside us.  And while you live with the moments where your body feels like it's going to explode into a million little bits and with their own wings, fly away so you can never put them back in place...you can let one little teeny weenie tiny voice in the back of your mind, shout out as loud as it can that it will all be better in the morning.  A good sleep, and some peaceful quiet will help you to put the pieces of you back together, and you will have a better day tomorrow if you just persevere through this one.

Even Wil Wheaton knows what that's like.  It just gets better.