Taking care of Mama

I've been really struggling lately. I was reevaluating my medications, my sleep habits, my diet, all the things that can make one feel off or grumpy or just plain weary. Everything seems to be in order, and I'm not having any emotional or physical symptoms that would be red flags for depression or anything, so I was really confused for a few weeks, wonderful what the hell is wrong with me. It clicked a few days ago: I'm all tapped out. I'm touched out, I'm pregnant-ed out, I'm giving-ed out, I'm patient-ed out, I'm altrustically void. And guess what? That's.....OH-KAY! It was actually a really interesting (to me) way that it clicked, I kind of have to be smacked in the face to really get that I'm not taking care of myself. So many of us are other-focused, especially with young kids and a household to run, or a career, that we neglect our own care until we are in shambles. So, I needed a big old SIGN FROM THE UNIVERSE, apparently.

I was putting away some papers into my obsessive-compulsive outlet file folder that keeps me from going crazy, and I stumbled across a few pages of notes that I made about a year ago. It was the first meeting of my new group that I was heading up at our old church, which focused on praying for our kids. I really feel passionately about moms taking care of ourselves, so my whole first group meeting was focused on taking care of yourself so that you can take care of your kids. I sat on the floor and realized that for the last (how long have I been pregnant? Thirty-billion years?), I've been putting the oxygen mask on the kids over and over and not only putting myself last, but neglecting to put it on at all. You know, like in the event of an emergency, on a plane? No? Okay. Just me, then.

Rereading my notes, I rediscovered this story. I don't remember anything about the origin, I don't remember finding it, but I remember that it made me feel the same way then that it did today.

A few hikers in the forest came across a man attempting to saw down a tree. They offered to help, but he politely declined. Upon their return trek, five hours later, they saw the same man, at the same tree, still sawing, and not having made much progress. One of the hikers suggested, "Why don't you take a moment to sharpen your saw?" And the man frantically replied, "I can't! I'm too busy sawing!"

How many times have I sat there and tried to parent, tried to clean, organize, accomplish, change, and I am left feeling thwarted and frustrated? But if someone comes along and suggests that I shine up my parenting, cleaning, organizing, et. al, tools, my immediate response is one of shock and denial. I CAN'T go get a massage! I don't have the time! The money! The willingness! I can't get my hair cut! I don't have a babysitter! But when I plan ahead, and make those things happen, my tools are sharpened, and I think we all know how much better we feel and how things just seem to go much more smoothly. It doesn't have to be indulgent stuff like manis and pedis, either. I have given up feeling guilty for napping when Baby Taz naps, when I could be foldinglaundryvacuumingpickingupknittingmakinglistscooking the list is, literally, endless. I stop and play cars when Sir H asks me to. But guess what? If I really don't want to play cars? I don't. And I'm working on not feeling guilty about it.

A while back, I was talking to my daddy about the anxieties of parenting and the worry I carry around about screwing up my kids. Another common concern among mothers, I know, and because I already deal with an anxiety disorder, I can really allow myself to get bogged down in it. I was having a great conversation with my wise father about it, and I said something quite close to, "Because, you know, taking care of my kids is The Most Important Job I will ever have." He became quiet for a moment, thinking, then responded, "I disagree. I think your most important job is taking care of your kids' mother."

As if that weren't kick in the pants enough, I was talking to my mother last night about some difficulties, and she said, "It breaks my heart that I can't take care of your problems for you. So, will you do something? Will you take care of my daughter for me?"

Okay.

Okay.

I don't know how, but I'm learning.