These are my valid reasons for struggling right now:
1. Day 3 of 6 days of DH being away.
2. Day 7 of the Sore Thumb Stupid Wound that is taking forever to heal. EVERYTHING hurts doing with a sore thumb.
3. Day 3 of my period. Here comes the flood.
4. Not being able to sleep last night because of item 3.
5. Last week was the anniversary of the most painful non-romantic rejection of my grown-up life.
6. Working on too many projects at once.
7. All the projects of item 6 are beating at me from in inside like babies fighting who is going to be born first. Ouch.
8. Velcro Energizer Bunny almost 4yo acting like computer is his arch enemy, and all the projects in 6-7 require the computer.
9. Lower back pumping pumping pumping, this darn period is so distracting.
10. The elections are tomorrow, only the most stressful day of the 4 years… and DH won’t be here to anxiously await the results with.
11. It’s November. I always struggle in the fall.
This too shall pass. Can someone pass the FF button please?
So yes. I’m struggling. Of course I’m struggling. How could I not struggle?
But everything is different now.
I’m so kind to myself through all this.
I don’t hurt myself. I don’t should myself. I don’t give myself shit.
I experience my pain and honor it, without piling self-imposed suffering on top.
I am placing support structures. I’m both unfolding and scaffolding. I am asking for help.
Lowering my standards so my performance can rise:
Until dad comes back home:
There will be a lot of salads and vegetable soups and green smoothies during the day. Not because I i think I should have them, but because it’s what I’m craving. Now that I’m no longer on antidepressants, if I don’t get my chlorophyl I’m a wreck. This is not the time to deny myself essential nourishment. But the kids don’t usually eat this stuff, therefore:
There will be junk food. And dinners at friends’ places (thank you girlfriends!)
There will be TV for the kids.
And the house will look like a bomb exploded (it already does).
I will put sleep above all else, I will not let the projects asking to be born deprive me of rest. I will be in bed by 11pm every night until dad gets back.
I will vent and ask for help at the Mama’s Comfort Camp FB group.
Sorry to say there is no chance I will not be yelling at the kids this week. But giving myself permission to raise my voice when at the end of the rope actually lengthens the rope. Strange how that works.
I will hug them a lot. A lot more than I yell at them, no doubt about that.
I am struggling. This is all legitimately hard, of course I am struggling.
There is no failiur in the struggle. And I don’t have to like it to survive it, grow, and learn from it.
Giving myself permission to struggle means that I’m doing a million times better than ever. It also means that I am more likely to use all the skills I have. I’m tapping, and breathing, and shiva-nata-ing, and chanting. I am nourishing myself physically and emotionally, which means I’m not about to snap. There is no impending breakdown. I am feeling connected to myself like never before. I can love myself through the pain. When I’m not “should”ing myself AT ALL, I am marveling at how the struggle is purifying rather than horrible when I don’t guilt-trip myself over it. Taking credit, dammit!
I’m okay, really and deeply. When I need to cry, I’m honoring my salty tears, and as soon as I allow that, I see the beauty and feel the gratitude.
And we are doing fine. Me and the boys are absolutely okay.
Having a sens of safety through a rough patch?
Now that’s new and humbling, and makes me want to sing.
So I’m singing: “Permisssssssion! Permission” to the tune of “Tradition!” from Fiddler on the Roof (I’ve been singing this for about a year an a half , and recently found a partner in song subversion: Kathleen Avins! Hugs to you sweetie!).
Try it, it feel so wonderfully subversive!
(gosh, it’s high time to watch this movie again…)
PS Hat’s off to single mothers everywhere. I bow at your feet.
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