Having kids has given me a level of panic I've never experienced before, and sometimes I struggle to keep it in check.
That's why I haven't posted in awhile. I'm dealing with a lot of anxiety, that I think stems from a lot of discontentment. And shame, because, how could I be discontent?
I have the perfect job. I love what I do and I love the people I do it with. They could not be smarter or nicer, or more understanding of the demands on a working mom's time.
My children are ridiculously adorable and relatively healthy. Zim says or does something hilarious several times a day. Gir is excitedly figuring out how to keep up with her big brother. Even when she gets so frustrated at crawling backwards instead of forwards, it's so freaking cute.
My husband and I are in a good place despite the demands of both working full-time and raising two small children.
Yet, I feel crazy stressed. I feel like there's a never-ending list of things to worry about and that just as I get a handle on things another worry pops up that tumbles the whole house of cards. I'm so busy balancing everyone else's needs that I never get around to worrying about my own.
This morning I was supposed to get an allergy shot. It's a regular weekly appointment for me, but so often, it gets skipped because I get distracted cleaning the house, making sure children's clothes are put away, Gir's bottles are washed, socks of various sizes are picked up. When I looked up from picking things up and realized I wasn't ready to go yet and there wasn't time to fit my shot appointment in, I was so frustrated.
But then I got over it, and decided to do something else to take care of myself instead.
I actually sat down at the table to eat my breakfast, instead of hurriedly inhaling it while driving somewhere. I made more breakfasts for myself so I'd have some ready for the rest of the week. I took the time to make sure my clothes matched, put on the minimal makeup that I strive to put on every morning, but often miss. I picked out a necklace to wear. I made my bed. I picked up the parts of the house that make me feel calm, not the ones that would keep other members of my family happy. And then, when it was time to leave the house for work, I left. I didn't find just one more thing to tidy up, I walked out the door, and for once, didn't feel rushed and panicked that I'd forgotten something.
All small seemingly insignificant things, but for once I left the house feeling put together and mostly calm. Sure, there's still a million things unfinished in my life right now (the clothes I abandoned in the washer, the car repairs that need to take place over the next few weeks that will be paid for with funds from an, as yet, undetermined source), but I made the conscious choice to take care of myself a little. To put something back in the tank, instead of constantly drawing on it until it's so empty that I have nothing left to give the people in my life I care so much about and would give anything for.
I have the perfect job. I love what I do and I love the people I do it with. They could not be smarter or nicer, or more understanding of the demands on a working mom's time.
My children are ridiculously adorable and relatively healthy. Zim says or does something hilarious several times a day. Gir is excitedly figuring out how to keep up with her big brother. Even when she gets so frustrated at crawling backwards instead of forwards, it's so freaking cute.
My husband and I are in a good place despite the demands of both working full-time and raising two small children.
Yet, I feel crazy stressed. I feel like there's a never-ending list of things to worry about and that just as I get a handle on things another worry pops up that tumbles the whole house of cards. I'm so busy balancing everyone else's needs that I never get around to worrying about my own.
This morning I was supposed to get an allergy shot. It's a regular weekly appointment for me, but so often, it gets skipped because I get distracted cleaning the house, making sure children's clothes are put away, Gir's bottles are washed, socks of various sizes are picked up. When I looked up from picking things up and realized I wasn't ready to go yet and there wasn't time to fit my shot appointment in, I was so frustrated.
But then I got over it, and decided to do something else to take care of myself instead.
I actually sat down at the table to eat my breakfast, instead of hurriedly inhaling it while driving somewhere. I made more breakfasts for myself so I'd have some ready for the rest of the week. I took the time to make sure my clothes matched, put on the minimal makeup that I strive to put on every morning, but often miss. I picked out a necklace to wear. I made my bed. I picked up the parts of the house that make me feel calm, not the ones that would keep other members of my family happy. And then, when it was time to leave the house for work, I left. I didn't find just one more thing to tidy up, I walked out the door, and for once, didn't feel rushed and panicked that I'd forgotten something.
All small seemingly insignificant things, but for once I left the house feeling put together and mostly calm. Sure, there's still a million things unfinished in my life right now (the clothes I abandoned in the washer, the car repairs that need to take place over the next few weeks that will be paid for with funds from an, as yet, undetermined source), but I made the conscious choice to take care of myself a little. To put something back in the tank, instead of constantly drawing on it until it's so empty that I have nothing left to give the people in my life I care so much about and would give anything for.
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