DISCLAIMER: December through February were extremely hard months for me for many reasons. I wrote this blog several weeks ago, prior to my “36” blog. I vomited a bunch of thoughts from my head, threw a bunch of words on paper, and here’s what all of that turned into. I felt a strong responsibility to still post this, as I wanted to honor the feelings I felt. I think it’s important we still acknowledge any shitty feelings we have had and may continue to have. These times we’re living in (and have lived through over the course of the past year) are tough, and we are ALL suffering in one way or another. I’ve drafted at least five posts over the past few months and sent them all to the recycle bin. For some reason, I felt a strong pull to continue with this one. My two most recent posts are not linear, but the thoughts and feelings were real, and deserve to be acknowledged. As I want to keep the integrity of this post and not add in anything new, I have decided not to edit any of this since the time I originally penned it. Now that there are vaccines widely available and many of us are becoming vaccinated, I feel much, much more hopeful about the direction we’re moving, obviously much more than what I’ve originally expressed below. My mental health has greatly improved, and I’m seeing a lot of progress. In the word of the almighty Avett Brothers, “There’s hope for sure.” 😊
Here we go….
It’s not fair to compare one another’s griefs or burdens, but yea, I want a f’ing medal.
Throughout this pandemic shitshow of 2020 that continues to erode into 2021, I have navigated birthing a child and moving into a new house, working full-time from home while simultaneously keeping our baby at home indefinitely, and am trying my best to manage a troubled relationship with someone in which a problem with addiction is slowly and methodically tearing us apart. My plate is full. I have tried to hold myself together by the last remaining thread I feel that is left. My mental health has taken a serious toll, and I know for a fact, without even seeing my psychologist yet, that I am again depressed.
There are so many conflicting and opposing emotions that go on inside my brain each day. Every single morning after my workout and shower, at 6:52 on the dot, I have exactly 6-8 uninterrupted minutes which I use to savor a bagel with cream cheese and watch the opening minutes of the Today Show before going upstairs to pick up my baby from his crib. SIX F’ING MINUTES. That’s all I feel I have each morning of uninterrupted alone time. It’s sad. I’m sad. I don’t know how to get out of this never-ending rut. Then there’s the endless mundane grocery shopping, along with the meal prep and cleanup that takes place three times a day in our house. I’m embarrassed to say that I miss the “ease” of packing my own simpleton lunch, just for me, of leftovers or a microwaveable can of soup to eat while at the office: there was no real prep, and no worrying to feed other people during that time (this is not a knock to Pat who 100% helps with making meals). There’s the unwavering bedtime routine every single night which leaves me with literally an hour of laziness on my couch when it’s all said and done. I end up passing out by 8:30 anyway because that 5:15am Peloton wakeup call every morning hits hard. People make time to do what’s important to them, so if an early workout is the only time I have to get physical fitness in, then sacrificing sleep is just what I need to do. While I do not regret this sacrifice of time, it is still a sacrifice, and this routine wears on me.
I am turning the page at 36 with optimism and hope, because that’s genuinely how I feel. I still feel hopeful with the trajectory of recovery the world is moving, but trying to find gratitude in this year is something I am still working on. Yes, we are 10000% thankful for our health, first & foremost (before I get any eye rolls or side comments about being “totally ungrateful”). Pat & I have certainly become more humble and more frugal – both voluntarily and forcefully. I don’t have a commute to work, so both time & money are saved which is a HUGE benefit. But we have also become more impatient, more stir crazy, and a little more resentful for what the pandemic has forced us into. While I now have full appreciation for the luxury that it is to travel, I have so much wanderlust built up inside me that I think I’m going to explode. Seeing people travel right now makes me resentful for no other reason than it’s our decision to not travel right now as we don’t feel 100% safe, and quite frankly, I am simply jealous. I’m jealous that people have the balls to hop on a plane right now, and I’m slightly jealous that maybe their lives’ decisions or paths don’t include children, to which traveling certainly adds frustration and complexity. (Again, side note, we chose this path for ourselves, but I am still allowed to have feelings of wanderlust that may not include children.) I barely leave the house other than to Aldi, Giant Eagle, or Target. I know Pat & I are not alone in thinking this, but we are waiting on our vaccinations to feel 100% comfortable getting back on a plane. One of my best friends from college is getting married at the end of March in Florida, and to say I’m devastated not to be there celebrating is an understatement. A friend of ours who moved to Idaho after college will be at the wedding, and I haven’t seen or spoken to him in years (he flies a bit under the radar and is off the map both figuratively and literally). It would have been so great to see him and to catch up. The nostalgia of college and the fondness of those memories is hitting hard right now while I’m cooped up at home feeling hopeless.
There have been days, weeks for that matter, where I don’t even leave the house. I mean, I literally don’t leave the house. At times taking the cat poop to the trash bin feels like a luxury. I would actually stop at the side door with my hand on the door and just take a few deep breaths and relish the fresh air. THAT is how bad my mental state and emotional health have become: I now savor a few breaths here and there in the outdoors in my driveway when I take out cat shit. How lovely.
When I complain to close friends how much I’m struggling (my husband has heard enough of it so at times I just needed to branch out), instead of feeling relief I just felt guilt. I have one baby who isn’t even a terrible 2 or horrible 3 yet. He’s perfectly healthy and happy. He’s fun! We are truly blessed and utterly obsessed with him. While we are stuck at home, I relish this time home I have with him, knowing I’ll never get that time back. I have an amazing husband who doubles as my best friend, and I have a healthy marriage. I have a roof over my head and job security. But man, navigating this pandemic is still a LOT. I always compare the weight of my struggles to others’ saying, “but I don’t have it NEARLY as bad!” or “I need to be grateful for everything I have! What first world problems I’m bitching about. It’s not like we live in the middle of Africa.” But as I said in the beginning, it’s not fair to compare, and the weight of our struggles is still weight. And it’s heavy. I feel very, very heavy right now.
I’ve talked a lot about having a tribe of moms to help get you through the hardships of being a new mom. But where do we lean and where do we go when it’s ALL just… too much? Not just the motherhood piece. I miss my friends. I miss seeing their kids and little babes. SO many of my closest friends delivered babies in 2020 and I haven’t been able to spend time with any of them. I miss Lenten fish fries with my friends, an annual occurrence we all looked forward to. I miss get-togethers of any kind, any shape, any size. I haven’t been to church in a year – to Mass, to Confession, to Holy Week, Advent, none of it. Sorry, but the Livestream isn’t cutting it for me. It is the longest I have ever gone without regularly attending church. But I’ll continue to pray that this shitshow ends soon, because I’m not sure how much longer any of us can continue to carry this weight without the physical connection we receive from our loved ones. Weight is not meant to be carried alone. While we are meant to do hard things, I firmly believe we aren’t meant to do hard things alone.
That’s all I got. That’s it. I miss normalcy and I miss all of you. I hope we can all see each other soon, fully vaccinated. I will hug you so hard that I will probably cry. I’m bound to be the ugly crier from that scene in Bridesmaids that always leaves me rolling. (At this point though, I’m not even sure Bridesmaids can get me to laugh. I mean, it’s not like I’d be able to stay awake longer than 30 minutes to watch it anyway.) Watch out, world. Because no one has seen the wrath of love that’s about to pour out of a work-from-home, stay-at-home mom or dad who has been cooped up in their house with kid(s) for 12+ months. I crave being with all of you again and sharing in your joys, losses, celebrations and stories. I crave all of the normalcy this pandemic has stolen from us. I know I will treat people differently once we all get out of this. I will live with more compassion, with more empathy, with more love. And I’m going to fill the world around me with hugs. Lots and lots and lots of hugs.
Comments as of 3/30/21, well after this post was written: As I was preparing to publish this post, I was in the midst of reading Helping Families Recover from Addiction: Coping, Growing, and Healing through 12-Step Practices and Ignatian Spirituality by Jean Heaton. Heaton talks about how she’s learned that our feelings are not right or wrong, they just “are.” They are part of a system of unique creation that is “me” and that is “you.” She shared a poem that she heard many times in recovery circles that hit home with me. It’s funny how words, poems, lyrics can hit you in unexpected places at unexpected times and undoubtedly can have a very, very strong affect on you.
The Guest House, by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
And last but not least, channeling my forever Avett love, I wish I could tell you that one particular Avett song over any other helped me get through these specific hard times, but instead, the song “Another Day” by Paul McCartney played over and over and over in my head. It’s not a fun song by any means, but humming it out loud while crying every morning at least brought a tad bit of levity to the astounding amount of sadness that ran through me most days. It actually did very much remind me of an Avett song, “Divorce Separation Blues.” I always felt an odd pull toward this song, that I couldn’t quite put into words. Seth writes very downtrodden, real, visceral, honest feelings about going through his divorce in 2013. The lyrics are accompanied by a surprisingly upbeat melody with some yodeling. The way he described his “theory” for writing this song was, “In this particular case, the idea for the song came along as a yodel, which I have no explanation for, except that I am a sucker for a sad song presented in a relatively bright or conversational way.” I channeled my inner Seth Avett every time I hummed that dreaded “Another Day.” Luckily as March has arrived, and now is on its exit, the warmth of spring and the excitement of brighter days ahead has left me listening to a lot of late 90’s and early 2000’s pop that is putting a greater pep in my step… and as always, more Avett.
(Also, completely unrelated to the above poem and my Avett mention, Heaton herself makes mention in the chapter after the Rumi poem that she stumbled upon a band she’d “never heard of before” and that this particular song “…drew me in. It felt like recognition.” She’s talking about the song “Every Morning Song” which is of course phenomenal, like everything else The Avett Brothers do, but figured I would mention this because I literally screamed out loud, “STFU!!!!!” when I read that in her book. 😉 )
Outtakes from Easter bunny photos just for a smile:
Running With Nicole 