Anxiety and self-discovery – Page 7

October 21, 2017October 31, 2018

Mom Guilt

Today, I had an eye doctor’s appointment at 4:30. I got out of work around 3pm, stopped for my free coffee from Cumberland Farms (every Friday in October, in case you didn’t know already), and headed home.

I pushed through the door, and the dogs greeted me as if I were the Queen of England herself, come back from a month-long trip. My first instinct was to be pleased; flattered, even. And then I realized that this enthusiastic greeting could only mean that they hadn’t been let out yet. So I let them out. Then I carried my 17 bags and my free coffee into the kitchen, and the smell of beef stew in the crock pot made me breathe deeply and smile. All was well.

I checked in on the two kids who were already home. Both were in their rooms, watching something or other on a screen, but the house was amazingly quiet (and delicious-smelling), so I decided to enjoy a moment of peace and finish reading my book. About 20 minutes later, I started to shift gears. The eye doctor is two towns over, and the traffic at this time of day is unpredictable. I have to get ready to leave.

I glance at the clock. It’s almost 3:30. That’s odd. My youngest usually gets off the bus around 3:20, and I haven’t seen him yet. I checked the house. I checked the yard. No luck. But then I noticed his skateboard was missing and his backpack was in the driveway. He didn’t even come inside; he just took off to his friend’s house.

Now I’m annoyed, but I’m pretty sure I know where he is, so I pack up my things and drive up the road to his friend’s house. I coax him into the car, away from the outdoors and his friend. I feel a little guilty about pulling him away, but I don’t want him roaming the neighborhood while I’m at my appointment. I ask if he wants to come with me, not sure what I’d prefer his answer to be. He declines politely, and agrees to stay on our own property with his siblings while I’m gone.

So I headed to the eye doctor, got my new contacts and ordered new glasses. I got stuck in traffic on the way home, so I didn’t have as much time as I wanted to enjoy my beef stew and chat with the kids before I had to head out again; this time to fulfill my promise to help with the church rummage sale. My husband and I crossed paths on my way out the door. At the rummage sale, I picked up a few great deals, helped a little with organizing and cleaning, and had a lot of laughs with a few of my friends.

Overall, this sounds like a pretty good night, right? But when I got home, the kids were watching Spider Man with their father. At that moment, I rewind the evening in my mind, and I start to fear that they have been in front of screens all afternoon. How much YouTube did they watch while I was gone? When is the last time I checked their history? Their musical.ly accounts? Have they done anything productive today? And the mom guilt sets in. There are a lot of triggers for my mom guilt, but screen time is probably the biggest one. The worry starts to settle in…

And here’s where I need to shift the tone of this story. Because, as it turns out, mom guilt is not what I needed to write about tonight.

I was typing this post… the post about screen time and mom guilt, while the kids were watching Spider Man . I mean, I wasn’t feeling guilty enough to pull them away from movie night with their father. I was just feeling guilty enough to write about it.

I was on top of my bed, lying on my stomach, in the middle of typing a sentence. I felt my son crawl on top of me and snuggle into my neck. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked. I showed him my earlier Facebook post about the miscreant who only eats muffin tops and leaves the uneaten bottoms on the kitchen counter. “Oops. That was me. But the bus was here, and I wasn’t done yet but I only kind of liked the muffins anyway. I mean, they were okay but I didn’t love them and so I couldn’t finish. You get it, right mom?” That was the moment when the story changed. We talked about muffins, and decided to make his favorite this time. At 9:30 at night, we whipped up some blueberry muffins. While we stirred and folded (he’s proud that he knows how to ‘fold in’ the blueberries) and greased the pan, he told me about his day. It turns out he didn’t just play on screens all afternoon. He played with his pets. He thought he lost the hedgehog again, but he found it behind the toy box (phew). He told me about a hedgehog fanny pack (no joke, this is an actual thing) that he wants for Christmas, and as the muffins baked, we looked it up online. He showed me the new kind of food he wants to try for his guinea pig, and demonstrated how he scrutinizes the ingredients to find the best kind. We looked at pictures of marmosets and marveled at how expensive they are.

And then my youngest joined us. We lay on the bed together; a big pile of gangly limbs and little smiles and smelly dogs. We had a tickle war. We ate warm muffins. I piggy-backed the little one to bed, and the pain in my lower back is a bittersweet reminder that I should remember that moment. He’s not so little anymore, and there’s a really good chance that was his last piggy-back ride. I gave them ‘mom cuddles’ and tucked them in tight and kissed them goodnight. And after all that, I don’t have any time left for ‘mom guilt.’ I have to get my rest because tomorrow will be another busy day of actual, joyful, maddening, beautiful mothering.

October 18, 2017October 31, 2018

Awkward conversations

I don’t have an excellent filter. It’s not unusual for me to find myself in a group of people, realizing that I just made everyone slightly uncomfortable by disclosing something inappropriate. It’s my blessing and my curse. Sometimes I wind up embarrassing myself. Sometimes I end up alienating people. But other times, I end up initiating awkward, powerful, difficult conversations.

Let me back up. I’m aware that it’s generally considered impolite or in poor taste to talk about money. So I usually only bring it up if:

I desperately need a small loan and I finally muster up the courage to ask one of my parents.
I’m making a self-deprecating joke about my inability to manage or hold on to money.
I’m subconsciously panicking about some financial issue and I subsequently have too many glasses of wine.

And it’s that last circumstance that’s led me to an interesting revelation. Every time I’ve brought up money concerns that were probably too personal or too honest or too revealing, somebody in the room approached me afterward to commiserate or share or confess. Someone else was compelled to share something about their financial circumstances that they surely would not have admitted, had I not had that third glass of chardonnay and over-shared to begin with. What I’ve learned through these interactions is that EVERYONE I KNOW is worried about money.

Some of us are worried about our retirement accounts. Some of us are worried about how to buy a new car when the engine finally goes. Some of us don’t know how we’re going to pay for our kids’ college. Some of us are scraping together quarters for a gallon of milk, or selling jewelery to buy diapers. There are certainly different circumstances… but we’re all worried.

And for some reason, we’re not allowed to talk about it. Why do we do this to ourselves? Ladies, we share recipes and birth stories and work stresses and arguments with our spouses. We talk about our medications and our babies’ bowel movements and that time we tucked our skirt into our nylons at the airport. But money? We can’t talk about this? WHY NOT?!?!?

Well, I have a theory about that. We don’t talk about money because we have so much of our identity wrapped up in it. Are you a “Money doesn’t grow on trees” kind of person? Or a “Save it for a rainy day” kind of person? Were you taught that success was based on finances? Did you grown up without a penny to spare? Are you determined to have more than your parents? Are you determined not to spoil your kids? Do you believe “You can’t take it with you” or do you want to “Leave something for the kids?”

You see… the thing is, it doesn’t even matter; because ALL of those people worry about money. I’ve talked with friends who I consider to be ‘well-off’ who were afraid of losing their homes. I’ve spoken to empty nesters who thought they were prepared for retirement, only to find out that it wasn’t enough. I’ve listened to women who counted on vouchers to feed their families and women who were trying to deliberately expose their children to hardships because they wanted them to understand that their wealth wasn’t something to take for granted. We all worry about this. So why are we so afraid to talk about it?

I guess I can only speak for myself. Personally, I’m afraid to express my financial worries for lots of reasons. Here are three of them:

I’m afraid to be judged. I’m afraid if I admit that I have money concerns, I’m opening myself up to have my priorities questioned. Half the time, I’m questioning my own priorities. I don’t need anyone else to be doing it for me.
I WANT to be grateful for all I have. I want to acknowledge my blessings and remember that I have so much to be thankful for… so it feels somehow ungrateful to worry about something as inconsequential as the car payment.
I don’t want people to think I’m asking for money. What if I complain about the phone bill and my friend offers to pay it? I don’t want to be a charity case. I don’t want to ruin the friendship. I don’t want to owe anyone anything.

Okay, so maybe they’re valid concerns. But certainly, I can find two or three friends who I can trust …

… to not question my judgement. These friends should believe I am a competent adult, capable of making my own decisions (and sometimes mistakes).
… to listen to my concerns without questioning my faith or my gratitude or assuming that this worry is somehow a character flaw.
… to ask thoughtful questions and be supportive in whatever way they can. These friends would never use money as a weapon or a tool for manipulation.

I don’t need to over-share at every dinner party. But I can lighten the load by finding a confidant and simply talking about it. After all, “A burden shared is a burden halved,” right? (Written by T. A. Webb, for those of you who are sticklers about citations).

I guarantee, if you try this, people will confide in you. You’ll find yourself in strange new relationships where it’s not taboo to talk about finances. You might find you have the chance to help someone out. You might find yourself wondering if you should accept help. But you will not be alone. I promise.

October 11, 2017October 31, 2018

A Little Background

If you’re reading this blog, it’s likely you know me and you know my family (at least peripherally). If you’ve come here by chance, I’d like to get you caught up. I’m a mom and a wife and a middle school special education teacher. I am married to a (mostly) wonderful man who thinks I am (mostly) wonderful. I have two stepsons, a foster daughter, and two biological children. They bring me joy and headaches. On the best days, at least one of them brings me coffee. In order to help you understand the family, I’d like to share something I recently posted on Facebook.

“This parenting thing swirls around in my head all the time… and I worry. God, do I worry. But often, I worry about this selfish thing. I worry about how my children reflect on ME. Which is nonsense. It’s not their job to make me look good. It’s their responsibility to learn and be a little bit better everyday. Better versions of THEMSELVES… not who others (myself included) wish they would be.

I worry that Cal is that kid who is so busy jumping out of his skin that he can’t follow the coach’s directions. I must’ve heard his name shouted 30 times during this morning’s game. But when he’s on the football field, he’s the kid who congratulates his teammates after every play. He’s the one to give a high five and say ‘good job’ and encourage everyone. This kid is kind, and friendly, and a good sport. He makes me so proud.

I worry that Lee is the opposite of studious. He rushes through everything and avoids work at all costs. I had to meet with his teachers last week to figure out how to get him to do homework. But this weekend, he’s spent two hours writing and editing a speech about being transgender… which he will deliver to 150 professionals later this week. This kid is brave and intuitive and spunky. I am so proud.

I worry that Bea is such an introvert. She resists joining things and is hesitant to take risks. She has been through so much. But this weekend, she got up in front of the entire church and sang with the band. Her voice was almost as beautiful as her smile. She is full of courage and strength, and she is incredibly talented. I am so proud.

When I try to make them into who the world thinks they should be; obedient, quiet, studious, sunny…. We all wind up feeling frustrated and disappointed. When I can manage to celebrate who they are and guide them to be a little better every day, that’s when I see the beauty of parenting.”