So. Le huitième jour. Seems like all the stress have accumulated and today I feel like a bomb that is about to detonate at any second.
Yesterday my oldest son called me from his sailing camp and cried. It was his first day and he had been hit in the head by the horizontal bar a few times and then he had panicked when the tiny boat started to spin. Nothing happened, he was wet and scared but he immediately wanted to quit for good, went into full on hysteria and cried and cried. Wailed. So how did I handle this? Was I a good and loving mother and oozed gentle and kind words? No. I reacted with anger and it was like I was teleported back to my own childhood and I was SO aware during all of this that this is what my mother did and that’s what made me so harsh to myself and apparently also towards my children. But this was some sort of holy trinity of triggers and I just couldn’t stop my first reaction. After a couple of minutes I calmed down and I asked my son to call hos father while I packed new clothes and got the dog ready.
I was fuming inside. I yelled at the poor dog. I may have kicked the sofa. I could see my reaction and I despised everything about it and simultaneously all that crap that I was taught as a child made me want to scream. First of all, the public display of emotion. Then it was the quitting part. One does not simply quit. And then of course there was the failing.
We do not fail! We do not quit! We do not show strangers that we are vulnerable!
My mother really did a number on me. This is the first time I have reacted like this when it comes to any of my own children. I have one set of rules for my self (see the three golden rules above) and another, much gentler for my children. I am usually the one to open up my heart and arms and give them a bearhug and then we talk it out. Yesterday something was different. Thankfully I realized this and called my husband for advice and then I took the dog and we ran/walked to the sea. By the time Big Dog and I arrived I was sweating like a pig and quickly turning piggypink in the sun. I gave him a big hug and we talked it out and I did a good job and today he went back and conquered that damn boat and his fear and he was so proud!
If you have read all of this I salute you, it must be the dullest blog post ever but there’s something here. Something about this harshness that has made the wine even more seducing to me. I have a nonstop chitterchatter in my head, mostly it is my inner Judge Judy who judges everything I do and – SURPRISE! she’s never satisfied with anything. There’s always something wrong, always something to be disappointed in and to feel ashamed about. The wine shuts her up. Until she wakes me with a vengeance at 4 a.m.
I do not know how to be kind to myself. Forgiving. How to take care of myself. For the longest time I thought that smoking and drinking was the only things I did that could qualify as self-care. How sad is that? But I didn’t think it was sad, I thought it was kind of cool. “You other silly women, you can have your pottery-classes, massages and bubblebaths, I’m out here with the cool kids getting shitfaced and smoking 30 Chesterfields a day. I’m SPECIAL and COOL.” Turns out I’m neither special or cool. Just a bit broken at the moment.
Feeling completely stressed out, all the children are doing different activities these first few weeks of summer and I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off. And when I’m not picking up/dropping off/packing lunch I read sober blogs and count days and try to focus on the long run rather than the quick fix. Unfortunately I have a deadline, I really should be working and now I’m starting to stress out about that.
I know what I need to do. Tomorrow I’m going to sit on my middleaged arse and work 6 hours straight. That’ll make me feel better, if I just get some consecutive hours in and then I’ll make a list and prioritize. All is good. I’m not going to drink.
Anyway. During my walk to the sea yesterday I thought of myself as a kid and how I still (secretly, on the inside) see myself as that little girl. Too grown up and always reading. Glasses. Chubby. And then I thought of the honeybee-girl.
Good night my dears. Sorry about the rambling.