The Best Laid Plans...

I had all of these grandiose plans to write a fantastic blog today but yet here I sit, a few minutes before I am due home to take care of my kids and I have managed to put it off.  The issue is not that I don't have anything I want to say, it's that I have too much I want to say.  This is how I get sometimes.  My anxiety gets high at certain times and I get easily overwhelmed.  I don't sleep well .  I am crabbier.  It's like my brain starts working on overdrive and I want to do everything and nothing all at once.   Decisiveness is illusive and the checklist in my head gets increasingly longer.  You can imagine that this would be frustrating right?  I know it will pass and I believe this is mostly hormonally driven, but frustrating nonetheless.

Just to give you an idea of what my mind is like, here is a list of the things in my head over the past few days:

1. Cleaning for upcoming party at our house--this is a broad category that entails many detailed projects I think I MUST have done before Sunday.

2. Finishing numerous sewing projects--though there will always be more I want to do so I shall never be satisfied.

3.  Ideas for blog posts ranging from the continuing inequality of woman to the annoying girl at the Bread Garden to my obsessive compulsive tendencies to parenting to birth order to friendships to mistakes I have made to my likes and dislikes about myself to my sibling and on and on...

4. Thinking about how my issues impact my relationships, now and in the past

5.  It's been too long since I've seen my therapist.  lol!

6.  Always struggling to be a better parent.

7.  An on-going list of tasks I feel I must complete to feel like a competent human being

8.  The need to be more positive because people don't like negative people but then arguing with myself that positivity is sometimes just a mask of what lies underneath and so isn't it better to be honest but then shouldn't I be expressing more gratitude for what I do have and on and on.

9.  If this blog is worth while.

That is just a sampling.  Oh lord--I better refer to #5. 

Craigslist Has Super Powers...

About a year and a half ago, my husband and I were looking for someone to help watch our kids once in awhile.  I would look on Craigslist as part of our search and one day I saw an ad from someone who seemed like they might be a good fit.  And though Craigslist gets a bad rap, the person we interviewed soon became a regular part of our lives. 

I will call her only by her initial in case she doesn't want to be known.  K. has brought an interesting component to my life, though it is likely she doesn't even realize it (until she reads this post that is!).  Aside from our kids loving her, she and I have gotten to know each other over the past year and a half--usually by cramming in conversations when she arrives or before she leaves.  Many times, when we talk it feels like we are in a race trying to say all the things we want to say before the buisness of tending to the kids takes over.  It is one of those relationships where you never run out of things to talk about because you have so much in common. 

And that's the funny things about K. and I.  We met through something as anonymous as Craigslist, yet we are so much alike.  In fact, when she read the first couple posts for this blog, the next time I saw her she seem confounded that I had written things that she first took for being about her.  We have had funny moments of finding out we are reading the same book at the same time (this has happened more than once) or realizing that the shoes I just bought, look very similar to ones she already has.  Once we even bought the very same fabric at the fabric store to make a similar gift for my son.  We are both creative and love to constantly learn to make new things.  If you asked us both what a perfect afternoon would be, I would bet that we would give very similar answers.  It is a strange thing having so much in common with someone who just came suddenly into your life, who you see once a week, and who you pay to watch your kids. 

The more complicated part is that though she is nowhere close to being old enough to be my mom, she reminds me so much of her.  Not the parts of my mom that I wish could be different, but the amazing parts of her--the fun, empathic, adventure seeking, creative parts.  All of the things K. likes to do for fun are the same things my mom and I had our greatest memories doing together growing up--going to garage sales, flea markets, being out in nature, collecting weird stuff, taking spontaneous road trips, going to the zoo, and on and on.  Many of these things, K. does with her own teenage daughter and I find myself wishing that were me--wishing that I was the one who got to have this mom, who reminds me so much of my mom, without the darker parts.  But that's confusing right?  I mean, she is not my mom obviously and it is not that I really want her to be, I just wish that I could have the good of my mom without the hard stuff.  It makes me sad.  It makes me long for those moments my mom and I had when I was growing up that were pure joy and goodness.  I miss it so much. 

So with K. I always feel confused.   It seems like we should be friendship soul mates right?  But because my relationship with my mom is complicated, so is my internal relationship with K..  I know rationally that she is not the same as my mom but I still have this fear of getting too close to her, of being hurt by her, or maybe just being reminded too much of what I don't have.  I struggle with my feelings even though I know it makes little sense.  In the world of therapy, we call this phenomena transference.  Wikipedia defines transference as, "a phenomenon in psychoanalysis characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another. One definition of transference is the inappropriate repetition in the present of a relationship that was important in a person's childhood."

So where does that leave the relationship between K. and I?   Are we friends? Employee/Employer?  Kindred spirits?  What happens when she is no longer watching my kids?  Do we just go back to our completely separate lives and that's that?  I really don't know.  It all seems very strange.  And all of this from a little ad on Craigslist.  Gotta love life--always keeping things interesting.  

All I Want For Christmas...

Today I am holed up in my house for the third beautiful day in a row due to a recent surgery extracting my two front teeth that has left me looking (and feeling) rather crappy.   The irony of this situation is that so often I long for time alone to write, read, or sew but now that I have this time, I am bored and restless and wishing I could be outside in this wonderful weather with my family.  I am not particularly vain, but I scare myself when I look into the mirror so I am not ready to go face the world just yet.  I feel uninspired to do much of anything really since I am in pain and on mind numbing medications.

Being the impatient person I am, I thought that I would be up and running again by today but instead the swelling is at it's worse and my face looks nothing short of a bloated horse.  I now have these fake teeth that are uncomfortable and look strange and are pressing up against the swelling of my gums.  These fake teeth have to get me through the next several months until I can have yet another procedure to place two rods in my jaw bone and later place permanent caps on those.  It is going to be a long process and one that I have avoided for as long as possible.  It is expensive and painful and time consuming.  Eating is almost impossible and, for some reason, I didn't think that part through much either.

When it comes to medical procedures, I have a tendency to just not think about it much at all leading up to the event since I know doing so would make my anxiety out of control.  The downside is that I often feel unprepared for the outcome as I didn't take the time to think it through.  But which is worse, worrying for weeks or being unprepared after?  I think I'll stick with my way.  My husband, on the other hand, always likes to know the fine details of things and so I look to him to research, go with to appointments and ask questions.  I tend to tune out the doctors after awhile but he is able to engage with great interest until his questions are satisfied.  I think these differences between us, which I've touched on before, highlight the greatness of having a partner who has different strengths than you.  We share much in common too but it is really the ability to pick up where the other one leaves off that is key.  But I digress.

I bid you farewell for now.  Maybe I will feel more inspired as I get better to write more.  Wish me luck.

Life Of An Imposter: Part 3

This post is the most personal thus far and is one that I've been struggling with posting.  Instead of giving any long explanation of the complicated relationship I share with my mother, I am instead choosing to put out a selection of  letters in a series I wrote to my mom during a 5 year period when we were estranged.  We are now speaking again and have come to some sort of understanding about the relationship we are able to have at this point in our lives, but it is not what I wish it would be nor is it what she would like either I am sure.   These are letters that I wrote for myself and have only been seen by a couple other people so it is scary for me to let them go out into a world where they will be judged and I won't have control over the memories anymore, but that is also what I am seeking...a chance to let some of this go.  So here it is, another attempt to explain my Imposter Syndrome and how it is linked to how I grew up--it is not direct by any means but I hope I am getting closer to finding a way to explain this feeling that follows me and slowly become more free from it.

#1

4-1-08

She is right down the highway, east and a little to the south.  I know her doorway, her broken windows that refuse to open, her flowers and lilac bushes she planted herself—stolen but hers. Her smell.  Cat fur flying, smoke lingering in the air—motionless.  House filled with things that tell you something about the woman who lives there.  A tight box.  Suffocating.  Can’t breathe here.  Ashes and Patchouli.  Laughter. Stories told with full gestures and such clarity it is like you were there.  Bitterness. Anger.  Loss.  Hammer to skin.  Black and Blue.  The knife out of the drawer.  The big one.  Point in her soft belly.  Stopped.  Barely in time.  Dust lingering, being tossed around this way and that, never to settle the same way again.  Screaming. Begging. Confusion.  She can’t breathe.  Violence from angles I never imagined—though I should have known. I should have known. Threats or reality?  Those eyes.  Who is right?  What can I do?  Fear.  Am I still here?  Numb with tears—tears for who?

Just one button on my phone straight to her ear.  That’s how quick—how close she is.  Lost the connection.  Barriers as thick as the blackest fog.  Impossible to see in the dark, I wasn’t born that way.  Where is my phone?  I hope I don’t find it.  I still know the number by heart.  Can’t get through, can’t bring myself to try.  Frighteningly comfortable with the lack of noise, chaos, promises of death, and eccentricities.  Everything seeming so grand—larger than life when really she is more like a mouse, searching for a crumb in hopes of being filled.  Bottomless hole—black and unrelenting.  Feed me.  It is never enough.

#2

4-1-08

I want to die.  Tell me it is okay to go.  I have no reason to stay here.  I’m in so much pain.  Please.  Just say I can go.  You don’t need me anymore.  I have no purpose.  It’s not fair to make me live just for you. 

Please don’t die.  I need you.  I love you.  I can be your purpose.  I will do more, be more.  Just stay.  I will save you.  I’ve done it so many times before.  I’ll list the reasons to live.  But I can’t think of many.  Is it selfish to want you to stay?  Or if I’ve thought about how much simpler life would be without you—without this?  Oh god!  Maybe I should just let go.  Let you fall into the dark.  Heart broken into pieces of glass that fill your lungs and let the air out slow, like a balloon with a small leak.  You can almost hear the sound of the deflation, the fading rasping of life passing you by.  An ending. 

It has to end somehow.  Somewhere.   Sometime.  I can’t think of any more answers.  I can’t give you any more reasons.  What will happen if I am not here to save you—surely you will die.  You will die and I will be to blame.  You have said as much.  I did leave you to freeze to death on the shores of a creek out in the middle of nowhere.  Out of gas, out of touch, wanting to be found but you are lost.  Alone.  Your greatest fear yet one that you create over and over again.  Proving to the world that you are unworthy.  No!  You mean so much.  I should’ve done more. 

I understand.  You are too fragile for these things.  You have never been strong enough.  I forgive you. 

Have you forgotten all we’ve been through?  All the ways I tried to be everything for you?  Your mother, your child, your friend, your partner?  You hate me either way and love me every way.  How can that be? 

I am a burden to you.  You would be better off without me.  You don’t even want me around anymore.  You don’t need me.  You aren’t the same person--as me. 

I am not the same, I admit it.  I am myself and you are you.  That is okay, isn’t it?  The way it’s supposed to be?  At least that’s what I thought.  Why can’t you see it?  I know.  I really do know.  But we are both feeling this gut-wrenching pain—a baby taken from its mother.  Primal.  I’m so sorry. 

#3

4-1-08

What do you write about a mother lost?  Too much time to think.  Too many memories attacking my brain.  I feel like crying, but I’m not sure I have tears left for this.  How can I be your daughter now—if you can not be my mother?  Why do you have to be so good and so bad?  I want to be angry at someone.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not mine.  It just is. 

How can I explain this to people?  It isn’t a matter of will to change on either side—it isn’t a lack of love.  There must be a solution.  No one can tell me what it is.  I want no part of it all but still I ache for what I can not have, what you have given me and what you can not.  I feel so guilty.  Blood on my hands.  Abandoned.  A child who only wanted a mother who loved her unconditionally.   I thought she did.  Didn’t realize she couldn’t.

#4

8-26-06

I don’t like when it’s quiet

Your absence gets much louder

Too busy to cope

Too still to stand.

You’re probably sleeping

Maybe on the couch

Fallen asleep to the t.v.

Snoring and restless

Grinding teeth, fitful dreams

Your sweet scent filling the room

Patchouli, lavender, and mom.

Mom.

Your breath is slow

You hold it now

Savoring the oxygen

Are you okay?

I’m sitting here killing myself too.

Why?

Identification with you?

One last thing to hold in common.

One way to be near you—like you.

Making my own destiny—it’s out of my control?

It’s not—but yours is.

I can’t take that.

It makes me cold.

Freezing.

I wish…

I hope…

I can’t stand the quiet.

#5

8-26-06

I am getting closer,

To being far away

Or moving in

to crack open the door.

Peaking inside

Fearful and shaking

All of my hope in a sliver of light.

How can I be so scared of someone I love so much?,

Know so well.

I wanted it to be okay.

I want it to be okay.

Can I be safe with you?

Can I keep myself safe?

I don’t know.

I am not so strong anymore.

Not in that way.

I can’t fight now.

Can you accept that?

Please…

For the Life of Me...

Over the past several months, my 4 year old son has slowly begun asking questions about death.  It started when I was talking about my grandmother, who died several years ago, and he wanted to know if we could visit her.  I explained that she had died, which was the first time he heard of such a concept and he was confused.  The next time the subject came up it was after watching a YouTube video of Janis Joplin.  Again, he wanted to know where she was and I explained that she had died.  Several days later, as we sat talking, he asked if he could see her dying.  He wanted to know what it meant to be dead and was searching for answers in his little 4 year old mind.  I told him I didn't think there were pictures like that.

As the last several weeks have progressed there have been more and more conversations like these where he asks questions like, "Do we celebrate Hanukkah?  Do dead people still wiggle?  What world are dead people in?  Where do you go when you die?" and the worst being, "You and Daddy are going to die."  "Why do you think that?," I ask.  "Because you are old," he replies.  "We aren't THAT old. People can live a really long time."

Each time we have one of these conversations he seems to contemplate it for a few days before new questions and insights arise.  I think this is a good place to state that my son is very bright--and I know every mother thinks that about her child--but I am saying this because I have no doubts it is true and because everyone who has gotten to know him is shocked by the things he knows and thinks about.  He is this funny, social butterfly (I call him the absent-minded professor) that you'd never guess was so smart unless you quizzed him on facts about the solar system, human body, or asked him to read to you.  His memory is phenomenal and his ability to think abstractly about things started quite young.  My point being that he seems to really get things that another child his age may not and he asks questions that I am not prepared for.

The latest entry into our conversation about death and dying came this weekend while leaving the fabric store.  This was when he asked about dead people wiggling and where they go when they die.  I explained that dead people can't wiggle because their hearts are no longer beating and they don't need oxygen anymore and so their body is done--man did that feel harsh coming out of my mouth.  I proceeded to tell him about cemeteries and burial vs. cremation.  Then came the hardest part...the God discussion.  My husband and I are both atheists and have no belief in a higher power.  Believe me, I wish I did believe as it would make the idea of life and death much more comforting, but I just don't.  I have always known this would come up with my kids but I just didn't think it would be so soon.  My belief is that you should let your children chose who they want to be, while obviously guiding them towards being pro-social, good human beings, but leaving the big decisions up to them, which is precisely what I told my son.  I told him briefly about the idea of God and Heaven and that many people believe in this and that he can chose to also as he gets older and learns more but that daddy and I didn't believe in God and Heaven but instead that once people die their bodies are done and they live on in the memories of those who loved them and miss them.

In trying to help his little mind sort all of this out, we went to the Unitarian Church in town to assess their religious education program as we want him to become an educated citizen about all things so that he can make the best decisions for himself in the future.  He is too young for the program at this point, but we will be making an effort to take him to play with other kids at the church and see parts of the services so he gets what we view as the one positive of organized religion and that is the community it can create.  UU churches are known for being accepting of all beliefs, even the belief that there is no higher power, and so we can go there as parents without the pressure to conform to something that is not what we believe.  I have checked him out books from the library about World Religions and we continue to have discussions about life after death or the lack thereof.  These are very difficult discussions for me being that I am very afraid of death and I am trying my hardest not to convey that to my child who I want to feel differently about it than I do.  Of course to him, the idea of Heaven sounds much more comforting than what we believe, as it does even to me, and so I tell him that he can believe whatever he chooses but that his daddy and I just want him to keep learning as he grows and when he becomes "big" like us, it is up to him to make those decisions.  

Being a parent is such a difficult task with so many different things you are trying to convey to your children about who you want them to become while also letting them become who they want to be.  It's a delicate balance and I hope that we are able to walk the line with grace so that he and his brother always know that it is okay to be whoever they want to be and we will love them, without hesitation, through it all.