It is Wednesday, April 8, 2020. I am working from home for the first time in my life and have been since March 18, which was 3 weeks ago today. It feels like 3 months. The days and weeks are long now. Time has slowed down. I have slowed down. Our country has slowed down. Like so many others, in addition to working from home, I am now also a stay at home mom to an almost 5 year old. My husband works for a restaurant and still goes to work every day. Nothing has changed for him. For me, EVERYTHING about my daily usual has changed. And I am anxious, and frazzled, and uncomfortable, and irritable, and emotional. I am grieving the loss of the routine in which I thrive. I miss my family and my friends. And I'm trying really, really, hard, but I'm struggling.
I hate that I'm like this. I have SO much to be thankful for and yet my mental health is declining. As I've written before, I take prescription medication to combat depression and anxiety. I doubled my dose of Zoloft on my own since I've been a captive here at home. Even as I type this, I realize how dramatic I sound...referring to myself as a captive in my own home, but y'all know I like to keep it real and earlier this morning as I cried because I couldn't fix the screen door that Keats ripped off the tracks in a fit of rage, I said out loud "There is no escape. I can't escape."
Turns out Keaton and I are a lot alike in that we both have zero patience, and when we are mad at ourselves, or each other, we lash out. And now we are together all day every day and we're on each other's nerves. I understand that his little world has been turned upside down. He no longer has that structure that he got at Pre-K. He's anxious. He's watching too much TV. His new favorite word is "stupid", and he uses it to describe everything. The earlier I come downstairs to try and get some work done before he wakes, the earlier he wakes. He's never tired. I'm always tired. He wants no part of the daily activities suggested by his teacher. Or if he is interested, He is interested for 2 minutes tops, and he won't do it by himself, even after I direct him. And I don't have the skills for this. I tell him every. single. day. multiple times to stop jumping on the couch. Why won't he just stop jumping on the couch? I've carried him kicking and screaming upstairs to his room when he needs disciplined and then stood outside the door and held it closed as he screams and tries to get out. He clearly hates it, but I'm not even sure it's effective. He's always hungry. He wants me to play with him constantly. Because I'm home. Why wouldn't I play with him? I do, but it's never enough. He always needs more. And the guilt that comes with coming back to the cluttered dining room table to try and get some work done is about to the point where I can't bear it. Is there a compromise? If so, I haven't found it. Fact: I'm a mother first. And right now I'm living in constant worry that because of that fact, I won't be productive enough for work. This is impossible.
And you know what the insane thing is? It's that I am also in love with how much time I am getting with my boy. As much frustration as I am feeling, I am grateful for this. It's like a dirt smudged Silver Lining. I love him SO much. The only other time we've gotten this much time together was when he was in my womb and then in his first 3 months of life. He'll be 5 next week. I wonder if he'll remember this when he's older? I doubt it, but I wonder. I've been journaling it in case he doesn't.
I have not been out of my neighborhood since March 20th. I am almost constantly on the verge of tears. I'm trying so hard to stay afloat that those tears start falling at the most awkward times. Like the second I log onto a zoom meeting, which is just so fucking embarrassing. I'm eating too much. I'm working out, but I miss my gym and the people there. I'm angry that Jim is gone all day and then when he gets home, Keats wants all his attention and I get the scraps. I'm scared that Keaton won't be ready for Kindergarten in the fall because I am failing at keeping him engaged with learning during this time. He's been cussing. Yes, I mean Keaton. Is it bad that I love it? Jesus, I know it's frowned upon, but it's so cute and funny. He couldn't get the remote to work and he says "damned it!" Just nonchalantly like it's perfectly natural that he would say that. He threw out a "god damned it" the other day and I had to look away so he wouldn't see me laughing. I don't draw attention to it, I simply tell him not to say those things because they are grown up words. When the Lego car was not going back together and he said "what the fuck" under his breath, I just closed my eyes and when I opened them, he said "Is that a bad word Mommy?" He knows. He. Knows. If I wasn't going to bring attention to it, then he sure as hell was. He's funny! And yes, I know that he's using these words because I obviously use them too much. I'm emotional people. And passionate. And cussing feels good. And you know what? I believe that there are worse things in life that myself and Keaton could both do that are worse than saying cusses. Of course it will have to stop and I have no doubt that it will, but for now, it's bringing me a small amount of joy. Sue me.
Don't look at my hands. Not that you can right now because we can't get near each other, but if you could, you'd be grossed out. My fingernails are down to the nub. My cuticles are torn, dry, and bloody. If you ever wanna know how I'm really doing, look at my hands.
I know I'm making a million mistakes. I don't know what I'm supposed to be right now. I don't know how to manage being a mom and an employee at the same time. I feel like I'm failing at both. I'm not getting good rest. I'm not focused. I am so out of my element. I am not in control. I'm cloudy. This is painful. This is me acknowledging the suck. I am in the suck. I want to be the person that loves this, that is finding this peaceful, that is feeling like this is a breath of fresh air, but I'm not. I'm trying, but I'm trapped by the things I like least about myself. Since Keats has been, so for 5 years, I have embraced my body and thanked it and cherished it for giving me him. I have been comfortable with all my sizes, and I fluctuate a lot. Sometimes I'm in better shape, and sometimes I am chunky and I just roll with it because I am proud of this body. But these past few weeks, I've been tearing myself down. I'm looking at the dimples in my thighs and the things I say to myself are mean. This isn't me and I'm ashamed of how I'm handling this pandemic, that is happening to EVERYONE on earth. I'm such a small part of it. I have so many luxuries right now that many others do not.
For my own sake and for yours, I'm going to practice positivity and write my gratitude: I have the ability to work from home. Keaton's pre-school is not charging us tuition during this time. I get to spend each day with my son. I have a partner who comes home every evening who takes some of the load from me even though he's also worked all day. I have toilet paper. I have the promise of warmer weather. I am healthy. My family is healthy. My friends are healthy. This won't last forever. I will come out of this changed and I don't think I'll be the only one. I have feelings. I am real. Right now I'm tattered and shabby, but I'm real. Tomorrow I will feel all of this again. I might cry, but I'll also laugh and smile. I still won't be in control, but as I'm trying to work, I'll pull Keats onto my lap for the snuggles he's demanding, but we both need, and practice what makes me feel like I am. I'll clean the shit out of something, I'll acknowledge the suck, and I'll write my feelings and keep trying. My light has dimmed, but it hasn't burned out. If this is hard for you too, you're not alone. Like Keats just said to me tonight, "It's just a storm Mommy."
Be well.
I hate that I'm like this. I have SO much to be thankful for and yet my mental health is declining. As I've written before, I take prescription medication to combat depression and anxiety. I doubled my dose of Zoloft on my own since I've been a captive here at home. Even as I type this, I realize how dramatic I sound...referring to myself as a captive in my own home, but y'all know I like to keep it real and earlier this morning as I cried because I couldn't fix the screen door that Keats ripped off the tracks in a fit of rage, I said out loud "There is no escape. I can't escape."
Turns out Keaton and I are a lot alike in that we both have zero patience, and when we are mad at ourselves, or each other, we lash out. And now we are together all day every day and we're on each other's nerves. I understand that his little world has been turned upside down. He no longer has that structure that he got at Pre-K. He's anxious. He's watching too much TV. His new favorite word is "stupid", and he uses it to describe everything. The earlier I come downstairs to try and get some work done before he wakes, the earlier he wakes. He's never tired. I'm always tired. He wants no part of the daily activities suggested by his teacher. Or if he is interested, He is interested for 2 minutes tops, and he won't do it by himself, even after I direct him. And I don't have the skills for this. I tell him every. single. day. multiple times to stop jumping on the couch. Why won't he just stop jumping on the couch? I've carried him kicking and screaming upstairs to his room when he needs disciplined and then stood outside the door and held it closed as he screams and tries to get out. He clearly hates it, but I'm not even sure it's effective. He's always hungry. He wants me to play with him constantly. Because I'm home. Why wouldn't I play with him? I do, but it's never enough. He always needs more. And the guilt that comes with coming back to the cluttered dining room table to try and get some work done is about to the point where I can't bear it. Is there a compromise? If so, I haven't found it. Fact: I'm a mother first. And right now I'm living in constant worry that because of that fact, I won't be productive enough for work. This is impossible.
And you know what the insane thing is? It's that I am also in love with how much time I am getting with my boy. As much frustration as I am feeling, I am grateful for this. It's like a dirt smudged Silver Lining. I love him SO much. The only other time we've gotten this much time together was when he was in my womb and then in his first 3 months of life. He'll be 5 next week. I wonder if he'll remember this when he's older? I doubt it, but I wonder. I've been journaling it in case he doesn't.
I have not been out of my neighborhood since March 20th. I am almost constantly on the verge of tears. I'm trying so hard to stay afloat that those tears start falling at the most awkward times. Like the second I log onto a zoom meeting, which is just so fucking embarrassing. I'm eating too much. I'm working out, but I miss my gym and the people there. I'm angry that Jim is gone all day and then when he gets home, Keats wants all his attention and I get the scraps. I'm scared that Keaton won't be ready for Kindergarten in the fall because I am failing at keeping him engaged with learning during this time. He's been cussing. Yes, I mean Keaton. Is it bad that I love it? Jesus, I know it's frowned upon, but it's so cute and funny. He couldn't get the remote to work and he says "damned it!" Just nonchalantly like it's perfectly natural that he would say that. He threw out a "god damned it" the other day and I had to look away so he wouldn't see me laughing. I don't draw attention to it, I simply tell him not to say those things because they are grown up words. When the Lego car was not going back together and he said "what the fuck" under his breath, I just closed my eyes and when I opened them, he said "Is that a bad word Mommy?" He knows. He. Knows. If I wasn't going to bring attention to it, then he sure as hell was. He's funny! And yes, I know that he's using these words because I obviously use them too much. I'm emotional people. And passionate. And cussing feels good. And you know what? I believe that there are worse things in life that myself and Keaton could both do that are worse than saying cusses. Of course it will have to stop and I have no doubt that it will, but for now, it's bringing me a small amount of joy. Sue me.
Don't look at my hands. Not that you can right now because we can't get near each other, but if you could, you'd be grossed out. My fingernails are down to the nub. My cuticles are torn, dry, and bloody. If you ever wanna know how I'm really doing, look at my hands.
I know I'm making a million mistakes. I don't know what I'm supposed to be right now. I don't know how to manage being a mom and an employee at the same time. I feel like I'm failing at both. I'm not getting good rest. I'm not focused. I am so out of my element. I am not in control. I'm cloudy. This is painful. This is me acknowledging the suck. I am in the suck. I want to be the person that loves this, that is finding this peaceful, that is feeling like this is a breath of fresh air, but I'm not. I'm trying, but I'm trapped by the things I like least about myself. Since Keats has been, so for 5 years, I have embraced my body and thanked it and cherished it for giving me him. I have been comfortable with all my sizes, and I fluctuate a lot. Sometimes I'm in better shape, and sometimes I am chunky and I just roll with it because I am proud of this body. But these past few weeks, I've been tearing myself down. I'm looking at the dimples in my thighs and the things I say to myself are mean. This isn't me and I'm ashamed of how I'm handling this pandemic, that is happening to EVERYONE on earth. I'm such a small part of it. I have so many luxuries right now that many others do not.
For my own sake and for yours, I'm going to practice positivity and write my gratitude: I have the ability to work from home. Keaton's pre-school is not charging us tuition during this time. I get to spend each day with my son. I have a partner who comes home every evening who takes some of the load from me even though he's also worked all day. I have toilet paper. I have the promise of warmer weather. I am healthy. My family is healthy. My friends are healthy. This won't last forever. I will come out of this changed and I don't think I'll be the only one. I have feelings. I am real. Right now I'm tattered and shabby, but I'm real. Tomorrow I will feel all of this again. I might cry, but I'll also laugh and smile. I still won't be in control, but as I'm trying to work, I'll pull Keats onto my lap for the snuggles he's demanding, but we both need, and practice what makes me feel like I am. I'll clean the shit out of something, I'll acknowledge the suck, and I'll write my feelings and keep trying. My light has dimmed, but it hasn't burned out. If this is hard for you too, you're not alone. Like Keats just said to me tonight, "It's just a storm Mommy."
Be well.
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