A fight or flight diary.

In the heat of the moment, I admit that while in my body I thought it was the right decision to make. After all in fight or flight, nothing in your body is rational. I have been working on this; it's hard and it's beautiful. It leaves no excuses when things don't feel right on the inside, that's what doing this inner work process is... it's a big step into meeting yourself again and ripping away the layers that don't serve you, wrapping boundaries floor to ceiling and recognizing the things that make your body feel volcanic.

Yesterday I walked out of a moving vehicle. More like jumped rather and because I am agile I was able to jog a few steps out of the car, ever so lovingly shut the door and walked to the sidewalk. I was out. My children were in the car, my husband driving. All in disbelief, worry and I'm sure other varying emotions I set off for them (you're welcome). The thought of getting out of the space entered my head and I acted. There was no pro or con list, my body wanted out in attempt to not scream profanity, cry and do another regretful act so I opened the door and exited while it was moving. 

There's no condoning this behavior I admit. And I will tell you the argument slash conversation did not indeed warrant this action. At all. Something was felt so intensely in my body that I felt like I needed to flee the scene. I felt like I was being attacked and being in an enclosed vehicle was unsafe. (Again, also not the case, but the visceral feelings inside myself were undeniable). 

I of course later apologized to everyone at different times for my poor actions, but in the moment of leaving I felt free on the sidewalk, open air.

What was it that triggered me to this point of explosion? A comment and tone threw me into overdrive. For me, I felt a deep responsibility for everyone's well-being, current state and personal items. . I never wanted this responsibility, but somehow I became a "keeper" of items, information, dates, snacks, cleanliness, schedules, personal hygiene, accounting, meals, and answers. I'm tired and recently most days I feel like I have raised beautiful, loving, brilliant, deep, but also inept and incapable monsters. I say that both lovingly and seriously. How did I become the keeper of things when I am typically looking at things undone in the house? How was I to blame for this lost item? This unanswered question? This calendar mishap? The child's cavity?

{Please don't read into this that my husband is blaming me or expecting me to know and track any of this, but it gets tracked. Some of it needs to be tracked, some is a difference of priority}. 

Example of my brain wiring: me nagging if the girls actually brushed their teeth or if they just grazed over them. While excessive, the reason is this:  if child doesn't brush teeth well, child gets cavity. Child has dental phobia and cavity will cause pain. Parent will have to find the best alternate route to get cavity filled that is both affordable, child friendly and non toxic. Parent will have to do mindless, miserable calls to weigh options. Parent will then lament about how pricey it is on top of anxiety inducing for child with phobia and parent who has to keep her calm. Yep, these are real thought processes in my head. They are pretty sexy aren't they?

Perhaps a more even keel person would let the cavity happen and cross the bridge if it comes. The person writing this is trying to prevent future stress and financial burden from happening before it happens in turn creating stress from combating a problem that hasn't even existed yet. Pretty neat, huh?

In the moments I feel the lowest I know someone out there is calling me privileged, or fragile, or both (or maybe psycho who knows?) and it brings more unnecessary guilt for already having feelings of unworthiness and despair among having a good life. And the silencing myself serves no one, privileged or not.

You see. I do. I do have a good life. But the lack of direction, gumption, inability to focus and what feels like constant interruption is killing my soul slowly. Currently.

"Why did you ever stop singing?" He asked. My reply: kids. Most of the singing gigs didn't jive with young children schedule and apparently I am the most inflexible person for not trying. It's not their fault, it's mine. I made the choice, heavily influenced by my palpable anxiety, not to juggle the things I once loved prior to children. Most of it is unconscious or simply too hard for my brain to handle both. Focus has always been a challenge, but exponentially harder for me to step aside physically and mentally when interruptions are near and clutter is in view. I despise and resent this about my wiring.

The truth is it's an easy excuse. It doesn't make it untrue that those minions get in the way and some days I regret not doing things and others I don't. 

I sit here typing in my grandmother's yellow chair. The material is worn and velvety. It brings me calm. Tears roll down my face. I both want my kids to see me as a human and both do not as it will have to attach an explanation to the tears. "Why are you crying mommy?" It may be followed by harder tears and a "because I feel I have no value and live in clutter and I cannot seem to think clearly to start something. I'm crying because I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm feeling like I'm climbing my way through sludge right now and I am constantly on edge because something ultimately fails. I'm sad because no matter what I do for my health I cannot for the life of me figure out how to not see a few parts with ungodly disgust. I'm sad because I continually fail to be the parent I envisioned and I have hurt those I love deeply. Perhaps I am grieving that part as I watch two girls grow up and feel like I could have done better. If only...

If only what though?

If only I started the work on myself earlier? If only I was a normal human who got their hair and body treatments done regularly? If only the counters were clean? If only I would be a model partner to my husband? If only I could walk around the house and see love in the crumbs on the floor, and paint chips on the sill, ignore the dirty grout and see joy in art and toys strewn around. I then question if something is wrong with me? Why does this bother me? I wonder if my girls will remember me as happy or as the parent who hung out washing dishes, nagging and sweeping the floors. How can my human-ness be a service for them when I am not proud of the things that exit my mouth? "Don't you know that my life sucks?" I will say. Not proud of that one among others. After profuse apologizing, explaining it's on me and not on them I can look at some of it as information. These words. These feelings INSIDE my body, so deeply embedded, they are information. What are they trying to tell me? (Or you if you resonate?) 

Do they see me at home doing 1950 house wife-y things. Is this what I want them to strive for? (I suppose if that's what they want and are happy then, great.) Do I make it look fulfilling? Do I want to make it look fulfilling? How can I change my narrative and actions to be a more consistently joyful parent? What do I want them to know about being a mother? What would their life look like if I was fulfilled? In my facade life I imagine that if the house was clean and the deck wasn't falling apart and if my skin was clear and if the garden grew, the weeds were pulled, and my mind was clear, then and only then I could start whatever it is that brings me fulfillment. Rational me knows this is a facade, but this imagery creeps in like vines tethering itself to my soul. Every crumb, blemish, dirty dish, whiny child, strewn laundry is a direct reminder of my failures. 

Honestly I want to let go of responsibility, pressure and I suppose fear (future events appearing real). I mean, most of this I am putting on myself in my own little reality, but some of this is in the nature of our family dynamic.

Life is such a twist and turn of events... a ride of arriving at a place you always wanted and realizing it's not that magical, realizing you can love someone so fiercely and also not want to be around them, realizing that just because you feel responsible for someone doesn't mean you are, realizing you want your babies to understand all the emotions and cycles of life, but not to be one of the perpetrators in learning some. 

All I ever wanted was to stay home with my babies and live up to this gold standard of teaching, presence, adventure and all it encompassed, only to be met with an C grade. It does not mean I don't love them, it means I have to be okay with something inevitably failing.

Something will always fail. Something will always fail. Something will always fail. 

Be it your spouse, your kids, your profession, your sex life, your home, the kind of friend you are or yourself. This is not the end all be all, by fail, I mean, look at it as information; not the result. Perhaps this deserves a reframe- falling rather than failing if that resonates. As long as there's an expectation there, something will inevitable fall to the wayside. This failure does not negate all the happy, joyful moments, though it feels it should cancel it out, but for me, it can feel immobilizing. You cannot be everything to everyone and on the days you try to convince yourself otherwise, you might find yourself walking out of a moving vehicle.

I don't have some shiny magical quote to end with. I only have this honesty. These feelings are evocative, and they have crept in, renting a room in my psyche without paying rent. I am trying. And maybe the only way to move through whatever swampy grounds I'm in is to set these feelings free to the universe. 

And with that I leave you with my bedtime prayer that I learned in exercise class. 

(Maybe I do have a magical quote...)

    My worth is equal to yours, and your worth is equal to mine beloved.

To those who shame or I have shamed, my worth is equal to yours and your worth is equal to mine.

To those who fail or I have failed, my worth is equal to yours and your worth is equal to mine.

To those who blame or I have blamed, my worth is equal to yours and your worth is equal to mine.

To those who guilt or I have guilted, my worth is equal to yours and your worth is equal to mine.

For we are one, beloved. Divine faith, divine magic, home to my love.