I think there is something about any holiday that brings out the worst in people. My worst? Anxiety. With a tablespoon of more anxiety. And pinch of more anxiety for good measure.
April is also quite a busy month for me and it expanded this year since the smaller child decided that she will also play baseball. So I have decided it would be best to make my new home the baseball diamond through June. I’m actually never even really home anymore, I just know that I get the bare minimum (if that) of sleep there every night. So it made total sense for me to volunteer my house as the spot for my mom’s birthday dinner, the day before Easter.
I was having a good day at 4 PM on Thursday. It was my 5 PM on a Friday. I came home to the kitchen and bathroom trash thrown around my freshly mopped house (thanks, Wrigley) and the realization that I underestimated school lunches for the week and needed to go to the store that day. I rushed through the grocery store Thursday night, battling the rain, exhaustion and two kids bickering. I filled my cart full of groceries that would ideally last for the next week or two and the last minute things I needed for my mom’s dinner and Easter. I reminded myself that I was off the next day and would go back to bed for a little while after taking the kids to school and it is not the time to break down. Ha. Liar. That was my silver lining all week after a particularly exhausting week at both home and work and I blew it.
Friday comes and goes (because I didn’t sleep in and spent all day being busy) or so it seems. I get the heart-breaking news that the light of the East Side/Little Flower/Irvington community has tragically died in a car crash. A kind soul, friend to everyone (especially my brother and cousin but apparently every single person on Facebook too), with the brightest future ahead of him. I get the news and worry about telling my brother. I’m right in the middle of family movie night so I tell myself it is not the time to break down. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to be the one that broke the news to anyone else, only confirming that the story is very real. I go to bed and tell myself that tomorrow is a new day and maybe I can sleep in a little. (I lie to myself a lot.)
Side note: If you feel compelled to donate to David’s family, you can do so here.
For some absolutely ridiculous reason I decide to rush up out of bed and drag my poor family to a dog Easter egg hunt before spending all afternoon in my kitchen. An hour before the party I frantically realize I bought the wrong type of rolls and didn’t have three hours to spend waiting for yeast to rise. I pause and tell myself this is not the time to break down. I wipe the hot tears forming on my cheek away and inform Billy that I have to run to the grocery store the day before Easter and an hour before people are scheduled to arrive. Noodles still boiling in a large pot on the stove, I give Billy rushed instructions on what to do because they will be finished by the time I get back followed by “I still have to dice the chicken, I don’t have time for this shit” before running out the door sans cell phone in the rain. And return only to cry in my kitchen for a moment because my homemade mashed potatoes are somehow soupy. This is not the time for a break down. I somehow survive the day.
Naturally, I repeat the scenario the next day by not having enough noodles and making more macaroni and cheese 15 minutes prior to the start time. I rush out of the grocery store and text Billy to see if he’ll clean the large pot I left in the sink and boil some water after wiping more tears away. This is not the time for a break down, I remind myself. I finish just minutes before we’re set to leave allowing me some time to freshen my make-up and beg my kids to pose for a picture. The little one didn’t feel like cooperating so I again held back tears and decided to just drop the idea. I took my pain medicine because on top of all of this, my fibromyalgia decided to flare up leaving me in unbearable pain.
So when is the time for that break down? When do I have a moment to just let out all the stress? I don’t have room to squeeze in a mental break down because my calendar is pretty full this month. But I had this realization that I just keep telling myself I have to keep it together. It is not the time for a break down. I force myself to be this strong woman that refuses to cry in front of others or over what others might see as small and trivial, like buying the wrong type of dinner rolls. This isn’t keeping me strong. This is only bottling up all my rage, frustration, anxiety and tears that will one day just explode. I use all these calming techniques on my daughter as she still navigates her feelings and I remind her that it is okay to cry and talk about her feelings whenever she needs to but I tell myself to shut up because it is just not the time.
I push self-care and leaving abusive relationships, but here I am, gas-lighting myself and not letting myself do anything cathartic like crying or taking a moment to say “I’m not okay” and sitting down for a second. I’m doing more harm than good on myself. No wonder my chronic pain and GERD have been flaring up lately. No wonder I’m so drained every single day. My brain is tired of being in survival mode and I think it triggered my entire body to do everything it could to slow me down this weekend. All the things normal people wouldn’t be so bothered by but broke me, my body hurting, my GERD flaring up — all my brain telling me to slow my roll and just sit down. I should’ve been telling myself it was okay to cry, sit, not have my house looking perfect, allowing Billy to do the dishes and that it was totally fine to sit in the door frame next to Addy while still watching baseball. All the things that I internally battled myself on.
This post may sound like me griping, and maybe that is the majority of it. But if you take something from it, I hope it’s that you realize you shouldn’t be like me. Don’t wait for your body to force you down when you’re stressed. Your house doesn’t have to be perfect, you could probably skip the rolls all together, and take a real day off sometimes. Take care of yourself, but for real. I didn’t and now I’m exhausted, I have bottled up tears (that will probably come out tonight after I’m home from a two hour long baseball practice) and the taste of antacids and a sour stomach in my mouth.