Your mama is really struggling today. Despite the sunshine and the laughter and the knowing and feeling of just how precious you are and just how incredibly lucky I am, I am struggling.
I feel as though I have fallen into a well of melancholy. I wish I could erase the scene of me bursting into tears in front of you. But it has now firmly planted itself in your elephant like memory. I am just sad. So very sad. I know it will pass.
I love you so very much.
If I got given a Diptyque candle (190g) for every time I felt guilty about being depressed/anxious/stressed and for letting it (negatively) affect my parenting and partnering skills, I wouldn’t necessarily be happier, but my place would just smell divine. On top of all the guilt I feel for feeling the way I do, given the fact that I am well fed, housed, warm and have an incredible little family, I feel the post-rant/hissy fit/frustrated sigh/eye-roll/snapping/yelling/mean comment/etc/etc/etc/ guilt. The two loves of my life have had to deal with some not so nice moments in the past couple of years. What doesn’t make me want to throw myself into the river (and slowly swim myself back to safety) is that they were lucky enough to have thousands and thousands of yummy moments with me. I’m not sure I would have been able to say or write that last sentence a couple of months ago. I was so full up self pity and woe is me creek I wouldn’t have been able to recognise what a great mummy and wife I can be. I am. I AM.
Back to the guilt. I don’t need to tell you how useless it is and to focus on other things and blah blah blah. Most people know that it really is not very productive and feeling bucket loads of it does not make up for being a dick nor erase the pain that can ensue when you do not want to spend every spare minute you have with the kid(s). Despite my disdain for the G monster, it’s getting better. How I’m reacting to it is improving. It’s definitely still there, just not as heart breaking. And guess what I think is causing it?!
MINDFULNESS. My daily meditation practice. Me, dedicating myself to it. Despite more stress from external sources. Despite not knowing if I am getting better at it or not. Even Mr B has noticed that I haven’t gone all “that time of the month” on him for a good while.
I’m trying to not have any expectations of this new practice. That’s a hard thing for me. Really hard. But I’m persevering because I’m not sure there is another way for me to manage these episodes any better. I’m sighing and procrastinating less. Eating better (still eating lots of chocolate). Cooking and baking more. Sleeping better. Crying less and laughing more. Chucking out unnecessary things again. Playing with M more without feeling like it’s the most boring activity in the world. I’ve come to fall in love again with my loves. And that is something I am so grateful for.
It’s been over four months since I posted anything.
Many reasons. I got depressed. I got anxious. Blogging about how awful I felt just did not appeal to me in the slightest. And I kept hoping, or rather, kept promising myself to write another post when I got “better”; when I’d feel an inkling of joy, hope and a sense of looking forward to something. But the days and weeks and months rolled by without a significant change in mood. Life was just suckety fuck. Fuckety suck. My life was in constant black and white with Donnie Darko on repeat.
But things changed. I discovered or rediscovered mindfulness meditation. This time, I signed up to a program called meditationSHIFT. I’m almost through with the 21 day program, but the practice isn’t to end EVER.
And slowly, I feel like the colour is returning. S L O W L Y.