Being Still

"I can enjoy being still". This is one of the many affirmations for being average that we were given at the Perils of Perfectionism conference. I knew that this affirmation was also very high on my personal priority list of "how to stay sane". As I try to stay still to think about the reasons why I can't relax into the moment, I realize that my state of mind is fed by the pressures outside of me that drive me to be actively busy every moment of the day.

For example, today is what I am considering my first actual day of summer holidays. Today there are no kids to get to the bus or out the door to school. There are no schedules to follow. There is absolutely nothing on my calendar- for me or for my kids. I slept in this morning until 9:15 which is the latest I have stayed in bed for a long time...even my internal alarm clock, set for 6:30, seemed to have ignored the snooze button in my brain. But, instead of reveling in the fact that I got a full night's sleep, waking up feeling refreshed, and enjoying the steady pace of my morning, I immediately began to work on my mental "to do" list, at the same time that I started to load the guilt onto myself about staying in bed for so long. The list:

• Laundry (I know it must seem like the laundry is on my mind a lot, but it does seem like an endless job).
• Bills- my kids know to stay away from me when the calculator comes out and my Quicken program pops up on my computer screen.
  
• Cut the grass if it ever stops raining.
  
• Weed flower beds (which is actually therapeutic when I choose to be out there instead of being forced because of the continuous game of catch up that I have been playing with the weeds)
• Make list of teaching responsibilities that I want to accomplish before September- can you tell that I live for my lists!
• Call mechanic about the wiring in my car.
• Call bike repair about my daughter's bike.
• Make list for cottage- ARGGGH another list.
• Email kids' dad about summer schedule.
• Etc, etc, etc...

And when I say "etc." I am not being cliche. When my mind takes over, it literally runs off leaving me to catch up in the distant future. I try to catch myself when I feel this runaway train begin to pull out of the station. With the rumbling of the wheels, and the tugging at my mind I try to put the brakes of perspective on my to do list. Awareness, I have found, is an important first step in trying to slow down my thinking. I am reading, and rereading, a book called Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...and it's all small stuff by Richard Carlson, PH.D. It is composed of a series of very short insights into the workings of our mind and how our lives are dramatically affected by little things. Fortunately, he also gives his readers strategies to try to overcome, or at least reign in, our mindful shortcomings. One of his chapters is entitled Be Aware of the Snowball Effect of Your Thinking. When I was reading this chapter, I felt as though he had secretly tapped into MY mind. Basically he was saying that when our minds begin to think about our endless responsibilities, they become so overactive that we can't slow down and just relax. That train wreck of our thinking just keeps piling up until we are overwhelmed by the supposed mess of our lives. The phrase that he uses is "thought attack". His strategy... The solution is to notice what's happening in your head before your thoughts have a chance to build any momentum. The sooner you catch yourself in the act of building your mental snowball, the easier it is to stop (p.14).

Since reading that chapter a few weeks ago, I have tried to become more aware of how my own "snowball" thinking has a negative impact on my stress level. But, as with any changes that I introduce into my life, it has been very tiny baby steps in slowing my thinking down. What I need to work on in combination with the awareness is the guilt that I feel when I "enjoy being still". This guilt is self-inflicted most of the time. I find that women in particular, tend to justify the need to relax. I'm not sure if this is done intentionally, or if we are hard-wired to think of our responsibilities to others around us before we consider our own mental well-being. And I know it's not only me who has this problem. When I get together with groups of women or even with one or two friends, it's incredible how we go into very specific detail about all of the things that have filled our days and weeks since the last time we were together. With rapt attention, we ooh and aah over the mother who seems to find time to try new recipes, sit on the school committees, involve herself in her child's extra curricular activities, make endless play dates, keep her home looking respectably neat and organized, at the same time that she is moving forward in her successful career. I would love to tap inside the mind of that woman to understand if she is truly happy. So, why do we listen? Why do we give each other the reward of our attention, continuing this vicious cycle of "not being still"? I wish I knew, and I also wish I knew how to get the message out to more women to slow down and to be still. I want to take the pressure off myself, and feel the pleasure of the moment.

So here is my revised list for today, now that I've peacefully enjoyed my coffee, and written my stress onto my blog:

• have another coffee
• weed part of my flower bed with my favourite songs playing on my iPod
• only 2 loads of laundry
• call a friend
• one teaching task today
• go to the library and sign out some Chick Lit

Realistically, I know that more responsibilities will get pushed into my day, but at least my mind will be able to make room for them, instead of feeling the push and squeeze of yet another thing to do.

A Purpose

Yesterday morning, I received a phone call that will change the course of my life and set me on another path. It isn't a path that I didn't expect, nor is it one that I didn't have a hand in creating. However, it is one that wasn't completely in my control. I was offered a job- a simple job offer that caused a complex assortment of thoughts and emotions to run through me.

Twelve and a half years ago, I changed the direction of my life away from the career that my new job offer was now pointing me in. At that time, I had been teaching primary education for almost eight years. It was a career that I cared passionately about, and one that I felt driven to succeed in. I wanted to inspire that drive in the students who I taught. Fate stepped in, however, with plans for my life that caught me off guard. Pregnant with my third child, a prenatal diagnosis of spina bifida and hydrocephalus was made in my third trimester. Simply explained, the spinal column of the baby had not completely formed along one section of the spine, allowing the spinal cord to actually protrude through this opening, forming a blister-like sac on the baby's back. Because the flow of spinal fluid is disrupted, the fluid backs up into the ventricles of the brain causing the brain to swell. My baby was going to be born with this tongue-twisting, medically frightening sounding disability. She would require spinal surgery and brain surgery within the first few days of her life. Looking back now, this time in my life is an excellent example of when my perfectionism served me and my child in the best way possible. I got my hands on every piece of literature relating to spina bifida that I could find. I was relentless in communicating with other parents, with medical professionals, even with kids who were living with spina bifida. I wanted the best life possible for my baby. But, the only way I could do that was by making the choice to leave my career. In my mind, it was an easy choice. How could I focus on teaching other people's children and give them the best education, and the concern that they deserved when all I could think about was what was best for my family? The energy and passion that I had previously poured into my teaching was much better utilized in nurturing my own children. My time and attention had to be shared between all three of them. Even though my youngest had the most obvious physical needs, I was also worried that my oldest daughter would feel the weight of the responsibility of being the first born. I was worried that my son- my active, rambunctious, attention demanding son- would feel the negativity of my wrath instead of the encouragement he needed to be his own person. I needed to be there for all of them. My youngest daughter is considered a miracle, not only to her family, but also to many of the medical professionals who have been part of her life since before she was born. I got to witness this miracle every day. With tears filling my eyes, I got to hold out my arms to her when she took her first steps on her own- years before we were told she ever would. THIS is why it was an easy choice.

My youngest daughter is now 12 years old. Simple things make her happy, and she is everyone's friend. She is my daily reminder of appreciation and hope.

When I got that phone call yesterday, and listened to the principal offer me a half time grade 2/3 position, the emotions and the memories that coursed through me in a span of no more than 30 seconds, were overwhelming. I was proud to have been chosen from a pile of more than 40 resumes; I was excited to be starting something new; I was terrified to add more change to my life; I was filled with hope and a new sense of purpose. For so many years, my purpose had been to be a mother. It had defined who I was. But now, the timing is right to expand my purpose, and to go back down the path that I thought I had strayed from and would never find my way back to. I know my kids will be fine- more than fine. I know my kids will be the best that they can be, and I will have helped them to get there. Now is the time for me to allow myself to start living a new life that is waiting for me.

Welcome to a Bad Day

I don't know why this happens on certain days and not others. Today started like any other day- in fact better than most days. The weather was sunny and hot. I had a teaching job at one of my favourite schools with a group of kids who were easy to be with. My two oldest kids were happy to be able to sleep in. My youngest daughter was excited to go to school because of the "fun" of the last week. Then what happened? I wish I could explain it, or even better, prevent it, or at least recognize the signs more clearly.

This moment, as I'm writing this, I have an uncontrollable feeling of wanting to cry. Part of this feeling is directly related to the timing of my monthly cycle. However, part of it is also because of the constant churning and chugging of my mind. I was going to post this later tonight- after supper, after cleaning up, after laundry, after my youngest daughter was in bed, after, after, after... Then I realized that the whole reason for creating this blog was to help me through moments exactly like this. I need to write to help fight off this exact kind of demon that seems to have instantaneously possessed me.

The way I feel right now can be compared to a water balloon as it slowly gets filled up with a substance that wasn't meant for the balloon in the first place. It stretches to accommodate this foreign matter, despite the fact that its shape becomes distorted, and its capacity limit is almost at the bursting point. Ultimately, the balloon can take no more, explodes, breaking into small fragments that do not even resemble its original form.

How on earth does this compare to my state of mind? Let me take you on the journey of my day. When I came home from teaching, I was hot and sweaty, and felt a little nauseous from the heat and the smell of sweaty little bodies that seemed to linger on me from a classroom of 20 grade one students. I wanted to lay down, just for a minute. Thus, the stretching of my mind began. When I walked into my house, it was blessedly cool. I heard the sound of my son and one of his friends in the basement. All good things which should have calmed my mind. I should have followed my instincts, and gone straight to my bed. I tried, but that ever-consuming guilt we feel as mothers started to set in. How could I be away at work all day, and not want to spend every minute of my home time with my kids? The stretching begins again. Once it started, it was like a train wreck piling up, totally out of my control. The chores that I had left for my son to do had not even been started. There were phone messages to return, mail to open, bags to unpack, lunches to clean up. Why is it that teenagers have tunnel vision when it comes to picking up anything that belongs to them- freezie packages, pop cans, movie cases, paper towels, phones (never on the receiver!!!), dirty clothes, clean clothes, empty cups, etc. Suddenly, my house seemed filled with garbage, dust bunnies, dirt, wet footprints, and dead bugs. I could feel the grit under my bare feet as I walked across every floor in my house. The water balloon of my mind was growing.

The state of my house and the fatigue from my day are obvious causes of my mind warp. But, as I said, once it starts stretching, it keeps going, thinking that it can accommodate just a few more drops of stress. I added my mail pile to my bills, instantly triggering the financial worry button which in turn, prompts me to go online to check my finances. I have yet to figure out why I think staring at a bunch of numbers on a computer screen is going to make me feel in any way proactive about my finances. Log out of that screen. Have a cool drink instead- no, that doesn't work either as the mommy guilt returns. My mind becomes trapped in parent mode as I begin to think about the summer schedule and the social life of my kids. Really, I can't remember one time when I was a child, seeing my mother upset about our supposed lack of social outings. There will definitely be more about this in a future post as I try to curb that "super mom" peer pressured instinct with a more practical, sanity saving parenting style.

I change out of my hot clothes, feeling bloated and sweaty- nice picture! I wash the grime of the day off my face, see the bags under my eyes, the spots and blemishes of an over 40 face. The study of my appearance makes the balloon bulge into a grotesque, misshapen blob.

Somehow, I manage to reheat leftovers to feed my children, in between wiping the dripping water off the floor as my daughter walks through the whole house in a wet bathing suit. The water seems to have comingled quite nicely with the dust bunnies into a science experiment of mutant fur balls. Stretching even more...my son (yes, the same one who slept in til 11 and did not complete any of his chores) wants money to go to Mac's with his friend. ERUPT! I officially became a person I don't recognize. I went to my room, opened my blog, and started to type. Unbelievably, as I sit here sharing my melt down, the urge to cry and the buzzing in my head have both weakened. I feel like I can begin to piece back the fragments of my balloon. I feel like I can rejoin the life of my family without the foreign matter of stress spoiling my time with them- at least for now.

The Case of the Missing Son

I'll begin the post with a happy ending. My son is home safe, and he really wasn't "missing", but of course in my mind he was. I think today's post is more a case of my paranoia and worry as a mother, which I think are both quite normal when dealing with two teenagers and one tween in the same household.

Yesterday, my 14 year old son completed his last exam for the year, and successfully ended his first year of high school. Of course, this meant that a celebration of some sort was required. Although, in the minds of teenagers, I think that finishing each week of high school tends to require celebration. With regards to yesterday though, my son and a group of his friends decided to congregate at the home of one of his classmates following the exam. It's funny how the choice of homes strongly correlates with the working hours of the parents. I will give my son credit though- he did call to let me know where he was- at 1:00 in the afternoon. I was probably more accommodating to him than I might normally have been for a few reasons. It was the last day of school for him; it was a picture perfect hot summer day; and I was so relieved that he finally had a group of friends to hang out with. When I first moved into town almost three years ago, my son had a difficult time adjusting to the new home and in finding new friends. He attended school outside of the town limits, and his friends lived miles away. He spent countless hours reading, playing his X-Box, watching tv all on his own when he was at my place. It was a constant worry for me, and a very sensitive subject between the two of us. In his mind, he was unhappy because he was at a house, in a town where he didn't want to be, all because mom left. There were many tears, many loud arguments between us. I love my son dearly, but I was literally drained from his negative energy and his angry outbursts. I finally stopped trying so hard. I knew that I was doing everything I could to help him adjust, to help him understand that his life was never going to be the same as it was when his dad and I were together. I had to let him digest and come to terms with this in his own way. I'm sure there will be many more posts about this mother/son relationship as it has caused me much happiness, but also much worry- in a very different way than what I experience with my daughters.

Then, a few weeks ago, a small miracle occurred in my home. I came home from a day of teaching, and I heard voices, laughing, joking, and a very loud X-Box in the basement. My son had finally invited a couple of his buddies over after school. They ended up staying for supper, they played basketball (quite a scene since one of the boys has a broken leg and was in a motorized wheelchair, and the boys seemed to think he required an on-board navigator when he had the ball), they went for a bike/wheelchair ride. I haven't seen my son that relaxed or at ease in our home in a very long time. Even my oldest daughter made a comment about how unusual it was for her brother to have friends here, and also how much fun he seemed to be having. Since then, the group of boys has grown, and the camaraderie between them is a blessing to watch.

With all of these thoughts going through my head on a daily basis (I have to have something to worry about every minute of every day), I was very accommodating to my son when he said he was going to hang out with his friends after the exam yesterday. I was relieved. I continued on with my day, as I had a job interview, then I had to pick up my youngest daughter after school, make supper, and then I remembered that I hadn't heard from my son since 1:00. Just as I was starting to wonder where he might be, he wheeled into the driveway with his backpack, on someone else's bike, explaining that he was just dropping off his backpack and then going back to Kevin's house.
Mom: But have you eaten?
Son: Ordered pizza
Mom: When? Do you need supper?
Son: I'm full
Mom: What are you doing now?
Son: Going back to Kevin's to hang out
Mom: For how long?
Son: Don't know
Mom: What are your plans?
Son: Don't have any
Mom: Well how long will you be?
Son: Don't know
Mom: Can you let me know?
Son: K
Mom: When?
Son: I think we are going to a soccer game, then to a party at Krista's
Mom: Whose Krista?
Son: You don't know her
Mom: How late will you be?
Son: Don't know, gotta go mom.
Mom: Have fun (waving at his back as he biked down the street)

Was that wrong? I had no idea who Krista was, where she lived, how long he would be. He was still in town, so how much trouble could he really get into? By the time it was almost 11:00 and he still wasn't home, let me tell you, my mind had conjured up many horrible visions of just what could go wrong with a group of teenagers on a hot summer night on the last day of school- even in a small town. To say I was panicked, would be an understatement. My son doesn't have a cell phone (coming soon now though), and I had no idea who "Krista" was. I called the last known residence where my son had been sighted- Kevin's. I talked to Kevin's older sister who helpfully gave Krista's last name. Her and her father seemed completely unfazed by the fact that these boys were at a party on a Monday night. I should have been relieved. Even my oldest daughter (who was extremely annoyed with my constant questions and worries by this point) told me to stop worrying, he would be okay. I was okay, for about five minutes...then my mind took over. Were they supervised, maybe he was drinking and he had overindulged, and was at this moment passed out from alcohol poisoning, or he had tried to walk home in a drunken haze and had fallen in the town river. I kid you not, these thoughts were in my head as clearly as though they were actually happening. I couldn't stand it anymore. I looked up Krista's last name in the phone book- as luck would have it there was only one in the book. Please remember, this is now about 11:00 on a Monday night.
Mom: Hello, I'm looking for my son, and I think he is at your place.
Man on the Phone (who sounds a bit sleepy, and also kind of like a very old man): Pardon me, who do you want?
Mom (who suddenly wondered why this man sounded so tired and old): I was told that there was some sort of party at your place tonight...you know the kids from school were getting together because it's the last day of school.
Man on the Phone: And what would be your son's name?
Mom (ok, even though I don't hear any sounds of a party, he wants to know my son's name so there must be kids there): His name is ... (I proceeded to give his full name- first and last)
Man on the Phone: And why would he be here?
Mom: Because there is a school party there....right?
Man on the Phone: I'm sorry you really do have the wrong number
Mom: Oh, I'm so sorry
Click.

My oldest daughter suddenly remembered that Krista doesn't have the same last name as her mom since her mom was remarried. Too late, I had already made a complete fool of myself to a strange man who now has my son's full name, and is probably wondering why I don't know where my son is. My daughter had a vague idea of where this Krista lived, but really, I couldn't drive over there. I didn't want to seem like that kind of a mother. So I asked my daughter to drop in for a visit...at the home of a girl she barely knew, to check up on her brother. She looked at me like I had two heads, rolled her eyes at me, and then continued to pore over her study notes for the next day's Biology exam.

When I thought I was going to literally lose my mind from worry, I heard the door open.

Son: Hi Mom
Mom: (with as normal a voice as possible) Did you have fun?
Son: Yeah it was ok
Mom: ( with relief spilling out of every pore) Omigod I was so worried, I thought you were drunk, had alcohol poisoning, had fallen in the river, I called some old man looking for you, I was going to send your sister out looking for you!!!!
Son: Yeah mom, I drank jello shooters all day, and I'm completely drunk(insert very sarcastic tone here). I'm hungry, is there anything to eat?
Mom: I'm so happy you're home.

Welcome to the mind of a very over protective mother. Help required!!!
And I get to replay this scene every weekend until grade 12 graduation.

Big Baby Steps Today!

My Posting title sounds contradictory, as the baby steps are meant to be small changes. But, these small changes today were BIG for me.

The Scene: Family BBQ get together for Father's Day at my house.
The Big Baby Steps: We used paper plates- inside at my dining table.
Everyone got their own drinks all day long.
I sat at the table and visited after we were done eating, but before I cleaned off the entire table.
I loaded the dishwasher after everyone left.

Sounds crazy, I know.
I still have a headache.

A Day of Remembering

Since my father passed away in 1990, Father's Day has always been bittersweet for me. The first year was excruciatingly difficult, as Dad died only a couple of weeks before Father's Day. I remember going to his grave site, standing beside the fresh dirt mound, reading his name over and over on the brand new headstone. At that point, it seemed impossible that he was really gone. I desperately wanted to know where he was, what he was thinking, was he lonely, did he miss us as much as we missed him? I do believe in some kind of after life. I have to. I can't believe that the people we love just stop existing. It can't be that final. How can someone who was part of forming who you became as a person, just suddenly disappear and be gone? In my mind, this is not the way that it is. I remember my dad's words, the sound of his voice, his lame jokes, his love for his family, as clearly as though I had just spoken to him last week.

Over the years, Father's Day has become much easier for our family. My mom married a wonderful man- a man who is a father to me and a grandpa to my kids in every sense of the word. My brothers both became fathers. My own children celebrate with their father. Even though I am no longer married to their dad, it is important to me that my children continue to make memories of their own with their father. It breaks my heart to have a family gathering without my children, but it would hurt me more to know that I was in any way hindering the child/father relationship that my kids share with their dad.

In some ways, I think the people that have come and gone in our life, take on an almost "angelic" celebrity status in our minds. Whether this is someone who has passed away, a lost love who broke our heart, a close friend who moved away. Years later, they become the perfect person in our minds- someone who worked hard, was there for us, was fun to be with, was passionate about life and what was important in life. This helps me to cope with the loss. How sad would it be if the people who are no longer part of our lives, could only be remembered with bitterness or sadness or heartbreak. Or if the good memories that we have become overshadowed by the feelings of betrayal. I want to remember only the good, even if it seems as though I am putting my dad up on a pedestal that never really stood that tall when he was alive. What an honour to him, that the goodness he lived and showed in his life, not only continued on long after he is gone, but has grown and touched a whole new generation of his family.

I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day.

The Perils of Perfectionism

I'm going to hit the ground running with my first "meaty" post.

I always knew that my perfectionism helped feed my state of mind. But, as with many things in our lives, it didn't seem to be a priority considering all of the other issues constantly thrown into any woman's life- children, jobs, partners, homes... However, four years ago, my state of mind forced its way to the top of my "to do" list, when I found myself sitting in the emergency room of the local hospital unable to stop crying, feeling panicky, overwhelmed, truly unable to control or help myself. It was the wake up call I needed to be proactive about making changes in my life, and recognizing that I needed help to make those changes.

Thinking back to that time makes me appreciate the progress that I have made. But, last weekend's conference helped me to acknowledge that I still have a journey ahead of me. I can never push my mental health to the back of my mind again. However, being the perfectionist that I am, I want to be "perfect" at helping myself which is going to get me nowhere. At the conference we learned to recognize that perfectionism isn't always a bad thing. It helped to get us where we are today. It gave us the drive to be successful at whatever we put our minds to. But, we also learned how to see when we had crossed the line into a state of unhealthiness where our lives were being compromised. It's one thing to have a neat, tidy home, but quite another to have your soup cans alphabetized, and your closet colour coordinated. We were also introduced to strategies that would help us to form a plan to balance our lives. Much focus was placed on taking baby steps when putting our individual plans into action. Otherwise, the vicious cycle of our perfectionism would take hold as we would set unrealistic goals, not be able to achieve the results we wanted, and then fall back into despair as we felt like we had failed.

At the end of the day, we were asked to sit in a circle to face each other so we could draw support from these women who knew exactly what we were thinking and feeling. We were handed a list of affirmations that we were to read every morning to keep our plans on track. These were not the typical affirmations that we were used to brainwashing ourselves with such as: I will be the best person that I can be today; I will prepare the best snack for play group today so that these parents know that I care about my child; I will go to the gym and run for two hours on the treadmill to lose those last five pounds, etc. The affirmations we were handed were giving us permission to be average. They allowed us to be human, to be imperfect, to be still. We each had to choose the one affirmation that touched us right now at this point in our lives, and then share the baby step we would take to give ourselves permission to be "not perfect".

"My main responsibility is to be true to myself- to be me". This was the affirmation that I chose. My baby step- I want to walk outside in the pouring rain and not care what my hair looks like". Although this brought a few chuckles, this was a milestone for me in showing that I didn't care what other people thought of me. I am on my way to leading the life that reflects the values and morals that I think are important, not what my neighbour, my friends, or the lady at the donut shop thinks are important. I am finally giving myself permission to be me.

One More Etiquette Item

Oops, I forgot to mention a couple of more important etiquette rules (a rule in my world anyway). Please try to keep the language as inoffensive as possible. I'm not a prude, but sometimes the overuse of certain words, for no good reason other than shock value, can seem to devalue the content of the message.
Also, if giving personal anecdotal examples, please do not mention full names, or even better, change the names of the people involved. The message is what is important, not the names of the people.
To the women of my personal social network, please do not worry that I will use any of your names, or photos without your consent. As I said, this is my personal journal, and I want to be welcoming, not offensive.

All business matters taken care of! The next post will get into the meat of my mind- not as scary as it sounds I hope.

Etiquette

Welcome to "The Chocolate of Women"

Before I begin this new journey into cyberspace with my fellow women cybernauts, I want to get a few business details out of the way first.

I am brand new to blogging, so I am asking you to be patient with me as I slowly climb the learning curve. The idea for this blog literally materialized at the crack of dawn on a morning that I woke up with an open calendar, but a very full to do list. Thus, began the task of prioritizing that list into something manageable for that day, which requires a lot of self-direction, and no room for procrastination. The "To Do" list quickly got pushed aside as the ideas for my very own blog continued to snowball in my mind, and then rolled out onto my computer screen. As my snowball grew, so did the task of learning the lingo of blogging, and creating the actual blog page. The rest is now on screen history.

Along with your patience, I am also asking for your positive thoughts and energy. I have no intention of making this blog an outlet for male bashing , stay-at-home vs. working mother , perfectionist vs. let life be as it may be, married vs. single, young vs. old, big vs. small, or the myriad of other competitions we set up for ourselves throughout our lives. My intention is to welcome an audience for my personal journal. In the process, I hope to learn from other women and draw strength from their thoughts and ideas.

Let us support one another, and listen to each other.