This is a re-post from last year. Enjoy!
“Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” – Benjamin Franklin
I’m getting lots of hits on my blog today from folks using the search term “irish car bomb” because of this previous post: Irish Car Bombs, Crying, Jello Shots, Family, Tequila…It Must Be Christmas!. Most are, I’m assuming looking for the recipe, so here’s my PSA for St. Patrick’s Day (I’m a poet and don’t even know it)….
IrishCarBomb.com, where you can learn everything you always wanted to know about the Irish Car Bomb. ‘Tis magically delicious! 
I’m also adding this Irish Blessing because I am 1/2 Irish and it has meaning to me. We sang it at my high school graduation and was also the prayer used at my father’s funeral. No better place than an Irish funeral for an Irish Car Bomb.
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May the rains fall soft upon your fields,
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.
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“Once you lose yourself, you have two choices: find the person you used to be, or lose that person completely.” — H.G. Wells
I had this post all planned out, well, for the most part anyway. And then I found this quote by this author who I adore. Who I even harbored a crush on when in my adolescence I first saw old footage of him when he was young. This quote made me stop and think and this post may go in a completely different direction because of it. A more positive direction.
When I started this blog I was new at exploring all the different roles I fill in life, setting boundaries and trying new things. I was like an eager student after reading her first great work of literature. I felt empowered, strong, adventurous and great about myself.
It didn’t stick. I’ve written a lot lately about guilt, perfectionism and beating myself up excessively and without restraint. I’ve noticed too that I’ve fallen back into some of my old people pleasing patterns. I’m sure part of it is grief over losing my friend but I believe there is more to it than that.
I’m considering the possibility that it’s easy for me to see myself and be myself, free of people pleasing behaviors when I am not part of a couple. I don’t want out, hubby and I are doing just fine. In fact, I feel closer to him than ever before in our 22 year history together. It’s me. It seems that at some point after we reunited after our 5 month separation I slowly began to lose myself again. It’s as if I allow myself to become swallowed up in the “we” and forget me. Luckily this time around the “we” is working well. He’s the first one to point out when I am trying to people please or when I need time to myself. I started to write about how I need to get back to that person I used to be. But this quote….what if it’s ok that I’m not who I used to be? Again. I was a different person in 2008 than I was from 1997-2007. Why not another different person this year? What if that’s the whole point of this current identity crisis.
It has also been suggested to me by someone I trust that the possibility exists that I don’t like myself. At first that didn’t ring true but then she gave an example. She knows a man who doesn’t like his son. They are wired differently and butt heads over everything. I’m guessing the father wants the son to be a certain way and the son is not that way and so the father doesn’t like him. It’s a sad story. The father is hard on his son, figuratively beating him up all the time. When this was suggested to me I was both the father and the son in the example. The idea being that I don’t like myself so I beat myself up in some self-destructive effort to get me to be who I want to be.
It sounds strange. Maybe too much psycho-babble for most. But the more I consider this possibility the more it starts to make sense. I want to feel like I felt in 2008 but I don’t. So I beat myself up for it. But what if what I really need is to be someone different entirely. Some new version of me. Yes, I do still need to find myself again but what I find may not be what I expected. It’s mind blowing.
In fact, I’m not happy with how long it’s taking for me to complete my psych degree. I’ve always joked that I’ll be 72 before I get to treat patients but I’m starting to actually believe that lately. I’ve been reading a bit about Life Coaching and know my friend Dawn has nothing but wonderful things to say about her Life Coach. I have begun to wonder if this could be one way to work in a field similar to my chosen field of psychology while continuing to pursue my degree. No, I won’t be analyzing anyone’s past or diagnosing anyone with anything but I would be helping people. Maybe even helping them to find themselves. Maybe helping them like themselves. I know very little about it so have some feelers out and am at the information gathering stage right now. But thinking about doing it feels good. Maybe I’m onto something.
My mother’s day weekend trip is less than two months away. I can’t wait. I feel a strong need to go this year that I did not feel last year. I think reconnecting with my beloved ocean, relaxing, alone with my thoughts, away from my daily routine may help me find myself again. Another thing I’m feeling that I didn’t feel last year or the year before is fear. That’s one of the things that I’m not liking about myself right now and the most compelling reason for me to go. I know there is nothing to fear but I’m feeling so weirdly vulnerable that traveling alone is evoking some fear, along with the joyful anticipation of going to my happy place.
Right this moment I hear a bunch of boys, my sons included, playing in the backyard. This makes me smile. These sounds are priceless and will be gone in the blink of an eye. I so love my role as their mom. I love their roles as kids who get to play until it’s dark out. This mom-thing is amazing and probably the only role that has kept me somewhat grounded and remotely close to sanity during the past 3 years. But I can’t lose myself in that role again either. It’s not good for me or them. But they teach me things too. Like I want to play more.
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“Rule number one is, don’t sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it’s all small stuff.” ~ Robert Eliot
You’ve heard of this quote and this book, right? I’ve never read the book but have always liked the quote. I always think of this quote when stuck in a long line or traffic. That truly is not worth getting all worked up about. For the most part though, I have failed miserably at following this advice.
This quote popped into my head over the weekend. It was mostly uneventful. We had no obligations to attend to. We went out with friends Friday night and had a good time. Saturday was….weird. Hubby seemed to have quite a bit on his mind. Numerous concerns about my behavior. Initially I felt badly. I apologized. I thought all was well but then things were still….weird. As the grievances mounted I started to seriously consider how much of what he was irritated about truly belonged to me and how much of it was really all about him.
We don’t fight dirty or scream and yell and accuse each other of horrible things and bring up grievances from 10 years ago anymore so none of this was out of control. Neither of us were particularly angry either. He seemed to be more irritated than anything else. I was mostly confused. Later I did become angry but not so angry that I felt compelled to yell or leave or consult an attorney.
None of the issues we debated that day were of major significance. They were all pretty minor. One argument was over who should have stopped at the store to purchase milk and pop. Typical, mundane, everyday marital nonsense. Small stuff.
It occurred to me that day that I don’t like this quote anymore. It simply isn’t realistic or true. At least not as applied to marriage or any long term relationship. Life is lived mostly in the small stuff. Sure, there are major marital problems that can end a marriage. But many marriages live and die in the small stuff.
On the plus side it can be a welcoming hug after a day at work, a conversation over a recent news item or shared topic of interest, a giggle over something one of the kids says or does or or teary-eyed acknowledgment of how fast they are growing up. It can be the way we cuddle when we sleep, a mutual look at a party that says it’s time to go, a suggestion of a vacation together alone, a genuine compliment, open and direct communication, an inside joke, even just a loving look. This small stuff strengthens a marriage.
On the minus side it can be a statement that includes the phrase, “you always…” or “you never…”. It can be an unexpressed expectation that never had a chance of being met, a thought that leads to an unkind word, a complaint about something without all the facts, eye-rolling, passive-aggressive comments, accusations not based in reality, sweeping judgments and even innocent miscommunication. This small stuff can rip a marriage to shreds over the years. It tears at the very fabric of the relationship and builds resentment and confusion rather than understanding and intimacy.
Most marriages have a little bit of both of these types of small stuff. Mine does. The good small stuff far outweighs the bad but it still does exist. We are each only flawed humans after all. We worked out our small stuff on Saturday and moved on. The heartfelt apologies, kissing and making up, discussing a disagreement calmly and truly listening and considering the others’ point of view…these things help make up for the harmful small stuff. The good small stuff is what keeps us fully engaged.
Sure, hubby could come home with an itinerary for a surprise elaborate vacation, three dozen flowers and a lifetime supply of books. That would be pretty big, right? But all those grand gestures…big stuff….would be erased in a heartbeat if he made one snide comment about some mundane thing that I didn’t do or didn’t do to his satisfaction, wouldn’t it?
Unless there’s some really bad big stuff going on (and we’ve been there too) I say it is the small stuff that is most important in a marriage and mine is definitely worth the sweat. What do you think?
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“At Queen Bee, we believe personalized products deserve personal attention. Our bee-utiful stationery is perfect for you, your business, or all of your gift-giving needs!” – Queen Bee Custom Printing
When I first found out about Queen Bee Custom Printing, I knew I had to do a giveaway. Not only is the owner Michelle super sweet and extremely talented but her business is located in my happy place…North Carolina!
MEET THE QUEEN……………..
I’m Michelle Snowden, founder of Queen Bee Custom Printing. If you’re like me, you love seeing your name in print. As a child, I cherished the pencils and notepads branded with my name. I love giving a gift with a beautiful monogram. In April 2008, my passion for all things personalized turned into a business, and here we are today! From my hive to yours, thank you for choosing Queen Bee for all your stationery needs!
In conjunction with this giveaway, Michelle sent me my very own personalized note cards and notepad. They’re so cute I feel inspired to break from my usual text and e-mail messages to actually send some personalized notes. I chose this adorable “Bubblegum” pattern but there are many others to choose from, you can pick whatever you want them to say (mine say “A Little Note From Cyndi”) and you get to choose your own font too:
She was also kind enough to send a set of everyday gift tags. I love these because they are adorable and I don’t have to buy greeting cards for every kids’ birthday gift I buy (they don’t read them anyway). There are so many colors to choose from I’ll be set for kids’ birthday parties for a while:
Queen Bee Custom Printing also offers custom projects such as business cards, banners, invitations and flat note cards.
THREE lucky winners will receive:
- 10 Folded Note Cards + 1 Matching Notepad (you select style) and 1 set of Everyday Gift Tags
How To Enter The Giveaway:
- Visit Queen Bee Custom Printing.
- Return here to leave a comment about what your favorite design is.
Additional Entries Available:
- Tweet a link to this giveaway and post the permalink of your tweet in the comments section of this post.
- Sign up for So Much More Than A Mom blog updates via e-mail HERE.
- Become a fan of Queen Bee Custom Printing’s Facebook page HERE.
- Become a fan of So Much More Than A Mom’s Facebook page HERE.
- Post a link on your own blog back to this giveaway and post your link in the comments section of this post.
Details:
- Contest ends at midnight (CDT) Thursday, March 25th 2010.
- US Residents only.
- My personal friends and family are not eligible to win (sorry!).
- Three winners will be chosen at random, notified on March 26th 2010 and will choose which styles and fonts they would like. Prizes will be shipped directly from Queen Bee Custom Printing once all the information has been provided by the winners.
Good luck and thanks for stopping by!
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“Living well is an art that can be developed: a love of life and ability to take great pleasure from small offerings and assurance that the world owes you nothing and that every gift is exactly that, a gift.” — Maya Angelou
The other side of 40. It looks much like 39 but without the burden that comes with the dread of turning 40. It’s just another day. It’s just a number.
The bonus of having such a milestone birthday fall on a Thursday is that we get to celebrate twice. No one wants to go out late on a weeknight. Well, at least no one my age. Last night the family and a few friends came over for a late dinner and cake. Tonight we’re going out with some friends to get our dinner and drink on.
Hubby has become incredibly intuitive as far as gift giving is concerned. I made no lists, requests or urgent pleas for anything in particular. Well, I did say that what I really, really, really wanted was tickets to the John Mayer concert in April but he said we can still do that and it doesn’t have to be my birthday present. How sweet is that?! In addition to the beautiful flowers and balloons that were waiting for me when I woke up, it’s clear from his gifts that he knew exactly what I need right now. To be pampered and feel pretty:
I can’t wait to get my massage on! It may be today. And I smell damn good if I do say so myself. Since we’re going out tonight I will get the rare opportunity to actually put on all my fab new make-up, wear clothes other than sweats and jammies and maybe even remind hubby that when made up I’m not too bad looking….for a 40 year old.
My sister and I never have any trouble finding the perfect gifts for each other despite our very different tastes. Well, there was that one time when she was in high school and I bought her the most adorable pink plaid sweater that she hated (she clearly had no taste…it was so cute!) but we steer clear of clothes these days. Being the tree-hugging-granola-crunching-cause-supporting person that she is, I was amazed by how she was able to pick out the perfect gifts for me while still supporting her causes.
With my upcoming trip to North Carolina in mind, she got me this awesome tote in sea green to put my books in when I hit the beach:
Along with the matching clutch, complete with a dollar bill in it for good fortune:
And this beautiful tea rose bookmark:
She also picked up some heavenly lavender/eucalyptus scented candles:
And the pièce de résistance:
That’s right bitches….Bitch Bubbly sparkling wine!! How fun and perfect is that?!
40? So far so good.
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“I’m not concerned about all hell breaking loose, but that a PART of hell will break loose… it’ll be much harder to detect.” – George Carlin
So it’s happened. I’m 40. All hell did not break loose. Not even part of it. I did not change my mind about how I feel about this milestone.
I have been reflecting on the past decade though. My youngest son was born the year I turned 30. I had a hard time with 30. I even warned people to watch out for 2010 because if my reaction to turning 30 was any indication, turning 40 was not going to be pretty at all. I now think that’s because I was secretly a mess. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m still a mess but it’s no longer a secret. That’s what I like to call progress.
One thought that has been recurring during my recent reflections is that I have made significant personal changes over the past decade, most over the past 3 years, but still feel….unsettled….unfinished. I’ve realized that I am unfinished and hope to stay that way for the rest of my life. It’s a good thing. To become set in my ways, stop learning, stop trying new adventures….that would be stagnating, suffocating, THAT would be getting old.
But the one thing I haven’t managed to change for the better in the past decade is my almost constant unacceptable level of anxiety. I am one high strung 40 year old broad. Enough already. As has been well documented on this blog it’s all based in fear, worry and lack of control. It’s time to take this seriously and work on taking things down a few hundred notches. IT (whatever IT is at any given moment) just isn’t that bad, worth my suffering or within my control. And so what? All hell may break loose but I certainly can’t stop it by being irritable, stressed out and upset. I can’t stop it at all. I need to focus on learning to roll with things sometimes, picking my battles and stopping my own anxiety before it reaches critical melt-down levels. So, that’s my project. Learning to relax and just chill out for once.
My blogging friend Christina pointed out that March 4th is the only date that is also a command. I love that! It’s fun. Through these wondrous interwebs I have also discovered that it’s my hometown Chicago’s birthday AND even better for this self-proclaimed grammar nazi, it’s also National Grammar Day!
The moral of this story: Bring it on…let hell break loose. Just don’t misspell anything.
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“When a condition or a problem becomes too great, humans have the protection of not thinking about it. But it goes inward and minces up with a lot of other things already there and what comes out is discontent and uneasiness, guilt and a compulsion to get something–anything–before it is all gone.” — John Steinbeck
I’ve been thinking a lot about all this guilt that I’ve recently noticed. Why do I feel guilty about….everything? Where did this come from?
It’s a brand new concept so forgive me if I sound as if I’m babbling (I’ll feel guilty about that too, no doubt) but I’m going to give it a shot here anyway. It usually helps.
I was thinking that my anxiety level increases whenever I feel guilty and that I feel guilty about many things. When these things are held up to the cold light of reality there is no logical reason for my feelings of guilt. I’m going to use my year of unemployment as the example. I felt guilty the entire time I was off of work. I felt guilty for not bringing home enough money. I felt guilty for not being a productive member of society. I felt guilty whenever I did anything remotely enjoyable while hubby was at work. But here are the facts:
- I maintained full-time employment from the ages of 19-37
- My resume indicates a steady increase in responsibilities and promotions
- I was successful in my industry by anyone’s standards
- The job market was horrible, particularly for mortgage professionals and the state I live in had one of highest unemployment rates in the country
- During my year of unemployment I spent the vast majority of every day looking for work
When I look at these facts I realize that I had absolutely nothing at all to feel guilty about. Nothing. I had no history of extended periods of unemployment. I had no history of a poor work ethic. I had no control over the mortgage crisis or the company I worked for closing. I did everything within my power to find a job.
Still with me? If my “facts” sound flawed to you please let me know in the comments. If not…
So why did I feel guilty? Where did that guilt come from? It wasn’t hubby. He was extremely supportive. It was coming from me. But why? Why did I ignore the facts and my husband’s unwavering confidence that I was doing all that I could and would eventually find something?
The answers I have come up with so far from speaking with a couple of people are perfectionism and manipulation. Growing up I was expected to be perfect. Anything short of perfect was absolute failure. There was no middle ground. There was never pride in having tried my hardest. Results mattered. Perfect results.
There are many examples but the first one that comes to mind is when I received my very first report card in 1st grade. My mother demanded to know why I got a “B” in one class. I was shocked and pointed out that all the others were “A’s” and isn’t a “B” really good anyway? She did acknowledge that the “A’s” were good but that she expected me to pull that “B” up to an “A” by the next report card. I was crushed. I felt horrible. I felt as I had done something wrong but I didn’t understand what I had done. I felt as if I had tried my hardest and that was not recognized. I felt terrified that I might get a “B” on my next report card. I felt completely helpless and powerless.
The reason that perfection was expected had nothing at all to do with me personally. My parents required perfection because I was a reflection of them. If I was less than perfect then they were too. With narcissists the idea that they could be less than perfect is not acceptable. Therefore, their mirror (me) must reflect their perfect image at all times.
In order to get me to comply they used manipulation and abuse. The admonishment about the “B” was a form of manipulation. The unknown consequences of failing to bring it up to an “A” were terrifying. It worked well.
I bring all this up to finally make the point that I’ve started to explore. It was not the guilt that caused my anxiety. It was the other way around. The anxiety I felt was the fear, the sheer terror, of feeling powerless. I could try my hardest and still get a “B”. I had no control over what would happen if I wasn’t perfect. Usually I was punished. Severely. The anticipation of the rage and abuse that would be unleashed on me whenever I failed to project the perfect image was too much for me to bear. So, I turned it into guilt. Shame really. It was much less stressful for me to feel bad about myself for being a disappointment than it was to think about how helpless I was against the inevitable consequences of my failure to meet unreasonable expectations.
As always when considering my childhood, the point is not to blame my current guilt and anxiety on my parents. The purpose is to figure out why I think the way I do so that I can change it. That six year old learned to avoid the fear of being powerless by turning it into guilt. It was a coping mechanism that worked. Guilt didn’t feel great but it felt a hell of a lot better than panic.
Back to my unemployment. Using this outdated coping mechanism I decided to feel guilty as opposed to feeling powerless. The truth was that I was in fact powerless to a large extent. After years of conditioning I equated powerlessness with extreme pain and abuse. Guilt was is my way of feeling as if I have some control or power in situations where I do not. Guilt allows me to alleviate the anxiety I feel when I feel helpless or weak. I don’t do helpless and weak. I do guilt.
I don’t know if this makes any sense at all to anyone but me. I don’t know that I’ve communicated it well. As I said it’s a new concept that I’m exploring but so far it rings true. The good news is that if I am onto something I may be able to eliminate much of the anxiety that I bring on myself. Time will tell.
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“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.” — Colette
We went to the movies Saturday afternoon. On the way out I stopped in the restroom. When I emerged there was a woman talking to hubby and the boys. Her back was to me and I didn’t know who she was. I walked over to them and turned around. I’m not sure if I audibly gasped or if it was only in my head. It was a friend of ours from whom we haven’t heard in quite some time. Our boys no longer attend the same schools and the mutual friend we had shared is no longer in our lives. It also seemed as if our friend in the movie theater had sort of gone into hiding a little over a year ago. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
She’s always been a reserved and private person. We never got too close. But I like her. And I have thought of her often over the past year. I sent a few e-mails that went unanswered and heard other friends had the same experience. I finally just hoped for the best and figured she’d contact me if she wanted to.
She immediately commented that she liked the pink ribbon I was wearing on my coat. The pink ribbon that Gina’s daughters passed out to all the guests at her wake. I gasped (again not sure if it was audible or not), muttered an awkward, “thank you.” without explaining where I got my ribbon or what it represents to me, grabbed the ribbon and continued holding onto it for few moments before giving her a teary-eyed hug. I asked how she was and she said good. There was some small talk about the kids and her husband and then hubby was wrapping up the conversation. I looked into her eyes for a moment. I needed more.
I told hubby and the kids to go on and I’d catch up in a minute. I had to know. She certainly looked healthy and her hair looked much like it had the last time I saw her, before her diagnosis. I asked about the cancer and her treatment. She had chemo, then a lumpectomy, then radiation and has been cancer-free since December! I was so happy for her and her family. I had to hug her again, although I know she’s even less of a touchy-feely person than I usually am. I told her how happy I was for her. We talked some more about how it’s been an “interesting” year but that the worst seems to be behind her, she feels good and is going to start looking for work. She has to stay on medication for five years and get frequent scans but so far so good.
I was awe-struck. I was standing there talking to an actual breast cancer survivor. It felt great, exhilarating even. Like I imagine talking to one of your favorite celebrities would feel. Her kids will not have to know what it feels like to lose their mother so young. Her husband will not be left alone to pick up the pieces. She can move on with her life. Absolutely amazing.
We finally parted and after I was a safe distance from her and back with my family, I lost it. Sobbing. They didn’t understand. It hit me like a ton of bricks. If things had gone differently, that could have been Gina.
An innocent afternoon at the movies with my family turned into this unbelievable encounter with a survivor.
In all fairness, her prognosis was never as dicey as Gina’s had been because she did not have the same type of breast cancer. Gina’s was the worst case scenario.
My emotions were all over the place. An almost giddy happiness for my friend and her family combined with the intense grief in knowing I will never run into Gina in a movie theater. And then the guilt. Guilt for feeling sad for one friend when another friend had beaten the odds and was thriving. An entire roller coaster of emotion within a ten minute time period.
This grief “process” is more like a relative calm before the storm immediately followed by the crashing in of an epic tidal wave with no warning.
I miss my friend.
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“If you wait, all that happens is that you get older.” — Larry McMurtry
I’ve put this post off long enough. I’m turning 40 in about two weeks. 40.
Remember when 30 seemed ancient?! My mother-in-law was 40 when I met my husband. She didn’t seem old to me but she certainly didn’t seem young. She seemed like any other mom. Today she’s 64. For me, those 24 years seem to have flown by in a flash. We spend our entire childhood wishing time would speed up and our adult years wishing it would slow down. It’s so….well, weird.
I actually already wrote the I’m-dreading-turning-40 post. Last year. As I said then, I like to start the inevitable panic attack as early as possible. I think that it helped writing about it a year in advance. I think I may have actually come to terms with it. With everything that I feel anxious about just about every day, this milestone isn’t really one of them. Or maybe I’m just in denial. I guess we’ll find out for sure in about two weeks.
As much as I really don’t want to seem like any other mom, I’m sure I do to my kids and their friends. I think my kids think I’m pretty cool as far as moms go, but still, I’m mom. Of course I relish my role as their mom but as is the main theme of this blog….I am also so much more than a mom. Knowing that helps me to ignore the number of candles on the birthday cake.
It seems to me that beginning with that first unfortunate event in December 2006 and ending with the most recent unfortunate event almost exactly three years later, I’ve come full circle. The death of my friend’s mother in 2006 forced me to consider my own mortality. That, in conjunction with the events in between these two pulled me out of denial, made me re-evaluate myself, my marriage, every belief I have ever had and what the hell I had allowed myself to become. The past three years have been spent dealing with the past, learning, questioning, stepping out of my comfort zone, reinventing myself, reinventing my marriage and striving to figure out who I am and who I want to be. And then going for it. I have set-backs and then take giant leaps forward. All of these changes have cured my insomnia but brought on depression, at first, and now anxiety. I’m not finished with my journey and I never will be. The reason I feel I’ve come full circle is that the most recent unfortunate event, Gina’s death, has forced me to seriously consider not my own mortality this time, but the mortality of everyone I love.
After the ups and downs of the past three years I don’t find myself dreading my 40th birthday so much. I find myself feeling grateful that I’ve made it to my 40th birthday in good health (knock on wood). I’m grateful that my friends and family are also here and in good health. Money problems, anxiety, college, work, laundry….life…they’re all part of my life but the important people in my life are really what matters most. I’m lucky. I’m still here with them.
Forty isn’t that old. I’m not too old to love, laugh, learn, travel, go to college, have fun, make changes, be naughty, be a good mom and wife, work out…the list is endless. I have lots to do. The only things I’m too old wise for are living in denial, wishful thinking, delusion and pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m not 21. Who cares? I was a moron at 21. I’m slightly less of one now and for that, and every day I am given, I am grateful. So…40? I’m not scared…Bring it!
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“Too many shadows in my room / Too many hours in this midnight / Too many corners in my mind / So much to do to set my heart right” – In Repair by John Mayer
I’m not talking about actual panic attacks. I’ve come close to having one of those a couple of times and it’s a horrible feeling. But it’s been quite some time since I’ve felt that level of anxiety. I guess you could say that’s progress, right? RIGHT?!
My overall level of anxiety has been high ever since before Thanksgiving when Gina’s health started to deteriorate. In late December I took a risk by changing jobs. I realize that under usual circumstances changing jobs is not a huge risk but in this economy and in the mortgage industry…it was a risk. Then, just a few weeks later I started my dreaded statistics class.
There are certainly worse things that could have happened (besides Gina’s death of course). I think the combo of adjusting to my friend’s death, a very different type of job and a class that I not only hate, but is extremely difficult for me to grasp, was a bit much for me.
I still haven’t adjusted to Gina’s death. Yesterday her sister mentioned on Facebook that she could really use some advice from her sister. I could only respond, “me too”. I am reminded of her absence several times daily. I miss everything about her and our friendship. I still haven’t even stopped thinking from time to time that I have to call her and tell her about something that I know she would laugh about. I try to keep it in perspective. I mean if I feel this way I can’t imagine how her family, particularly her daughters feel. Then I feel guilty for missing her.
The job has been an adjustment just because the way things are set up is like nowhere else I have ever worked. I work from home now. The problem is not working from home. That I love. There was just a scary period there where I wasn’t sure it was going to work out and I wasn’t making as much money as I anticipated. Then I felt guilty for not making enough money. Luckily, the work situation is now going even better than expected. I kept telling myself that it was just growing pains but that did nothing to help my level of anxiety.
Stats. Sucks. I hate it. I don’t fully understand it. At this point I’ll be happy if I’m passing. We had our first test yesterday. I was even more anxious than usual over that test all day. Then I felt guilty for not being good enough at stats.
Are you seeing the pattern here? When I feel guilt I become anxious. And I feel guilty about almost everything. I know I’m not perfect and that no one expects me to be (except maybe myself). I know that perfectionism, worrying and anxiety don’t help any situation. I know that I’ve even written similar blog posts on this subject. Actually, now I’m starting to feel guilty about being repetitive and boring you to death.
This guilt thing is nonsense. I have to knock it off. I have to let myself off the hook. It’s causing me unnecessary turmoil. It’s not working for me at all, it never has and it never will. Beer helps but then I feel guilty for drinking too much. It’s too bad I can’t have the guilt/anxiety parts of my brain removed. I’d feel no emotional turmoil but without any guilt I’d become a criminal and end up in prison and I’m told they don’t serve beer there.
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