“You’re one of the strongest moms I know. If you can’t do it, I can’t either.”
My friend’s words jumped out of the text at me, hitting me right in the gut. That negative voice in my head, always lurking just beneath the surface, was quick to question her view of me. How could it be that someone sees me as strong when lately all I feel is weak, a growing sense that I am a failure, and the notion that I am shrinking away from everyone? How could it be that despite the fog of depression and anxiety that has lately filled my head once again, I could appear to have it all together to others? How could it be that my outward projection is such a contradiction to my inner thoughts about myself? Which view of me is the correct one? Her view or my own? “I always think of you when I am in a bad spot and wonder what you would do.” This time her words hit me even deeper. They cut through the nonsense in my head and brought some clarity to me. She had no way of knowing my inner struggles, but something I was doing or saying was acting as a lifeline for her. Somehow, despite nearly drowning in my own despair, I was serving as a beacon of hope for her at times. Maybe, just maybe, that voice in my head was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to be that beacon of hope for myself. Her words echoed in my head that night and kept me awake for hours as I reflected more and more about what it meant to be a source of hope for someone. I realized that I can’t give up. None of us can. We have no idea who is watching us, who is holding on to their last thread of hope thinking, If she can’t do it, neither can I. We have no idea who is wondering what we would do if we were in their shoes, using us and our experiences to help guide them through their troubles. Look around. Someone somewhere is watching you, desperately looking for signs of hope and a sense of guidance. Maybe it’s one of your closest friends, a family member, a neighbor, a mom who sees you in the drop-off line at school, a coworker, an online friend, a stranger at the grocery store, someone reading your words—it doesn’t matter who it is, but they need you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep believing in yourself. If you can’t do it, they can’t either. Originally published 11/27/20 on Her View From Home: https://herviewfromhome.com/dear-mama-you-are-stronger-than-you-think/
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This weekend I didn’t want to go anywhere.
I turned down invites from friends and turned inward instead. I sat on my couch, wrapped in my soft blanket and just felt my feelings. I laughed. I cried. I sat in silence. I binge watched a new series. I drank homemade margaritas and let myself eat extra toasty cheez-its. I didn’t count calories, worry about miles on my spin bike, or focus on the number on the scale. I let myself be loved and seen and let myself just be in the moment. No right. No wrong. No rules. I just lived in the moment and let myself be. And by the end of the weekend, my spirits had lifted and I felt freed from the heaviness that had weighed me down. I was able to peel off the blanket and step back into the world, refreshed and hopeful. If you need to take some time to stop and just be, do it. Find a way to let go of the things weighing you down at least for a few moments. The scale can wait. The gym can wait. The dishes can wait. The vacuuming can wait. But how much longer can you wait? The other day I fell into a sinkhole. Again.
You know the kind of sinkhole I’m talking about - the metaphorical kind. The kind that opens up and drags you under, disrupting your life - usually without warning. This same stupid sinkhole has plagued me for years now. Each time it gets patched up, the fix only lasts for a short while before it becomes dangerous again. Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about the sinkhole. I’ve learned what causes sinkholes and how you can try to decrease your chances of encountering them. I’ve learned how to add supports and reinforcements to reduce the risk of falling into the sinkhole. I’ve learned to make the sinkhole more stable so that I could more safely move near it. I’ve learned how to calmly drag myself out of the sinkhole each time it swallows me whole. I’ve learned to minimize the toll the sinkhole has on my life. I’ve learned to normalize sinkholes - afterall, we all hit sinkholes sometimes. But, the other day I fell in it again. My reinforcements hadn’t worked, minimizing it hadn’t worked, normalizing it hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked. There I was again - inside the sinkhole. I was powerless and defeated - again. When people tried to help me out of the sinkhole, I yelled at them to go away, or I ignored them, or I begged for them to tell me it was ok to be a mess because I was back in the effing sinkhole again. And then my child fell in behind me. Of course he did. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Afterall, he’s watched me and this sinkhole for most of his life. If I couldn’t avoid it then how could I expect him to avoid it. That’s when it hit me. I needed to be done with this sinkhole. Like, completely done. I’ve tried everything to keep the sinkhole from being a looming force in my life. Everything except one thing. I have never decided to stop letting the sinkhole be in my life. I COULD make the one choice I hadn’t yet given myself permission to make. There are always other routes we can take to get where we need to go. Maybe those routes will take us longer to get where we are going. Maybe those routes won’t make sense to those people who have never fallen into the sinkhole or who can’t imagine that particular sinkhole being so bad. Maybe we’ll be judged harshly and criticized for my decision to take a new route. But, the truth in life is that there will always be criticism. There will always be people who don’t understand us. There will always be people who disagree with us. There will always be sinkholes. When the sinkholes become too big, too scary, and too damaging we CAN take away their power in our life. We CAN stop allowing them to dictate how our journey goes. We CAN stop allowing them to wreak havoc in our life. It was time to do it. So, together my child and I pulled ourselves out of the sinkhole and decided to drive away. One last time. We didn’t look back. Beep beep!
It’s your struggle bus captain checking in again. This week I am 4 weeks post surgery and when the doctor told me the hormones would be awful for up to 4-8 weeks, he wasn’t lying. Yesterday I had a mini panic attack because the football stadium seats felt too steep and I was afraid I would topple to my death. Then I cried because my freshman’s football coach sent a text for everyone to meet for dinner and it felt so nice to see something so normal. And then an hour later I was filled with so much rage that I wanted to find a total stranger that was trolling online and give her a piece of my mind. Seriously. Then I ate chocolate. And cried some more. And picked a fight with my husband. And cried about what a terrible person I am and how my face is full of acne. Whew! How many of you can relate to days like that? The truth is - days like this can happen to all of us - even without crazy hormones. Whenever we start to listen to all the negative thoughts in our head, it’s easy for all our good self-care practices to simply fade away. self-doubt inner criticism imposter syndrome guilt shame They really don’t do us any good. Ever. So, anyways, I’m here to say that sometimes some days and some weeks just don’t go the way you want them. It’s ok. Let yourself feel your feelings. Sometimes it’s really ok to cry and eat the chocolate and fantasize about what you want to say to the internet trolls. But then take time to center yourself. Reset. Remember who you are at your core. Keep moving forward because you deserve the life you want. And on the really hard days, don’t forget to pick your head up and look around. You aren’t the only one on the struggle bus. There’s lots of us here with you - reach out when you need support. Beep beep! See Less Ladies, I have an important message for you.
You know that voice in your head — the not so nice one? The one that tells you all the ways other people are better than you. The one that tells you that you aren’t smart enough, pretty enough, funny enough, skinny enough, nice enough, rich enough, talented enough, popular enough. The one that tells you that you are a bad mother, bad friend, bad sister, bad employee, bad wife. Yes, that voice. Guess what? She lies. She’s wrong. She’s become too comfortable in your brain. She lies. She’s become too familiar. You don’t need to listen to her. She lies. You don’t have to be perfect. No one is perfect. You don’t have to have it all figured out. No one does. You don’t have to be able to do it all. No one can. When that voice starts ringing in your head, picture yourself turning down her volume, like you would on the tv or radio. Remind yourself that she lies. Turn up the volume on all the good things about yourself. You ARE enough. You DO matter. You ARE loved. That’s the only voice that you should listen to — the kind one. That’s the truth. My therapy sessions with my patients have grown heavy once again — especially for my patients that work in healthcare.
Day after day they share, with tear filled eyes, their overwhelming fatigue. They stare blankly ahead at the telehealth screen as they describe lying awake night after night, too exhausted and overwhelmed to find sleep. Each patient and their story is different but the common theme is the same — burnout. Complete and total burnout. So many question their career choice — for many of them have felt failed by their employers. So many question their own humanity — for they now dread going to work and being around people. So many question their future — for the passion that they once felt for their work is now nowhere to be found. Like so many of us they are crawling, bruised and broken, toward some nebulous finish line on the horizon. Sometimes as we near the end of a session, they will stop me and ask me if I am doing ok. “How are YOU managing it all?” They are caregivers by nature and struggle to keep the focus on themselves-even during their own therapy session. But I think they are mostly looking for signs of hope. Hope is what is missing most now. Hope is what is needed most now. In times of great sorrow, loss, and tragedy it is hope that keeps us tethered to our life and to each other. Hope that something and someone can be consistent. Hope for brighter days. Hope for rest. Hope for passions to be reborn. Hope to enjoy the world again. Hope to make it to tomorrow. As you crawl toward the finish line right now, find hope. Find it anywhere you can. And hold onto it. “You’re one of the strongest moms I know. If you can’t do it, I can’t either.”
My friend’s words jumped out of the text at me, hitting me right in the gut. That negative voice in my head, always lurking just beneath the surface, was quick to question her view of me. How could it be that someone sees me as strong when lately all I feel is weak, a growing sense that I am a failure, and the notion that I am shrinking away from everyone? Originally published on Her View From Home. Click HERE for full article. Sometimes you will be too much for people.
Sometimes you won’t be enough. Sometimes they will find you too sensitive Sometimes they’ll say you are too insensitive. Sometimes you will make decisions that hurt others. Sometimes the decisions of others will hurt you. Sometimes you will be lonely. Sometimes you will wish for solitude. Sometimes you will feel like all eyes are on you. Sometimes you will feel invisible. Sometimes the people you need to cheer you on won’t be there. Sometimes people around you will shout things that aren’t true. Sometimes you will feel too focused on a goal. Sometimes you will feel lost and directionless. Sometimes you will lie awake at night unable to find sleep. Sometimes you will crawl under the covers, afraid to face the world. Sometimes. Not all the time. Sometimes you will feel valued, seen, and appreciated, despite your flawed parts. Sometimes you will find your confidence, support, and direction. Sometimes you will be at peace and rest easily at night. Through all the sometimes, there will be constants to hold on to. You matter. Your life has meaning. You are not alone. Tomorrow is always a new day. Sometimes you just need to hold on. Sometimes the darkness sets in.
Like many people right now, I am emotionally spent. Empty. Exhausted. Broken. My thoughts are cloudy. My creativity is stunted. My attention span is non existent. The arguing and tension and constant back and forth of the past week has completely drained me. The anger, hatred, mistrust, and insults have deflated my hope. I could feel the darkness coming this time and I tried hard to make it stop. I decorated my house for the holidays to usher in some cheer. I rearranged my living room to give a refresh to my surroundings. I limited social media. I firmed up my boundaries with people that drain me. I spent time being with and talking to people I love. I clung to anything that felt remotely like hope. But the darkness still came. I opened my eye this morning and felt it - the crushing weight of depression and anxiety. The air was thick with it. So, I stopped fighting it. This morning I let the tears come. I moved some of my “to do” items to later this week. I gave myself permission to be gentle with myself. I leaned in to the things I can control. Although I feel the weight of the darkness, I will show up today for the people who need me. I will be kind to myself. I will keep looking for signs of hope and cling to them tightly. I will continue to try to spread lightness, even in times of darkness. I will celebrate the little things. For those of you feeling it all too, remember that you are not alone. This hard time will pass. Brighter days are ahead. They have to be. Hey you out there, the woman holding back who she really is, stop.
It’s ok to step into your light. It’s ok to show up and be yourself. It’s ok to finally figure out who your real people are. It’s ok to want more, ask for more, need more. It’s ok to be the person you really are. It’s ok to ask for help. It’s ok to break a little, feel lost, and struggle with the next steps. It’s ok to make changes in your life. It’s ok to be vulnerable. It’s ok to acknowledge that life is sometimes really freaking hard. It’s ok to be 100% you. It’s ok to be proud of yourself. It’s ok to be happy. It’s ok to be ok. |
Mental healthNow, more than ever, we all need a little support to help get us through the rough spots. With all the pressures of life, it can be a challenge to find time to not only take care of yourself but also to truly understand who you even are anymore. Archives
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