The Cost of Caring

I can see it in your eyes. I can read it in between the lines of your social media posts. I can hear it in the words that you don't say out loud. 

Your soul is tired. Your heart is tired. Your body is tired. 

Even worse is that you suffer through it all alone. 

It isn't because you feel no one will care about your story, your pain. It's because you don't want to burden others with it. Better to sink alone than to take the whole ship down with you, isn't it?

This is the cost of being a person who cares. The person who fixes everything. The person who takes care of everyone. The one who gives up so much of their own self to make sure that the people they love remain happy and whole. This is the price that is paid. Loneliness and exhaustion. 

This isn't a guide on how to be okay. It isn't a way to say the often heard advice of the importance of "putting your own oxygen mask on first." Hearing those things does not help, nor does it feel like an option in most cases. You wouldn't be in this position, over and over again, if you were the type of person who felt capable of putting yourself first.

I write this to say, I see you. I am you. 

We are part of a society of empathetic people who will never meet one another. Oh, we may meet at social gatherings... but we will interact as the brave and happy people that we allow others to see. Not for the sake of pride, but because the guilt of bringing people 'down' is stronger than the desire to actually be heard. 

No, you don't want a badge of honor for what you do. You don't need recognition. The reality is that being someone who cares so deeply is so ingrained, you would and do behave this way, even when no one is looking. 

We are tired. We have heavy hearts from carrying the hardships of all of those around us. We need respite without the feeling of guilt. 

All I can offer is my solidarity. It may be done quietly, but it is there. 

Realistic New Years Resolutions

As is my yearly tradition on this blog (mostly)... I've compiled my list of top five resolutions for the year.

So I'm a few months late. Good resolutions take time to create.

5. Stop squinting so much: aka stop losing my glasses.
The problem with having bad vision is wearing glasses. Forget the fact that they make life easier, in that I can see better. I hate them. Also, I am notoriously bad at keeping track of them. I can't tell you how many times I've turned the house upside down to find them. The cycle is the same every time: set glasses down somewhere before bed, get up the next day and forget I have been wearing glasses for over ten years, squint at everything until I remember why I'm half blind, look for glasses, give up on looking for glasses and go back to squinting.
Not this year! Every time I look in the mirror at the chasm that is forming between my eyes, I will say to myself, "self, put your glasses on before that chasm is so deep you look like a wrinkled up peach that's been sitting in the sun for a week." By the way, I'm totally not wearing my glasses as I write this.

4. Sleep through the night.
No, I'm not an infant. I'm a fully grown woman who can't manage to sleep more than three hours at any given time, and usually these hours are not at night.
I am on a mission this year to try to get it in check. Starting next week.... or sometime.
Perhaps if I didn't sleep next to a man that is all elbows and snuggles, I could sleep better. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm supposed to think it's cute that he snuggles (smothers) me while he's sleeping.
I'm just gonna go right ahead and call bullshit on anyone that thinks wrestling with a spastic rhino in a 6x4 space is fun. I fell off the bed last night. Correction. I was snuggled off the bed last night.
Addendum to Number 4:
Buy a separate bed for Sir.

3. Buy more stretchy pants. 
After finally conceding to the fact that I love pajama pants, I have unabashedly started putting them on as soon as I walk through the house door. Gone are the days when I had enough pride to stay dressed until bedtime. I don't have it in me to care anymore. I am going to rock my comfy pants as much as I want, when I want. I don't care if I look like a fat girl who failed at yoga. I don't care if they aren't flattering for my butt that is already non-existent. I don't even care if they don't match the shirt I'm wearing. I AM GOING TO BE COMFORTABLE... and I will hurt anyone who tries to get in the way of my comfort. You've been warned. That's right... I'm making 2018 my bitch.

2. Stop ingesting so much sugar.
Don't get too excited. I'm not implying I'm going to quit eating sweets. (see stretchy pants resolution) I am going to give up drinking the sugary sweet beverages that have become a habit this past year. I've always been a champion water drinker. I could drink anyone under the table. Give me a glass and some water, and you're going down. At some point last year, I started drinking what I have dubbed 'The Red Drink'. It's really just Hawaiian Punch. It started harmlessly enough at one drink a week when I just wanted something different. It quickly escalated into me calling Sir at work and asking him to stop and buy me some of the good stuff on his way home. I remember the day I was grocery shopping that the addiction came to a full realization. I saw a container of Red Drink and thought, self, you can have that on tap 24/7. If I don't stop drinking it, I'm going to be the next stand-in for Wilford Brimley. I will be the staring at you from your television, in my comfy pants, telling you, "you can have your diabeetus supplies sent directly to your house."

1. Run Away
I have been a parent since I was 19 years old. I deserve a freaking break from life. It's never ending. If it's not my own kids, it's someone else's kids, and if it's not kids.. I am taking care of adults. I can't stop taking care of other people. My kids are young adults, and yet here I am.. still mommy-ing like the whole world is hungry and I'm a leaky breast. (that's right. I just verbed the word 'mommy')
Well guess what? Mama is running away. At some point. This year. For a little bit. Just a few days, maybe.
Why is this so hard for me to do?! I honestly feel like if I'm not available to everyone's kids at all times, something terrible will happen. The one time I choose to shut off my phone will be the one time one of my kids is laying in the proverbial ditch, helpless and hurt... whispering, "mama...mama...why have you forsaken me?"
Why do I think like this? They aren't off taking crazy risks. They aren't drug lords running from a bad deal. They aren't gang members that have a bounty on their heads because they narced someone out to save their hide.  They are, in large, law abiding citizens who think excitement is a night snuggled in bed with snacks and a good movie.
That's it! I am going to pack a bag and go away for a few days. I'm going to throw caution to the wind. I'm going to go somewhere I've never gone, and live it up.

Hey kids, if you're reading this: my phone will be on if you need me.

Your Agenda Or Theirs? Why Autonomy Is Important.

When our children are young, we often tell them they can be anything they want to be when they grow up.

The problem with this statement is that most parents don't really mean it. They spend their whole lives telling them they are capable, smart, talented... all the things they need to hear, yet a parent's behavior can send a completely opposite message.

I want to preface this by saying I am a firm believer in teaching boundaries, ethics, responsibility, etc. Those traits are important to foster. So please do not misconstrue what I am about to say.

We tell our children they can be whomever they wish to be, and then spend their entire childhood treating them like little soldiers that need to march a path that we deem "appropriate" for them. Children and teens are so controlled by their parents that they do not know how to be an individual. We do not teach them how to think independently. We do not teach them that mistakes are important. We do not teach them how to problem solve without our guidance.

In short, we teach our children that they must be a version of what our expectations are for them.

My daughter was, and still is, phenomenal at challenging my thinking as a parent. It's something I've always appreciated about her. I did not parent in a way that was black and white. If she raised a well thought out counter point to something I said, I would take it into consideration, and we would discuss it as equals. I often reminded her that her life was indeed her own to make what she would of it. One day, as a teenager, we were discussing this as we often did. She looked at me and said, "what if I want to grow up to be a prostitute?" It was at this point that I realized the full weight of my words, "you can be whatever you want."

There I sat. Silent. Contemplating my next move. Was I going to look at my daughter and tell her that I take it back? I didn't mean what I had been telling her all her life? Or was I going to trust in her ability to do what was best for her... despite how much I wanted to tell her she shouldn't even consider prostitution as an option.

It was a tense moment.

I finally said to her, "If you chose to work in the sex industry, it would be hard for me to accept, because I would worry about your safety, but I would never stop loving you or supporting you if you chose it."

And I meant it.

She had no plans to do so at the time. She was simply testing her limits of autonomy, her sense of control over her own self.

She taught me a powerful lesson that day.

The weight of our words and actions with our children often defines how capable they will be at being independent and free thinkers that thrive as individuals.

How often do you see parents tell their children that they must follow a specific path? For example, you must have a diploma/college/career, to be successful? How often do we hear parents discourage their children from being unconventional? More so, how often do we hear parents tell their children that success is measured by the amount of money they will make, the degrees they get, the normalcy they exhibit in society?

What if we, as parents, meant the phrase, "you can be whatever you wish to be" and then allowed them to really live that to fruition?

The reason a parent so often chooses to squash this freedom is because they fear their children will fail, but failure is a subjective idea. What I consider a failure for myself, may not be a failure for someone else. If my personal agenda is to have 'x' amount of income, it is not a failure if someone else doesn't have the same goal. Why then, should our personal goals have to be met by our children? We don't look at our peers and say, "John doesn't make the same amount of money I do, he is a complete failure." "Sally doesn't work a first shift job, she's clearly not working a good job." So why do we feel the need to have an agenda for our children? Why can our peers make choices based on their wants, but not our kids?

To put it simply, it is pride. Parents look at their children as extensions of themselves.

But they are not. They are their own unique individual.

Unless we, as a society, start treating them as such, we will continue to see young adults failing in all aspects of work and social life. If we do not allow them to think for themselves, if we continue to push our agendas on them, they will always be lost when it comes to critical thinking as an adult.

Next time your child challenges your thinking, listen. Encourage them to formulate thoughts on their own. Stop taking their hands and dragging them down your path. Yes, they will have moments where they trip and fall on the trail they are blazing....

but they will also know they are strong enough to get back up and try again.

Contradictions of Grief

Grief is being suffocated with love and concern from others when someone dies, and then shortly after, it is being told that you need to "let it go." Then it's feeling utterly alone because people think that grief has an expiration date. It doesn't. Your pain becomes a burden for others, and instead of admitting that they don't want to deal with you, they try to tell you that there is something wrong with you.  Sometimes you wonder if something really is wrong with you... 

Grief is moving on in many ways with your life and feeling guilty for doing so. As if it somehow implies they meant less than they did. Alternatively, it's also having small moments of being proud of yourself for how far you've come since the day they died.

Grief is feeling great one moment, and then sobbing the next. A small memory, song, or word is all it takes to turn you into a whimpering mess of a human. It's an endless roller coaster that you can't get off of. You just hold on white knuckled, hoping that around the bend it's level for a bit longer.

Grief is selfish. Even though there is someone else out there that has been in a similar position, this grief is yours. No one will ever truly feel how you feel. No one will ever understand your loss. It's wanting people to understand while at the same time being mad at anyone who says they do understand. How dare they? This is your grief. It will never be anyone else's.

Grief is a competition for some. It can be a pissing match of who loved that person more. In reality, no one can love someone the same as you. Each love and relationship is unique. Each person means something different to us.

Grief makes you hold hands with death. You spend a lifetime dreading the idea of dying, and then grief makes you wonder how much longer you can live with the pain it causes. One more day, one more day... you can do this, but it's also okay to not always want to.

Grief is isolating. It's being surrounded by people and still feeling like there is a barrier separating them from you. Sometimes you get lucky... and another soul will walk up to the glass and put their hand to it, a reflection of yours, and their eyes say, "me too." Nothing more, because no words are needed to define the line of connection. It just is.

Grief means not letting go of a material object because it was tied to the person you lost. Even the most useless items become treasures. You keep them because they are the only physically tangible thing that ties you to that person. Letting it them go would signify letting the person go.

Grief makes you question things like an afterlife or God. Ideals that you may have carried all your life can change because the thought of not seeing your loved one ever again is too hard to believe. It's a small hope that you will be reunited again... somehow.

Grief is being angry at the person for dying and then trying to forgive them for it.

Grief is understanding why they are gone.

Grief is being mad at yourself that they died and then trying to forgive yourself for it.

Grief is constant. Even when we have moments of sheer joy, it's waiting just under the surface. It is infinite.

Grief is trying to learn from everything that may have lead up to a death, as if putting the pieces of the puzzle together will make you okay. It doesn't, because puzzles are easily jumbled back up. History is the same way. Every person's perception changes how history is written.

Grief is wondering how different you would feel if you had been able to say goodbye. The space between the last time you saw them and the time they died is an abyss. Even if it was minutes, hours, days.... that space of time will now forever be remembered as the 'what if' time. What if I just did this? What if I had just said that? What if, what if, what if?

Grief is knowing what's logical and actual, but being unable to hold on to that logic for more than a few moments... because love is irrational, and that doesn't end because the person is gone.

Grief is not sleeping and being awake as the sun comes up to write something that brings no comfort. The act of trying to understand is like trying to hold sand in a sieve. You always have to face the emptiness of loss.

One more day. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.