Wise old elephant.

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook.  Just what I needed today so I'm passing it along. 

Soul Showers

Pitter patter of raindrops on leaves and the roof.  Crack of thunder.  Cool breeze flowing through the open window.  The rumble of the thunderstorm outside my window seems to match my thoughts lately.  I keep thinking about all of the things that I have to work on, to figure out.  Maybe the rain will cleanse my canvas and help to erase my mistakes.  This rainfall is an answer to prayer in our drought stricken land.  Maybe my own storm is the answer to my pleas for help and healing.

The rain fills our reservoir. Hopefully we will have enough to sustain further hard times. In the middle of my own drought I have depleted my own source of nourishment.   My soul reservoir has been low for a while now.  I could use this storm to help replenish me.

I am trying to walk the line of being true to myself while being scared that if I am truly myself I will be rejected.  My mom always tells me to feel the fear and do it anyway.  Sometimes that's the hardest thing to do.

Dream? I'd like some sleep first.

Today is a little better-which gives me hope that things can keep moving forward.

Good friends are priceless.  I talked with a few friends when I was feeling low and one suggested that I do something outside of Mommyhood.  To not forget who I am.  School, talent, hobby.  Something.  Just for me.  My husband has said the same thing and is very encouraging and supportive.  Problem is...I don't now WHAT I would want to do.

Sleep. That sounds lovely.  Craft.  If only my crafting space were well organized and I didn't have to share it with other storage. (Though that's just me being whiny.) I would LOVE to sew more.  For myself- not projects for other people.  I love making things for other people but the last time I created something for myself?  I honestly cannot remember.  I used to whip out skirts or make little things on the fly.  I think the last thing I made was a wallet for myself that I love.  Feb 2011. 2 1/2 years ago.

But where to begin? I feel guilty that my craftroom is a mess.  And it's hard to get it just right with 3 littles running around. Maybe this weekend I can wade through and work on it. Maybe. After all- there is hope. 

Anybody want a shirt?

"He who loves least controls the relationship." -Don't know if someone else said this prior but I heard my American Lit teacher in high school, Mr. Wilson, say this and it stuck.

I often wonder if I love least.  I seem to always be searching for control.

I came across a quote by Maya Angelou, whom I deeply respect and admire.  She said, "I do not trust people who don't love themselves and yet tell me, "I love you." There is an African saying which is: Be careful when  naked person offers you his shirt."

Ton a bricks.

I get it.

Been there. Done that. Said "I love you" when I don't love myself.  Felt hollow.  I wanted it to be full- like a life preserver is full enough to buoy up both of us.

I struggle with self-love.  I have always felt hypocritical when I tell others that I love them when I find it difficult to love myself.  It's complicated though.  I do love myself deep down.  I know I do.  And I'm grateful that on some level I am still connected to that because it does allow me to love others.  But I listen to the nagging monster too often.  I believe it.

"He who loves least controls the relationship."

With myself I'd say the nagging monster loves least.

So how do I overpower it? How do I get to the place where I truly do love myself enough to ignore the lies?

I was perusing the Fly Lady's web page after a friend of mine sang her praise.  I am familiar with the Fly Lady and her program but never really bought into it.  While looking through things I saw "Control Journals".  That sounded a bit- freaky- but I took a look anyway.  I always love a good journal.  Oddly enough these speak to me.  I love the idea of having everything organized.  Neat.  Tidy.  And my shame and guilt pile up with the clothes on the floor.  I have never been great at follow through.  I try.  But usually when it is for other people.  I don't want to let them down.  I'm used to letting myself down.  The nagmonster tells me it's what I'm good at.

Looks like it's time to get dressed to the Shoes- and see what happens.

Wish me luck to change the tide.

The Monster Under My Bed

Yellow walls. Pink and purple and yellow bedspread.  White dressers covered with Lisa Frank stickers.  If one is fun, why not two hundred?  My red haired cabbage patch doll, Tina sitting with my blankie on my pillow. A whole corner full of bears from my teddy bear themed birthday party when I was 9.  But no monsters.  When I was little I never thought there was a monster under my bed.  I didn't buy into it.  It couldn't fit in there with all my clothes/toys/junk shoved under there in the guise of cleaning my bedroom.

But there is a monster I live with now. No, no. Not my husband.  He's anything but a monster. This one is sinister and tricky and mean. She bullies me day in, day out, no matter what I do.  She nags.  In the worst way.  Nothing is good enough for her.  I certainly am not- and she has no qualms about telling me exactly what I'm doing wrong (everything).

Anytime I put the baby (toddler now really) down for a nap I hear her.
"Why can't you be good enough to play with him? At the very least find a spot in your house where he can play and not get hurt."
"It's not my fault," I argue back, "He gets into EVERYTHING no matter what I do."
"Yeah, but if you were a better mom, he'd be a better behaved child."

When the kids tell me, yet again, that they are hungry despite eating a meal not an hour and a half ago she barges in.
"If you'd fed them more a nutritious meal with lots of choices they wouldn't be grumpy about the food you made that they didn't like and wouldn't eat and then they wouldn't be hungry now."
"And if I had a chef they could have whatever they want. As it is I have limited resources and limited patience for cooking.  They should just eat what I make them if they are really hungry.  They've never truly known what it is to starve."
"But you should buy more of the foods they like- or go more out of your way to create fun meals and disguise the things they don't like."

When I was a kid my mom suffered from depression.  I would find her on her bed or in her room crying again.  She told me it wasn't anything I did, she was just sad.  I wanted to help her.  I wanted her to help me.  I knew one thing for sure.  I did NOT want to end up like her.  She doesn't struggle with depression anymore.  Her life is stable but she also doesn't have kids to take care of day in and day out.  My littlest sister is 21.  Now I'm in Mom's shoes from twenty years ago and I'm scared.  I struggle to get out of bed- but I do it.  I don't want to be like she was.  I feed my children because that is my responsibility.  They are not gourmet.  They are not cute.  But no one in our home goes hungry.  I don't want to ask for help because that is admitting I have a problem and even if I do- I'll find a way out.

That's what I tell myself anyway.
Meanwhile the monster tells me, "You're worthless. Give up.  They'd be better with a numb drugged up Mom on Prozac or Celexa than the angry/sad mom they have now."

Monsters are real.  I didn't realize they don't haunt children- they wait to prey on the grownups.

Why Daffodils?

Daffodils have always been a favorite of mine. Bright. Cheery. Hope. First to bloom. Summer is coming. Hang in there.

So when I'm in the depths of this mud we call depression a spot of hope sounds lovely. Like a dream.

Who am I?

2-4-6-Oh-1...?

Nah.

Just a Mom battling the urge to hide.

And before that I was a young woman with the same urge.

I always thought that the next phase of my life would not include depression.

When I was a teenager I thought surely going off to college would be enough excitement to stave off the darkness.

When I was in college, young and in love, I thought marriage would surely save me.

A baby- surely I can't be sad with a baby.  Boy was I wrong about that.  I got to experience a new form: Post Partum Depression, which is its own circle of hell.

Different medications.

Time.

Counseling.

Prayer and meditation.

All of these have helped.  But the shadow still follows me.  I'd like to shake it for good.

I started this blog to keep it separate from my family blog.  I can be honest about difficulties and challenges without fear of those keeping tabs on my family life thinking that I'm just crazy.  Because I'm not.

I get up, get the kids breakfast, make lunch, chauffeur to school, change diapers, make meals, do laundry, socialize with friends and family.  But there's still a pain there that I'm trying to heal.  It's all very complicated, as most things are, and this is a place for me to wander.  Because we know that not all who wander are lost.  This is my place to think out loud. A journal of sorts to connect with other people.

Scary? New? Exciting?

Yes.
So welcome.
To my musings.