That feeling of being overwhelmed, but you can't stop here, because you know that if you stop, it's only going to get worse-the feelings of guilt, of failure, of not ever going to be enough.
And that moment when you realize that you're already that behind, and the main event you've been trying to plan for has not even started yet?
How do you come back from that?
How do you find traction to move forward and stop spinning out?
It’s been one of those days when the only phrase that makes sense at the end of the day is:
"I’m done…. So done.”
I’m just spent.
I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie with my girls tonight. When I woke up, the movie was over and it was past their bedtime.
When I sent them upstairs the 5-year-old howled for 10 minutes.
I heard a lot of that howling today. My nerves are shot clean through with it.
On the way to lock the back door, I go through the kitchen and I realize that I have a sink completely full of dishes—and this is despite eating our breakfast for dinner on paper plates tonight.
When I shuffled some papers I discovered a putrefying plum that had been shoved behind the microwave…
I cursed at my 9-year-old this morning. The one that 2 different child psychologists have told me is especially sensitive to criticism or disapproval of any kind. It wasn’t one of the lightweight swear words either.
I hate myself for that.
I had rushed them out the door to try to do something fun… and she was in hysterics about the way her pants felt and not being able to get her shoes on in a way that felt right.
There had been no need to rush, but I saw a moment that I could do something fun.
And damn it, I wanted it. I would HAVE it.
Until I didn’t.
*I* was the one behaving badly.
I have gotten a lot of practice at apologies lately. They forgive me and I wonder about what kind of damage I’ve done anyway.
A week ago I felt pretty on top of things, and pretty content. We were finding our “groove.” But that groove involved running at roughly the speed of sound 6 days a week and we’d had extra things pile up on the 7th a couple weeks in a row.
This weekend we had a down day and we got to stop.
Only I never really got myself moving again. I was just too far behind.
This week I look around and I see floors that (still) aren’t mopped, dishes that need done because somehow or other I keep forgetting to hit “go” on the loads when I put them in the dishwasher, and of course upstairs is the mountain of laundry that I am never, ever, never caught up on.
He was able to call tonight. That was nice. Except he couldn’t talk. He told all the girls he loved them and when I took the phone he let me know that he had to go. It was a busy night. I told him I loved him.
At least I heard his voice.
But really? I ask myself for the 1000th time. Is this any way to carry on a marriage?
I give myself a pep talk. This is it how it goes while they are gone.
In desperation, I count….
How many months do we have left of this deployment, now?
And that’s when it hits me.
We haven’t even started.
This is work ups.
This is the pre-game show.
The main event hasn’t even arrived.
I am already buried. I am already bone tired. I already miss him down to my bones and somehow when he comes back for his “visits” between trips to train and get qualifications I don’t ever stop missing him. Both of us function in perpetually numb states. We can’t afford to meld together when he is only home for a few weeks before the next trip.
I am done. So utterly and completely done with solo parenting, with balancing it all alone, with missing him.
But the deployment doesn’t start for months.
How is it possible that we’re running on empty, when we haven’t left the garage?
Somehow or another, we will drag ourselves through another work-up…. And we will prepare ourselves for D-day. Somehow or another, we will face the long months of the deployment.
Somehow there will be grace for each day. Enough to get us through.
But I’d sure give a chunk of something for a good stretch of time to fill up our tanks again.