When you add stress upon stress to waiting and disappointment and throw in some good old hormones what do you get? A several day migraine!
And all I can think about is how bad I feel for my kiddos. Their summer has been fun. We've gone to the beach, we've been to a few parks, a couple of movies, lots of ice cream and slurpees. But, even last summer when I didn't plan my summer on purpose, I still had a good routine and felt satisfied with balance of down time vs. activity time.
I'm not feeling the balance so well this summer. Because I'm not balanced. Between getting the house ready to sell, having it on the market, then the worry of finding a place for us to live, the fun activities have waned. I've been pushing myself hard. I'm exhausted. My kids have played a lot of video games. They've watched a lot of tv. They've done a good amount of reading, but my mother guilt is kicking in with the screen time.
This week was especially hard on me, but now that I have found our future home I can relax a little. Thanks to my gender, my hormones combined with the stress and guilt and worry I've been hit with a doozy. But I'm refusing to let it get me down.
My kids are only this age once. I am enjoying every minute. Sometimes I need to step away from their volume levels, but I'm excited about our future I'm not letting this migraine get the best of me. Even if tomorrow is day 3, I'll be ok.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
In a home that is no longer mine
Sounds dramatic, but as I've changed the look of my home over the past few weeks, I feel I'm living in a model home, or a staged apartment. We prepped the house to be put on the market, which has included paint, elimination of big furniture, removal of all personal pictures, collections, anything that might create some sort of emotion. I also got rid of tons and tons of things. Goodwill knows us well. I'm sure I could have and should have sold our stuff, but I needed to simply part ways. I'm not a hoarder by any means, but a sentimentalist. When tossing stuff got to be too much, I put things in boxes and figure I will sort it out later.
The result: My home is beautiful. It's clean. It's orderly. It's nice. It's not really my home.
As with many of my recent experiences, I've detached myself from the situation I am in emotionally before I do physically. For some reason this fees unnatural. I feel as if I've created an empty space somewhere inside of me.
For example: I lost Dad years before he passed. My marriage was over months, possibly years, before we separated. My house is still my house, but my attachment to it has waned as it no longer feels like my home. I wonder how healthy this is for me. If dad had died one day, instead of over a process of years where I sat and watched, the grief would have been the same. But I would have been forced to deal with the shock of it all and perhaps the process would have been sped up.
Same with my marriage. Had I come home one day to a 'dear John' letter- wow, that would have hurt and the consequences would have been immediate. Not long and drawn out like my current situation, even though it hurts every bit as much(I imagine anyway).
And finally my house. The house I worked so hard to buy with my husband. The house we searched for and fell in love with and visited when the walls were just going up. The house we picked out the carpet and lighting fixtures. This is the home I brought my babies home to. The home I learned to become a mother. The home I taught my children basics to life, and nursed them back to health when they were sick. We really made this house a home, and now it been stripped down to nothing but a potential sale.
Don't get me wrong, it's lovely. It's beautiful. It's everything I wanted 10 years ago. But now it's not mine anymore. I've lost yet another thing.
A house is just a house mind you. I know wherever I live my home will be my home because of my children and our love for each other. Possessions turn out to be of very little value when your child who thinks she's too old to hold hands reaches out and takes your hand while on a walk. Or your son runs over full speed taking a quick break from his video game just to give you a hug and say he loves you. Or when your very independent 4 year old can't last in a room 5 minutes without you before she needs to find out if you are coming back, or if she needs to change her location.
I have so many dear precious people in my life. I simply can not complain for my losses. Yes, I can and do and will always grieve for my losses, but I still have so very much. I'm overwhelmed at the love in my life. At times when I feel low, I only need to look around me. I'm one blessed girl.
Thank you, my sweet loved ones! Your support right now means more to me than you will ever know.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
The result: My home is beautiful. It's clean. It's orderly. It's nice. It's not really my home.
As with many of my recent experiences, I've detached myself from the situation I am in emotionally before I do physically. For some reason this fees unnatural. I feel as if I've created an empty space somewhere inside of me.
For example: I lost Dad years before he passed. My marriage was over months, possibly years, before we separated. My house is still my house, but my attachment to it has waned as it no longer feels like my home. I wonder how healthy this is for me. If dad had died one day, instead of over a process of years where I sat and watched, the grief would have been the same. But I would have been forced to deal with the shock of it all and perhaps the process would have been sped up.
Same with my marriage. Had I come home one day to a 'dear John' letter- wow, that would have hurt and the consequences would have been immediate. Not long and drawn out like my current situation, even though it hurts every bit as much(I imagine anyway).
And finally my house. The house I worked so hard to buy with my husband. The house we searched for and fell in love with and visited when the walls were just going up. The house we picked out the carpet and lighting fixtures. This is the home I brought my babies home to. The home I learned to become a mother. The home I taught my children basics to life, and nursed them back to health when they were sick. We really made this house a home, and now it been stripped down to nothing but a potential sale.
Don't get me wrong, it's lovely. It's beautiful. It's everything I wanted 10 years ago. But now it's not mine anymore. I've lost yet another thing.
A house is just a house mind you. I know wherever I live my home will be my home because of my children and our love for each other. Possessions turn out to be of very little value when your child who thinks she's too old to hold hands reaches out and takes your hand while on a walk. Or your son runs over full speed taking a quick break from his video game just to give you a hug and say he loves you. Or when your very independent 4 year old can't last in a room 5 minutes without you before she needs to find out if you are coming back, or if she needs to change her location.
I have so many dear precious people in my life. I simply can not complain for my losses. Yes, I can and do and will always grieve for my losses, but I still have so very much. I'm overwhelmed at the love in my life. At times when I feel low, I only need to look around me. I'm one blessed girl.
Thank you, my sweet loved ones! Your support right now means more to me than you will ever know.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, June 3, 2013
Consider the source
It's so easy to hear, or read, and even see something that immediately makes your blood boil, or your heart hurt, or your feelings break. I've often found that as time goes on the pain will always subside and my true feelings how I feel about the situation will surface.
But it's getting past that initial reaction.
Being a sensitive soul who wears her heart on her sleeve I seem to have a lot of heartache in life. Little things in life would hurt. Small thing. Things that the average person would look at and move pass, my heart would linger on, and hurt for. This is why I'm a nurturer. I'm a caregiver. I'm compassionate and caring. It's the root of a lot of my chronic pain. It all adds up. Stress can render me close to useless if I'm not careful. Thankfully over my life I've learned to cope, and over the past 10 years with babies I've been able to shift my life in a way where they are taken care of when moments hit(In other words, they are never left to fend for themselves- I know my limits and my priorities).
My dad was patient with me when I was younger. He seemed to understand that a completely well meaning comment or constructive criticism could hurt for days. He saw how judgement from others would hit my inner most insecurities and could make me reevaluate my entire world. He offered me very wise, yet simple counsel:
"Consider the source"
Which sounds trite the first time or two you say it. But after using this piece of advice for years, I've come to rely on it for invaluable perspective.
Is the source of what I heard a good source? If its somthing I read or watched, was it sensationalized to a point to illicit these feelings from me? Is it someone who really knows me and my situation who said something about me or my capabilities? What is the source of this hurt?
I've used this technique to determine what, if anything, needs to be said or done. Generally I can gain perspective, which can sometimes lessen the pain, but always stabilizes my emotions so I can get back on track, focus on what needs to be focused on, and let go of the hurts that strike my heart.
We live in a cruel world. Media ratings are pumped up by devastating reports and the focus on ugly news. People choose to hurt others out of selfish and destructive desires, and by feeling they need, and have the right to add their opinion into a situation that it does not belong.
I have hardened my feelings a bit. But I want to stay sensitive. It's my natural self. I see my children are sensitive as well, and I see the hurt they already feel at times. It's ok to be this way. I was blessed with a man in my life who could teach me how to deal with these feelings and while I will always be learning how to deal with these feelings, I will also be able to teach those around me a very simple phrase: consider the source.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
But it's getting past that initial reaction.
Being a sensitive soul who wears her heart on her sleeve I seem to have a lot of heartache in life. Little things in life would hurt. Small thing. Things that the average person would look at and move pass, my heart would linger on, and hurt for. This is why I'm a nurturer. I'm a caregiver. I'm compassionate and caring. It's the root of a lot of my chronic pain. It all adds up. Stress can render me close to useless if I'm not careful. Thankfully over my life I've learned to cope, and over the past 10 years with babies I've been able to shift my life in a way where they are taken care of when moments hit(In other words, they are never left to fend for themselves- I know my limits and my priorities).
My dad was patient with me when I was younger. He seemed to understand that a completely well meaning comment or constructive criticism could hurt for days. He saw how judgement from others would hit my inner most insecurities and could make me reevaluate my entire world. He offered me very wise, yet simple counsel:
"Consider the source"
Which sounds trite the first time or two you say it. But after using this piece of advice for years, I've come to rely on it for invaluable perspective.
Is the source of what I heard a good source? If its somthing I read or watched, was it sensationalized to a point to illicit these feelings from me? Is it someone who really knows me and my situation who said something about me or my capabilities? What is the source of this hurt?
I've used this technique to determine what, if anything, needs to be said or done. Generally I can gain perspective, which can sometimes lessen the pain, but always stabilizes my emotions so I can get back on track, focus on what needs to be focused on, and let go of the hurts that strike my heart.
We live in a cruel world. Media ratings are pumped up by devastating reports and the focus on ugly news. People choose to hurt others out of selfish and destructive desires, and by feeling they need, and have the right to add their opinion into a situation that it does not belong.
I have hardened my feelings a bit. But I want to stay sensitive. It's my natural self. I see my children are sensitive as well, and I see the hurt they already feel at times. It's ok to be this way. I was blessed with a man in my life who could teach me how to deal with these feelings and while I will always be learning how to deal with these feelings, I will also be able to teach those around me a very simple phrase: consider the source.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Party house, aloha, or
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Morning thoughts
I'm laying in bed this morning. My mind is wandering and of course it takes me to my Dad. The journey of his Alzheimer's was long and hard. So glad it's over, but I'm still only now coming to grips with what I went thru.
He had a stroke a number of years ago. I remember my mom calling me and telling me something was wrong. Not knowing what was going on, we chatted, then got off the phone. Several hours later my sister called me from the ER. I remember right after the phone call my sweet husband coming in and not knowing what was wrong simply took me in his arms. What a blessing of love and support he was. Not knowing what to do he still managed to somehow give me what I needed.
Fast forward 6 ish years later and my Dad dies. My sweet husband has no idea what to do with me. What used to be instinct between us is now a scary unknown. Any action we used to take has been replaced by either apprehension of it being taken the wrong way, or fear of rejection that we can't be enough for the other person.
So, when I said, leave me alone, I wanted to be left alone. But a hug or a touch on the way out would have been nice. Or peeking in on me after a bit would have been a comfort to me.
He seemed to know instinctually how to keep the other parts of life running smoothly by keeping the house clean, the kids fed, the house running. But he was at a loss as to what to do with me. Maybe he also didn't know what to do with himself or his own unexpressed grief, which he still hasn't verbalized.
I wonder how we got here: so disconnected. No longer what we once were. How could someone whose personality was once so good for me, so comforting and all encompassing of my needs, no longer be what I need? Did it take a major life event for me to realize how far we had gotten from each other?
And then my thoughts go to a darker place: why doesn't he love me enough to fix this? What have I done or not done? Why am I not worth it? Of course, love has very little to do with this. I feel like we simply lost our way back to each other. Months of weekly counseling proved neither of us will change. We are not willing to change, or we are too tired to change, or we can no longer change. Maybe a combination. But it's likely not going to happen.
So I'm alone again.
I wonder what Dad would do or say or how he would make this all better. He wouldn't. He couldn't change things or actually make them better. But his support would help. He would just love me. Make me smile. Tell me I am strong. I am blessed. He would tell me my husband is a good man who will always care for his family. He would tell me I can take this next step and I will be OK. Anyone who knows me will know I'm doing the right thing for me and my babies.
And now I'm ready to get up and meet my day head on.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
After school treat
Does anyone want to volunteer to tell my babes how lucky the are to come home to this:
The house smells heavenly.....
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Saturday, April 13, 2013
A month
A month has gone by since my Dad's passing. He lived with early onset Alzheimer's and he was finally free of this disease on March 12, 2013. I was fortunate to be with him when he passed. I was even more fortunate to have had the sweet opportunity to love and serve him over the past several years.
You see, my Dad has always taken care of me. He was strong, loving, wise. Years ago when his mind starting failing him, it was hard to see. We grieved the loss of Dad in many small ways on an almost continuous basis. Our grieving process was long and painful. Especially in the beginning when he would have moments of clarity and we would be hopeful to get our Dad back.
This past year the disease took a toll on him, and took it fast. We put him in a specialty memory care home. We didn't want to loose Dad, but we also knew he couldn't be happy in his prison of Alzheimer's. Silently I looked forward to the day he could be free of his body and mind that no longer served him. Strangely enough, when the day came and Dad departed this earth, the relief I felt was minuscule compared to the pain of saying goodbye, for reals, to my sweet Father.
My mom and sisters were all surprised at how hard it was for us to go thru this when we had in so many ways felt prepared for it. But loss hurts. And Dad was a great man.
A month later I still feel numb. I pass his care home almost daily and think about him, thinking I should stop in. I wonder how his fellow patients at the home are doing. I wonder what he's up to. It still feels surreal. Like I just haven't visited him in a while. I don't feel like a daughter without her daddy.
I've slowed down a lot since his passing. I've pulled into myself. I have a few very wonderful friends who have taken it upon themselves to check in with me. When I say I'm fine, they know better and simply make sure I know they are there.
I've become more gentle with myself. Not beating myself up or holding myself to my usual standards. Not that I've let all things go, but I don't feel I need the extra pressure of my inner voice pushing me. I will get to my items on my lists. If I spend a little time thinking and pondering, I will decide what is important and needs to be done right away.
I'm not sure when or if life will ever get back to normal. I have been focusing on what is around me and what is important for me right now. And that is the right thing for me to do.
I love you Dad. I miss you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
You see, my Dad has always taken care of me. He was strong, loving, wise. Years ago when his mind starting failing him, it was hard to see. We grieved the loss of Dad in many small ways on an almost continuous basis. Our grieving process was long and painful. Especially in the beginning when he would have moments of clarity and we would be hopeful to get our Dad back.
This past year the disease took a toll on him, and took it fast. We put him in a specialty memory care home. We didn't want to loose Dad, but we also knew he couldn't be happy in his prison of Alzheimer's. Silently I looked forward to the day he could be free of his body and mind that no longer served him. Strangely enough, when the day came and Dad departed this earth, the relief I felt was minuscule compared to the pain of saying goodbye, for reals, to my sweet Father.
My mom and sisters were all surprised at how hard it was for us to go thru this when we had in so many ways felt prepared for it. But loss hurts. And Dad was a great man.
A month later I still feel numb. I pass his care home almost daily and think about him, thinking I should stop in. I wonder how his fellow patients at the home are doing. I wonder what he's up to. It still feels surreal. Like I just haven't visited him in a while. I don't feel like a daughter without her daddy.
I've slowed down a lot since his passing. I've pulled into myself. I have a few very wonderful friends who have taken it upon themselves to check in with me. When I say I'm fine, they know better and simply make sure I know they are there.
I've become more gentle with myself. Not beating myself up or holding myself to my usual standards. Not that I've let all things go, but I don't feel I need the extra pressure of my inner voice pushing me. I will get to my items on my lists. If I spend a little time thinking and pondering, I will decide what is important and needs to be done right away.
I'm not sure when or if life will ever get back to normal. I have been focusing on what is around me and what is important for me right now. And that is the right thing for me to do.
I love you Dad. I miss you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Needing an advocate
I was an early swimmer. We had a pool in our yard, which prompted my parents to get us into swim lessons quite early. I think I was around 3.
I love the water. I wish I could swim every day. Or at least soak in the water. I'm most at ease near water, and when it's time to relax or vacation, I plan it around ocean, river or lake destinations.
Since I was a early swimmer and summer swim lessons were the norm, I was used to the first day evaluations. I can not remember how old I was, but being younger than most, I was being evaluated to graduate up to the deeper part of the pool. I could not wait. Not only would I learn more, but I was leaving all those babies behind... Those babies who blew bubbles and stood on the risers in the water.
It was my turn to swim the width of the pool and I got off to a bad start, swallowed a bunch of water, started to panic, and was plucked out of my spot and put back with the babies. My heart broke. I did not belong in this amateur group. Plus my best friend advanced and I did everything with her, how could I survive my swim lessons without her.
Mom was sitting in the viewing area and watched the drama unfold. She probably saw the heartbreak on my face. She was my advocate. She was my hero. She asked the instructor to give me another shot, which wasn't typical or easy to do in the chaos of first day swimming evaluations.
Of course I rocked it and advanced. Mom had her reasons: she wanted to see me advance. She also wanted her money paid for lessons to go for something productive. But mostly she wanted to ease my heart ache. The only way she could was to be my advocate and ask for what I couldn't ask for myself.
Now, I am an adult. I am able to ask for things I need and want. When my heart is hurt and I need an advocate, I usually am able to play my own. But there are days when I simply want someone perceptive enough, someone who knows me enough to see me and advocate for me. I miss that.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I love the water. I wish I could swim every day. Or at least soak in the water. I'm most at ease near water, and when it's time to relax or vacation, I plan it around ocean, river or lake destinations.
Since I was a early swimmer and summer swim lessons were the norm, I was used to the first day evaluations. I can not remember how old I was, but being younger than most, I was being evaluated to graduate up to the deeper part of the pool. I could not wait. Not only would I learn more, but I was leaving all those babies behind... Those babies who blew bubbles and stood on the risers in the water.
It was my turn to swim the width of the pool and I got off to a bad start, swallowed a bunch of water, started to panic, and was plucked out of my spot and put back with the babies. My heart broke. I did not belong in this amateur group. Plus my best friend advanced and I did everything with her, how could I survive my swim lessons without her.
Mom was sitting in the viewing area and watched the drama unfold. She probably saw the heartbreak on my face. She was my advocate. She was my hero. She asked the instructor to give me another shot, which wasn't typical or easy to do in the chaos of first day swimming evaluations.
Of course I rocked it and advanced. Mom had her reasons: she wanted to see me advance. She also wanted her money paid for lessons to go for something productive. But mostly she wanted to ease my heart ache. The only way she could was to be my advocate and ask for what I couldn't ask for myself.
Now, I am an adult. I am able to ask for things I need and want. When my heart is hurt and I need an advocate, I usually am able to play my own. But there are days when I simply want someone perceptive enough, someone who knows me enough to see me and advocate for me. I miss that.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, March 11, 2013
Sleep.... and objects in motion
Over the past little while I have found my sleep habits are a way I deal with my stress.
I crave the quiet hours when I am the only one awake at night. When I can check on and tuck in my littles, and have time to just be with me. Of course, this causes me a good amount of stress the next morning because of my exhaustion. So, the nights when I don't have work the next morning, or have an appointment first thing, I tend to stay up way past my bed time.
I love taking naps. Its so nice to escape into my room and curl up in my bed and close myself off from my cares and worries and so oftentimes pain. I have amazing dreams that nurture me, and when I wake up, whether I feel better or not, I can feel satisfied in the fact there is more time between myself and whatever it is that has been stressing me out.
Over the past few months it seems the stress has been relentless. I've been coping well, but my need for sleep is all consuming. I am not appreciating it like I used to. I am feeling lazy and boring. I feel like I am an object at rest--- tending to stay at rest. I am caught up in a horrible cycle and have no inspiration to get out of it. Even the support of my friends haven't helped much.
I know I need to get up and get moving. I know that will help me not only feel better, healthier, but also more productive. But then I see my bed and I lay down and my pain reminds me how good it feels to be still. I succumb to my laziness and I let sleep carry me away. I wake up to the big pile of laundry still waiting for me, the kitchen still a mess, and all the little goals of my day becoming the goals for tomorrow. I feel let down by myself- I have nothing to show for my day. I am not an object in motion. This scares me, I don't want to stop yet. I need to move.
I need to move.
I crave the quiet hours when I am the only one awake at night. When I can check on and tuck in my littles, and have time to just be with me. Of course, this causes me a good amount of stress the next morning because of my exhaustion. So, the nights when I don't have work the next morning, or have an appointment first thing, I tend to stay up way past my bed time.
I love taking naps. Its so nice to escape into my room and curl up in my bed and close myself off from my cares and worries and so oftentimes pain. I have amazing dreams that nurture me, and when I wake up, whether I feel better or not, I can feel satisfied in the fact there is more time between myself and whatever it is that has been stressing me out.
Over the past few months it seems the stress has been relentless. I've been coping well, but my need for sleep is all consuming. I am not appreciating it like I used to. I am feeling lazy and boring. I feel like I am an object at rest--- tending to stay at rest. I am caught up in a horrible cycle and have no inspiration to get out of it. Even the support of my friends haven't helped much.
I know I need to get up and get moving. I know that will help me not only feel better, healthier, but also more productive. But then I see my bed and I lay down and my pain reminds me how good it feels to be still. I succumb to my laziness and I let sleep carry me away. I wake up to the big pile of laundry still waiting for me, the kitchen still a mess, and all the little goals of my day becoming the goals for tomorrow. I feel let down by myself- I have nothing to show for my day. I am not an object in motion. This scares me, I don't want to stop yet. I need to move.
I need to move.
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