No One Does It All
When I was depressed after the birth of my second daughter, I used to get inexplicably annoyed at people who would tell me "you have so much to be thankful for". I couldn't put words to my annoyance, even in my own head. After a few years of reflection, and a couple of brushes with depression since then, I can. Being depressed didn't make me ungrateful. And implying that I wasn't thankful for all I had, it didn't make me more thankful. It didn't make me not depressed. What it actually did was to pile on a heap of guilt, which only made the depression heavier and heavier. What I needed was for someone to say "I am here with you, and I will not leave you". I needed someone to tell me that I was not a horrible person, I was not a horrible wife, a horrible mother, and so not worthless. I needed someone to squeeze my hand. I needed sleep. Oh, how I needed sleep.
These days, when the shadows whisper, my first clue that something is amiss is usually a desire to retreat from everyone and everything. I'm a social being, but when I start to feel introverted, I need to force myself out into the world, resisting the urge to hide from those who love me.
Then I get angry and irritable about everything. I get annoyed with my children, my husband, people at traffic lights, but most of all I get annoyed with myself for every single (perceived) failure. I start to believe that I am the worst (wife, mother, person, Christian, etc.) EVER. No matter how many people tell me otherwise, I find it so difficult to hear their words over the ones in my brain, telling me I will never ever ever ever measure up to ... well, to anyone.
If I miss that warning sign, then I start to feel paralyzed by life. A laundry basket seems to be accusing me of failing to deal with it. My own house (and all the evidence of a happy, busy, family living therein) feels as though it's swallowing me up, squeezing the life out of me. I fantasize about running away, and cry a lot.
I've been fortunate that it never seems to get further than that. I can't explain why, but after a couple of days of that third stage, I revert to "mombot" mode, and start going through the motions. Not because I want to, but because I should. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, I crawl back toward the light, through the shadow and the fog. One weary inch at a time. The negative thoughts come, and I challenge them - sometimes just by saying "I know that is not true". All the while forcing myself to be with people, to do things, to do life. Eventually, I find myself breathing deeply again, and smiling.
None of this could happen without my faith in God, who is bigger and louder than the shadow. I can think positively, but ultimately, I am not strong enough on my own to ignore the shadows. It is only when I ask the God who knit me together in my mother's womb, to hide me and fight for me, so I can begin to crawl toward the light again.
I've got a lot on my plate. Not as much as some folks, but it's relative. I manage, with a lot of help. But when I start thinking that I can control the universe, God lets me know good and proper that it is not in fact my job to control the universe. It's His, and in this life of mine, He has placed people in my life as His hands and feet, to help and to mentor me. If I just stop trying to be Him, and learn to be me, I can see that I am not alone, and that this notion of trying to be Supermum, to do all of the things for all of the people, and do them all well? It isn't possible. No one does it all, not alone.
So here's to not doing all of the things, all of the time. Here's to doing some of the stuff some of the time. :)
xo, Sarah
These days, when the shadows whisper, my first clue that something is amiss is usually a desire to retreat from everyone and everything. I'm a social being, but when I start to feel introverted, I need to force myself out into the world, resisting the urge to hide from those who love me.
Then I get angry and irritable about everything. I get annoyed with my children, my husband, people at traffic lights, but most of all I get annoyed with myself for every single (perceived) failure. I start to believe that I am the worst (wife, mother, person, Christian, etc.) EVER. No matter how many people tell me otherwise, I find it so difficult to hear their words over the ones in my brain, telling me I will never ever ever ever measure up to ... well, to anyone.
If I miss that warning sign, then I start to feel paralyzed by life. A laundry basket seems to be accusing me of failing to deal with it. My own house (and all the evidence of a happy, busy, family living therein) feels as though it's swallowing me up, squeezing the life out of me. I fantasize about running away, and cry a lot.
I've been fortunate that it never seems to get further than that. I can't explain why, but after a couple of days of that third stage, I revert to "mombot" mode, and start going through the motions. Not because I want to, but because I should. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, I crawl back toward the light, through the shadow and the fog. One weary inch at a time. The negative thoughts come, and I challenge them - sometimes just by saying "I know that is not true". All the while forcing myself to be with people, to do things, to do life. Eventually, I find myself breathing deeply again, and smiling.
None of this could happen without my faith in God, who is bigger and louder than the shadow. I can think positively, but ultimately, I am not strong enough on my own to ignore the shadows. It is only when I ask the God who knit me together in my mother's womb, to hide me and fight for me, so I can begin to crawl toward the light again.
I've got a lot on my plate. Not as much as some folks, but it's relative. I manage, with a lot of help. But when I start thinking that I can control the universe, God lets me know good and proper that it is not in fact my job to control the universe. It's His, and in this life of mine, He has placed people in my life as His hands and feet, to help and to mentor me. If I just stop trying to be Him, and learn to be me, I can see that I am not alone, and that this notion of trying to be Supermum, to do all of the things for all of the people, and do them all well? It isn't possible. No one does it all, not alone.
So here's to not doing all of the things, all of the time. Here's to doing some of the stuff some of the time. :)
xo, Sarah
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