Maybe all I need is a good cry

We all need one sometimes, right? At least us women do. Maybe it's because it's "that time of the month". Maybe it's because my huband's out of a job right now and money is tight. Maybe it's because my kid's are growing up way too fast. Or maybe it's because my sex life is nearly non-existant right now. Maybe there's a specific cause. Maybe there's not. Maybe it's just my soul's way of taking time out to cleanse itself during it's dirty, dusty, tiring ride through life. Whatever the reason (or lack thereof) a good cry is sometimes essential to me. Ocassionally we all need to just let the floodgates burst open and drown the sorrows and hardships that are plaguing us. I think most women get this. We understand how cathartic and refreshing a good cry can be. It renews and reaffirms us. It opens our eyes. It repairs our hearts from all the unnamed hurts it has endured. It clears out the cobwebs of our mind, making room for another day full of memories to be made.

Yes, I think i just need a good cry...

If you don't get lost, you may never be found

I just realized that I never really posted about why I started blogging. Of course the title and description explain it pretty well, I guess, but I never really expanded on it. Finding Me is really about just that. Finding me. Eons ago, in what I call the pre-offspring era of my life, I had a firm understanding of who I was and what I wanted out of life. I knew my likes and dislikes. I knew my strengths and weaknesses. I was confident in my decisions. Even when my husband and I made the fateful decision to have a baby (or in my case 2 at once!), I wasn’t worried about my life changing too much. Oh sure, I heard it from everyone - “You can’t imagine how this is going to change your life” and “Your life is never going to be the same!” I heard it. But I didn’t really believe it. Not even when we found out very early on that we were having twins. Not even as my stomach began growing…and growing…and growing some more did it really hit me that there were two other human beings living inside me. Two beings that I was going to be entirely responsible for. It didn’t hit me until the morning my water broke. Lying there in bed, I tried convincing myself that I had simply lost control of my bladder. I’d been told it happens sometimes in late pregnancy. And after all, I wasn’t having any contractions, so surely I couldn’t be in labor. Even my sister-in-law who just happened to be in town visiting us was convinced this wasn’t the real thing. Still, to be on the safe side, my husband I decided we’d better go to the hospital and let them check me out. Soon after we got in the car the labor pains started and I knew. This was real. We were going to be parents. Soon. I immediately started to panic. I had to fight to keep control. I had to start thinking about pacing my breathing - not to help with labor pains, but to keep from losing it emotionally. I struggled to stop my brain from racing through all of the things I hadn’t done to prepare yet and I didn’t dare let myself think of the potential consequences of having a premature birth. Funny how I hadn’t even given the potential risks a thought until then. At any rate, I don’t think anyone else knew how scared I was. To everyone else, I’m sure I looked like I was totally in control and completely on top of this whole birth/baby thing. Little did they know. In reality, the stories I heard from other moms, the books I'd read…none of them prepared me for that moment. That moment when my life truly did change forever. That moment after they lifted baby A out of my womb and gave me a quick 2-second look before they whisked her away into an adjoining room. And then, one minute later, there was baby B. Again - one quick look, and away they took her. It was about that time that I felt the panic really begin to rise inside of me. A feeling so strong there was no way I could control it. I’d seen enough Discovery channel Birth Day episodes to know…my babies should be crying. They weren’t crying! Why weren’t they crying?! I was ready to jump off the table and run after them myself despite the surgeon who was still trying to sew me up and despite the fact that my body was completely numb from the waist down. Mind over matter would have enabled me to overcome any obstacle in that moment. Then – sweet relief! I heard first one, then two faint little cries from the next room. The tears streamed down my cheeks and finally - I breathed. I would never be the same after that. That initial feeling of sheer panic was the first of many more to come. Soon, and without my even noticing it, my life became a series of bottles, diapers and sleepless nights. Before long, I’d completely lost myself. And that was okay for a while. Once you have a child, your dreams and aspirations are supposed to take a back seat to them. But eventually, as your child grows and sleepless nights become more rare, you begin to realize that in order to be the best parent you can be you have to have more to offer your child than just your constant presence. You need to be your own person too, so that they know that they really can balance all that life throws their way. And that is why I’m blogging. Writing is good for me. It’s a part of me that needs exploring and deserves my attention. It would be great if others found my blog and enjoyed it too, but that’s not my goal here. This is for me.

Saying "No!"

I'm an expert on guilt. Not on giving it out (although someday my children may disagree) but rather an expert in experiencing it. Not because I'm a bad person who has things to feel guilty about mind you, but rather because with me it is simply an inborn trait. I'm one of those people who couldn't pass a lie detector test if you asked me what color my eyes were and I answered truthfully. It's this nagging belief that maybe I'm wrong...maybe my eyes aren't really blue. Some might call them grey, I guess. It's self-doubt. It's lack of confidence. It's angst and anxiety over everything...which amounts to nothing, really. I don't ever remember not being without it. For me, it's simply existential.

And so, others find it easy to sway me through the use of shame, by laying on my shoulders a sense of liability that I seem to almost greedily accept. It comes so naturally to those around me - that seamless shifting of responsibility from their shoulders to mine - that I'm sure they themselves don't even realize it. With me, it's just the way it is. Relationships, just as with everything else in life, have a way of naturally following the path of least resistence.

But lately, something inside of me is changing. Maybe it's age. Maybe it's being a mother, who after 5 years, is finally learning to let her kids fend for themselves a bit. I mean, seriously...is it really important that I go to the bathroom with them.every.single.time? They've been potty trained for several years. They know how to wipe themselves. They know how to flush. They don't seem to have any fear of going in there to play and make a mess while I'm otherwise occupied, so why do they suddenly pull out the droopy face and sad little voices when they want me to go potty with them? Because. They know it will work. At least until lately it has.

The change started about a week ago. I'm not sure where it came from. It was out of my mouth before I even realized it. No. That word that rarely ever crosses my lips, and definately not without some deep contemplation on my part about what the potential fallout might be. But suddenly, there it was. No. No, I am not dropping this pile of laundry to come and watch you sit on the potty. No. Not this time. The look on my daughter's face was sheer disbelief. I was hardly able to comprehend it myself. "Wh-what?" She asked. Mustering up my bravado, I said "No. I am in the middle of something. You are perfectly capable of going to the potty by yourself." She didn't fight me on it. She didn't get whiney (that would come later, after both daughters had had to endure my new found self-confidence for several days). Instead, she simply turned around and in a daze walked to the bathroom and went potty by herself.

I was in a daze too. It's true that I don't say no often. If it's dangerous, if it's not healthy, if I really, truely CAN'T, then, I say no. It's the little things I have trouble saying no to. The things like getting up for the 5th time at night because their dolls fell off the bed - again - and they can't find them. It's the bringing them a cup of water only to find out they wanted the pink cup, not the purple one, and will I please, pretty please with sugar on top, please go get the pink cup instead? kinds of things I have trouble saying no to. My thoughts have never really been about me. It's always been about somebody else. My parents, my kids, my husband, my best friend. Whoever. If it makes them happy, if it makes it easier on them, if it makes their lives less hectic, then I willingly take on the burden myself. Now though, it seems I'm learning to be a bit selfish with myself, with my time. And I'm learning that that's okay. It may be a tough transition for them, but they'll survive doing things for themselves every once in awhile. And I might just end up shedding this cloak of guilt I've been wearing all my life.