I think I’m turning into a monster

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So, I’ve been keeping it low key lately. We just moved across the country and wait…let me not gloss over that. We drove from Florida to Texas pulling a car on a flatbed. In the backseat there were two incredibly needy toddlers, one of which was newly potty trained. And to make matters worse, it was a holiday weekend. We got through that trip on a wish and a prayer. After numerous stops to visit family and friends on the way, we finally made it to Texas.

Here we are going into week two and we’re trying to figure out a new normal. You would think we would be used to this. after all the moving we’ve done. During our last move, I had very recently had my second kiddo so I decided it best to stay home with them until something perfect came along career wise. That never really came, but I found a cool part time opportunity a year in and decided to do that for a while. It gave me the space I needed to feel like more than a mom and the ability to flex my muscles in my field. I’m pretty introverted so the adult conversation part is overrated but sometimes I need to check and make sure I’m still smart. That’s what this job did for me. I worked there for 6 months and then we found out we were moving back to home. Soooo….back to stay at home mom status, for now.

I had so much anxiety about this move, which you can read about in my previous post. There were tons of reasons why but one of the main concerns was staying at home with two toddlers.

Immediately after my first kid I had fantasies of what life was like for stay at home moms and knew I was meant for that life. But the grass is greener couldn’t be any more true in this case. Most moms know, when you’re at work, you want to be at home with the kids. When you’re at home with the kids you want to be anywhere without kids, preferably with a beverage and no one walking up to you with their hands out saying, “some?”

I’m home now for the time being and we’re off to a pretty rough start. We are staying with family until we find a house.  Did I mention, I’m picky AF? And although he wouldn’t admit it, my husband is too. So… Mother in Law, we’ll be in your house for about six years, thanks! Luckily my family is amazing and we won’t end up with horror stories. But what this does mean is that my kids are sharing a room. This is a big change for us. Not only did they have their own unique and distraction free rooms, we were able to divide and conquer bed time. It was a fairly smooth process especially as they were getting older.

Now, we are starting over and everyday I want to cry at least twice a day, right around nap time and bed time.If they aren’t screaming at the top of their lungs because the lights are out, they are laughing uncontrollably at one another. Either way no sleep is being had.

I’ll never understand how kids don’t realize how delicious sleep is. It’s like they see it as torture of the worst kind. I feel terrible trying to walk away from my kid who just wants “to lay with me.” That is until I remember that it really means “let me put all my weight on top of you while I bounce around from side to side trying to act like I have any intention of going to sleep. ” Inevitably it turns in to a yelling match leaving me to feel like I’ve lost again.

Honestly, it feels like we’re all losing.

These days, I yell a lot. My daughter is old enough to feel shame and embarrassment and she cries just as easily as she hits people. Her older brother comforts her when she cries and he relishes in it, “Come here, baby girl, come to brother.” Lord have mercy, isn’t that my job?

Last Friday, I literally laid down on the couch trying not to cry as they swirled through the house like two relentless Tasmanian devils. I thought to myself, ” How am I going to make it through the rest of the day, it’s only 10am?” I vented to the hubs when he got home and he assured me it was just a transitional thing and all would be well. I reassured him that I knew he was obligated to say that from his place of escape privilege.

Today, I have yelled about 75% less than I did last week. So here’s to small victories. The day is still young and Grandma took them to the park for a few hours but you know, whatever. It still counts.

Nap time came and they put on the first and second act of their daily show “Defiance” and I made it through without yelling. No monster today.

Here’s to re-adjusting and re-learning my kiddos in this way. We’ll figure it out. I’m quite certain.  Here’s to coloring books, flashcards and Netflix. And to giggles, and hugs and nuzzles on noses.

I try to remember that soon enough my kids will be grown and become the well behaved kids everyone thinks they are.

Yep, I’m raising little imposters too. The only difference is I’ll gladly let them fake it at home too.

 

I don’t even know…

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It’s taken me a while to write this one. I’m over my one week deadline (as my husband kindly reminded me this morning.) I’ve known I wanted to write about this since it happened, I just kind of don’t know what to say.

So the other day, I’m at the gym. You know the purple one where you can’t grunt or slam the weights down or breathe loudly for fear of a loud siren going off? Yeah that one. It’s a nice place with nice people. I’ve been going there for a few months just because it’s right by my house and it’s inexpensive. I traded my old gym for this one because I moved and it’s been nice to see people who aren’t all 85 year old retirees with way too much money to spend on plastic surgery.

Here everyday is normal. My fellow Texan checks me in and I go straight to whatever machine I’m working on that day. I casually glance around and see who’s in the gym. One because I’m nosy and two because I’m looking out for people that I can be friends with in my mind. (I’m shy what are you gonna do? )  The third group I’m looking out for are pervies. I never want to pick a machine in front of or next to a pervie. I always feel like people are staring at how hard I’m struggling at the gym. My hormones are shot post pregnancy so I sweat like a pig. (Do pigs really sweat? No clue. Google. Nope, not really. Back to the topic.) I am always looking around to see if anyone notices my struggle. Unfortunately, when I’m looking around I notice all the other people looking around too. In a way, that’s comforting because we’re all struggling. Then I notice there are some who are looking a little too hard . Yuck! Those are the pervies I stay away from.

On this particular day, I am sizing up the people and looking for my machine. I notice there are several people on the ellipticals. They are all spread out two machines apart. However, there are no more consecutive open machines. This, unfortunately for me, means that I have to be the one who chooses to break this unspoken rule and pick a machine next to someone. This is equivalent to choosing the stall next to someone in the bathroom when there are clearly other stalls. Ugh. Wait, someone leaves. Score! I get there and the cup holder is broken. My stainless steel water bottle falls through and loudly clanks several times against the machine as it falls to the floor. I’m embarrassed. I quickly move to the next machine. I look up and see a guy. He’s white, older, maybe late 60s early 70s. The first thought in my mind is, “Does, this guy like Black people. Is he going to be mad that I’m next to him.” UUUGGGGGGH!!!! I hate that this thought even crosses my mind.

Context: this is like a couple of days after the Portland stabbing so I’m reading stories and facebook posts about that and all the other craziness going on in the world (like hanging nooses in museums   that along with growing up Black colored my thoughts that day (no pun intended.)

Now, he didn’t do anything or suggest that he would do anything. He may have been a nice guy completely unbothered by my presence. But the thought was there nonetheless. So I began looking around again trying to spot the racists. Surely there had to be some in there, right? The way folks are coming out of the woodwork these days, I’d say there was probably at least one. I couldn’t spot them. I didn’t want to either. So I stopped trying. The fact that I had this thought and began looking for racists bothered me. It still bothers me.

Fast forward to this past Sunday, the hubs and I were in the blue grocery store. Not the super one, the neighborhood one where they don’t sell bikes and barbies just food and pharmacy. We are checking out and he says there’s a white lady with a Black Lives Matter shirt on. I jokingly said, “You should go give her a hug.” He looked at me like,” Nah, I’m good.” I then asked, “Is there a joke on the back of her shirt.” He replied, “No.” looking at me as though he was surprised. “Too cynical?”, I asked. “Yep.”, he replied.

I like to believe I’ve always been the optimistic one. Always looking for the good in people. So I’ve been struggling with this. I’m struggling with the fact that I have these thoughts at times. I’m not sure what to do with them. It was pretty cool that a white woman is randomly wearing a Black Lives Matter t-shirt. That can’t always go over well where we live. It obviously in no way equates what it is like to live with Black or Brown skin but it’s a conscious choice she made to show solidarity on a regular day while she is buying her avocados.

I don’t have any answers. What I know is this, I am not unchanged by the events of this world. They color my worldview and always have. We all navigate this world through different lenses some more than others. Some days my woman lens is at the forefront as it is when I’m dodging pervies at the gym. Other days my American lens takes over but  lately my black lens has been working overtime. I see everything through it’s filter, even when I don’t want to. I make decisions to ignore it at times and keep doing what I’m doing. Other times I heed it’s warnings and move around. I’ll never know how many times it may have kept me out of trouble or danger but I know it has.

In this case, I recognize my black lens for attempting to protect my optimism from dissolution. I suppose in a way, it’s like getting to the punchline before someone can make fun of you. If I assume there’s a joke on the back of her shirt and there really is, I don’t have to feel upset or shame when I see it. If I joke that my husband should go give her a hug, I don’t have to feel bad about not giving her a pat on the back for something I feel everyone should be doing. Then again, this is the same store where a different woman walked up on me in the “ethnic hair section” and said “That shit don’t work!” Followed by something about poor black girls with thousand dollar weaves and Chris Rock’s documentary. So maybe Miss KnowitAll needs to see the lady with the Black Lives Matter t-shirt and engage in a sensible conversation with one of her own.  It would likely be more effective than anything I had to say to her in that moment.

I’m still figuring out my place in all this mess. Acknowledging my own challenges is a where I am today.

Have you figured out your place yet?

*You guessed it, I’m still posting recklessly to get over my fear of writing. Forgive the oopsies. 

On being a trailing spouse

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Recently, I found out my husband’s job is transferring back to our hometown. As someone who is perpetually homesick, you’d think I would have jumped with joy the moment he told me. I didn’t.

Let me back up a bit. In 2013, I was working as a mental health counselor at a nonprofit domestic violence agency . After just completing all the requirements from the state and obtaining my full license, I was excited to begin my life as a private practitioner. I had been interviewing different offices, trying to find a practice that I wanted to make that leap with. You see, I had already switched careers. Working successfully in higher education for years I wanted a career that focused more on the skills that came naturally to me and helping people work through their issues was one of those skills. I also wanted to be more in control of how much money I made(because higher ed be like we ain’t got no money but we want you to work 365 days a year for peanuts.) I thought private practice was a real way to go in to business for myself without feeling like I was really “selling” something. Well, while all of this was occurring, my husband was trying to break into a new field within his industry. To do so, he’d have to move around, like literally, around the country. So, I decided to be completely selfless and suggest that we take a few years and do just that. We could move around the country for different jobs while he gains experience in his new field. Sounds so selfless, huh?

Well it wasn’t long before he found a great gig. A few weeks later we were off to the Midwest. Ugh. Did I mention we’re from Dallas. We were moving to St. Joseph, MI.  I did freak out a little because I wouldn’t be five feet from a Target but there was one within 15 minutes and their natural hair product section was decent. So you know what? It’s cool. I’ll volunteer and go to the gym and realize my life long dream of becoming a hot philanthropist. Because helping people while feeling beautiful is the stuff dreams are made of. I sound like a great person, don’t I?

Obviously these are the things I’m telling myself, right?

Hey Imposter, girl! There you are!

Fast forward to present day (four years later) and here’s what I realize was happening back then. During all the job change and excitement, we were also struggling with recurrent pregnancy loss (i.e. a bunch of miscarriages in a row) I was constantly trying to keep myself afloat while remaining faithful and keep from slipping into full on depression. (Okay no, let me not sugarcoat that. I totally fell face first into depression following my first miscarriage.) However, the excitement from my new career (and the fact that all of my coworkers were counselors so my sessions were free) kept me from sinking down too far.  With no real resolution to this sadness in sight, moving was a good idea. I just wanted to get away from this town that reminded me of the one thing we hadn’t been able to do. Besides, in the back of my mind I knew I was becoming a counselor because I was good at it and because others thought I should. But not because it’s necessarily my thing. But did I really even have a thing? See, this is what I needed to get a way from.

Leaving allowed me to have an acceptable reason to not have to care about my career. Not have to have a trajectory, or to dress for the job I wanted. I didn’t have to network and make fake friendships just to get ahead. I didn’t have to have children to rely on as a buffer from the world. I didn’t have to explain why we didn’t have children yet. I could just exist in a life centered around my husband’s career and that my friends, is socially acceptable. Unfortunate, but true.

So for the first few weeks after he told me we were going home I was anxious and not excited. Everyone picked up on it, but no one knew why. I mean if you’ve ever spoken to me you know I long for nameless donut shops on every corner,  and kolaches, and black bean dip, tacos from the gas station and ALL the margaritas.

But now I know, I’m grieving. It’s the end of a life where I’ve been living expectation free. I could make decisions free of judgement and just go with the flow. It was completely liberating, I could interview for a job with the absolute most confidence because our life wasn’t centered on my having a job. When I got offered that job I could approach that position from the perspective of my true self and not someone seeking to get ahead. When I took that job and found out two weeks in that I was pregnant (successfully this time), I didn’t have to feel bad about what that meant for my career trajectory. When I got pregnant again shortly before our second move, I didn’t have to worry about choosing to stay home. I was free. I would later even go back to work part time just to flex old muscles and gain some new skills without the commitment. Like seriously, I never knew I could feel this free.

I’ve been viewing this move as a return to responsibility (as if I’ve been free of it some how. Hello, two kids!)  I’ve been feeling like I have to have the answers. What are you going to finally get that PhD. in? What career field are you going to go back to? Counseling? Higher Ed? Something else? Do you pick a career for money because daycare or a career you’re passionate about because life is short? Is staying home an option? Do you even want that? Nope, nope, nope definitely not! We’ll maybe just not full time. I don’t know. Well, look at that. I almost have a piece of an answer.

So I’m training myself to view this move as an opportunity and not the end of an era. Throughout these last four years, I’ve given myself permission to learn new things and be brave enough to do things I didn’t think were acceptable. Maybe I left as a trailing spouse, but I’m returning home as a renaissance woman. I like the sound of that. Maybe I’ll make that my headline on LinkedIn.

BTW, I’m still posting recklessly to get over my fear of writing. Forgive the oopsies. 

Just Write Already…

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So the thing is, I don’t write. Not because I can’t. It’s just because…I don’t know. I just won’t. Who writes anymore? I mean aside from the random Facebook rant or snarky tweet who really needs to write? I mean if you can convey a something humorous, educational and snarky in 140 characters you win the internet every time.

Well apparently, we should all be writing something. The other day I was browsing job posting and one of the requirements was to submit a writing sample. Say what? Why? Isn’t my cover letter a writing sample? Ha. I wrote it! Needless, to say I’m annoyed, so I text a friend whose former job was in career related things. She assures me that normal and that I can just submit one of the blogs I wrote on my last job. I literally LOL. No seriously, the thing is on my last job I was SUPPOSED to write blogs. Like it was in the job description. Could I have done it, sure! However, I am a super talented top notch delegator! So my graduate assistant was studying creative writing… DING! You know how the rest of that story goes (Hey Peter!) I was in that position for a few years (which was far more than blog writing by the way)  and I never wrote a blog post. I edited a few, uploaded a few, but never quite wrote one.  It didn’t help that the grad assistants were always creative writers. I always told myself I would write something one day and then I’d convince myself I couldn’t write. I’m not a writer. I’m an imposter.

I have multiple degrees which means I’ve had to do my fair share of writing and have been told on numerous occasions that I write pretty well. I always nod and say thanks but assume that’s just something you say to people to be nice because what else do imposters assume? So here I am years later and the last thing I can honestly think that I wrote that wasn’t a cover letter of a script for a presentation is my final paper during my grad program. I can’t attach that. It’s like six year old. So did I write something? Ha! No. I just didn’t apply for the job. Bloop their loss!

A few months ago, I posted something on Facebook about wanting to be more involved in the Movement for Black Lives but not knowing what to do. At the time I was a new stay at home mom and struggling with what to do next. I’ll tell you about that another time, assuming I get the courage to write again after this! Some friends shared some great ideas and organizations to get involved in. One friend suggested I start a blog. My insides cringed. I thought no way, who would want to hear what I have to say. I’m not smart enough, I haven’t studies enough. What if I say the wrong thing? Everyone will know that I don’t know what I’m talking about. All of that passed through my mind in a nano second and before I knew it, I had responded that there are enough smart writers out there who are doing it really well. I’m not needed in that way but I’ll figure out how to use my talents. This is a very common thread I see in my life when it comes to my “talents.” I always shut them down.

In my mind, I’m my own biggest fan but the truth is I’m more like my biggest critic. My husband is hands down my biggest fan and the reason I wrote this today. He is always in such disbelief when I doubt myself saying things like, “But you’re the smartest person I know.” Listen, I know he is partially required to say that but I can also tell when he means it. UGHHHH! He’s so sweet.

Now, some of you have already picked up that I suffer from imposter syndrome. YEP. TOTALLY. I KNOW. So that’s exactly what I’m doing here. I’m writing to undo the harm I’ve done to myself which friggin sucks. So I’m committing to writing something once a week. Not for a job or as a career but as a way to overcome an irrational fear I have of being a fraud. I’ll write about anything I want so if you want to come along for the ride, I encourage you to do so selfishly for my own sanity and maybe every now and then yours too.

Oh hell…I have to push publish…oh hell….here we go.

 

Disclaimer: I kept telling myself to go back and edit this. I haven’t as you noticed. It’s been three days and I won’t read it. I know that once I begin editing it I will edit it until I decide to delete it. So I’m sharing it in it’s raw form so that I actual get over myself and share it. So in other words, forgive my oopsies.