Category Archives: kids

December 13, 2023

Full Moons are for Finding Yourself

By Steph

Again.

And again.

Maybe the Universe knows we’ll always need reminding.

Five years ago in August, I was in a really bad place. Sick. Alone. Getting a divorce. Either losing custody of my children or losing them to their own adult lives. All painful in different ways, but that’s not what I want to talk about today.

Today, I want to talk about beauty. How amazingly, awesomely, breathtakingly beautiful it is to be in love…with yourself.

There is no doubt in my mind that I will journey through that dark, hideous place of pain and fear again. That’s the way humans, and this human in particular, are built. So, this isn’t me saying I’ve cured my depression or healed my trauma or that I’m not going to be sick anymore.

This is me saying: I will survive it. Whatever it is that sends me to bed with heating pads or ice packs, with pillows soaking up my tears, I. Will. Get. Back. Up.

This is me saying: It’s worth it. The pain, the hurt, the worry, the fear, the illness after illness after illness; it’s all worth it.

This is me saying: I DESERVE MORE than survival.

This is me saying: I don’t care what people think about me. What I care about is how people treat me.

This is me saying: I lost my health, my partner of 16 years, and my children all in a matter of months, and yet here I am. (Yes, y’all, I’m still me, the “motherfucker” at the end there is silent.)

This is me saying: I’m stronger now than I have ever been. And as someone with depression, I was strong to begin with. You have to be when you spend your life fighting your mind for your life.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the last few years, and time alone is time to think. I need it like I need air. I notice so much more now that I can listen. I worry less now that I can feel without judgement.

Our intuition has been shit on for so long, it’s almost like those of us with “feelings” trained ourselves not to notice them. Because when you say, “something doesn’t feel right” or, worse, “I’m getting a weird vibe” or even “what’s wrong” to someone who doesn’t want you to notice any of those things, what do they do?

They tell you that you’re fucking crazy.

What happens when you ignore your feelings though?

I spent a lot of my thinking time out in the woods. When I say “woods” I hope you’re picturing hundreds of acres in the Ozark Mountains, because that’s what I’m talking about. Where people can and do disappear. I figured out that if my gut said, “something isn’t right” that I should scoot my happy ass back to the house where I most likely won’t get eaten by a bear.

Obviously (to me) these kinds of feelings are part of us for a reason. The older guy from town who was cute but who I always, always, always avoided? In prison for violent crimes against women. That look some people get when you accidentally make eye contact? That glimmer of meanness that makes your skin crawl? The feeling that you’re being lied to, or manipulated, or that something just isn’t right?

Guys, we’re not all crazy. Some of us, okay. Me? Probably, but I LIKE IT.

Actually, I LOVE IT. I’m 44 years old, and I fucking LOVE myself. I’m hilarious, often unintentionally which makes it even better. I’m brutally honest, but I never intend to hurt anyone with my words. I’m smart sometimes and some ways, but also hardheaded and can be incredibly stupid and so, SO naive. I’m frequently oblivious because I’m so caught up in living. LIVING, do you understand what I’m saying? What you are doing RIGHT NOW IS YOUR LIFE!

The full moon was a while ago, but that’s when I lit some candles and watched the shadows of flowers dance on my ceiling and then danced with them. I’ve been thinking this post since then. I had come to a point where I felt like I was moving backwards. I’d been so at peace and then my peace shattered, and I felt like I would too. But I’m not made of glass, and neither are you.

Life isn’t a straight line. People say that about grief, but I think it applies to life too. We’re always going to be picking up the pieces of ourselves, and we’re always going to be putting them back together in a better, stronger, more beautiful way.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in chronic illness, CPTSD, Depression, disability, invisible illness, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts

August 28, 2015

I Am Not That Mom

By Steph

I am Not that Mom

I am not that mom who sits on the floor with you playing My Little Pony for hours. I am not the mom who builds entire towns on Minecraft. I have never learned to play Pokémon and I never (ever) will. I am well aware of my failure in this aspect of parenting.

I am thankful for my husband, who excels in watching cartoons and playing video games. I smile when I see him and the kids tossing a football in the yard. (In the yard. No Throwing Balls in the House. Jesus.) I laugh when they wrestle and tickle and play, play, play.

I’m just not that mom.

I was the young soon-to-be mom, scared to death but determined, so determined, to bring you into this world and love you like no other. I was the single mother of two who worked long hours and still held dance parties with just my two boys where we sang at the top of our lungs and the laughter rang as loud as the music. Before you were even born, I was the mom eating cherry cheesecake so I could see you dance. (And because cheesecake.)

When I first saw you, I knew that you would hold my heart forever. Two more times I met my new sweet babies, and two more times my heart grew to wrap around all of you. When you were a baby, I was that mom who couldn’t sleep for looking at you. I can still feel you, so tiny, snuggled on my chest. When I see you asleep now, I still picture you curled up in footie pajamas, all wispy hair and dark lashes against perfect skin.

I was that mom who rocked you all night, patting and bouncing and shh, shh, shhing when you cried. I was the mom who panicked over every bump and bruise. I was the mom who kissed boo boos. I was the mom who spent untold hours waiting on casts for broken bones or bandages for cut fingers. (Safety scissors, my ass.) I was the mom whose leg you were firmly wrapped around the day we toured preschools. I was the mom who went to school online in order to work from home because you needed me.

I am the mom who signs notes and checks homework and packs lunches. I’m the mom who makes the doctor’s visits and dentist appointments and parent teacher conferences. I’m the mom who hasn’t worn anything but thrift store clothes for years so that you can go to school wearing clothes that are apparently hand-sewn by the famous athletes of the world.

I’m the mom who makes stupid jokes and sings off-key and acts sillier than I am just to see you smile. I’m the mom who wouldn’t trade those smiles for the entire world.

I’m the mom who loves you so much more than I could ever explain. And the mom who tries so hard to show you that.

But most times I feel like I am also the mom who is failing.

I’m the mom with chronic recurring depression. I’m the mom with generalized anxiety disorder. I’m the mom with PTSD. I’m the mom who has chronic migraines. I’m the mom with chronic pain. I’m the mom who sees more doctors than hairstylists. (Hahahahaha, I don’t even remember the last time I went to a stylist. But you have an appointment tomorrow.)

I am the mom who struggles every single day to accomplish the things that have to be done so that you can have a “normal” life. I am the mom who does your laundry even when I have to sit down to sort it. I’m the mom who makes sure the water bill gets paid so that you can shower. I’m the mom who clips your fingernails and buys you toothpaste and nags you to wear deodorant.

I’m also the mom who forgets things. Not the big stuff, like birthdays or Christmas, although there have been a few notes from the Tooth Fairy instead of cash. But I forget things that you already told me. I forget that when you were playing a video game yesterday, you scored 58 touchdowns and a free throw, and spawned…maybe a chicken? I don’t know. I forget.

But I’m also the mom who can tell in a single glance when you are upset, and who listens to you when you are sad and angry and when you are happy and excited, even if I do tend to forget your ponies’ names and LeBron’s stats and how to catch ’em all.

I’m the mom who wants to slay all your dragons and breathe fire on anyone who dares to hurt you.

I’m also the mom who too often hurts too much to cook dinner. I’m the mom who lets you eat an unhealthy amount of macaroni and pizza rolls. I’m the mom who has piles of clean laundry on the couch because my arms ache so badly I can’t fold it. I’m the mom who gets overwhelmed too easily. I’m the mom who has to hide when things get to be too much. I’m that mom who cries in the bathroom when I’ve let you down.

I’m the mom who stays awake at night worrying about you. I’m the mom who wishes she could save all your hugs and all your “I love you’s” and get them back out on the days when there are no hugs, just slamming doors.

I’m the mom who loves you SO MUCH. You are the children who save my life every day. I’m the mom who is trying to be the parent you deserve, even when I’m not the one you might want.

*EDITED TO ADD: I am completely overwhelmed by the response this post has gotten. I love all you guys so much,  and even though everyone keeps saying that I’ve made them feel less alone, the truth is that YOU GUYS have made me feel less alone. Thank you all SO much for every like, comment, share, and kind thought. I’ve been trying to respond to all the comments, but as I guess y’all know, I’m sick a lot. But I have read every single one of them, and each one brings a smile to my face or a tear to my eye and sometimes both. I just wanted everyone to know how much your love and compassion for each other and your “me too” and your stories have affected me.

Love,

Steph

330 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in chronic illness, Depression, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, parenting, small humans, thoughts