Leaving the Comfy Chair.

I've come to the realization that doing whatever seems the least awful has left me...feeling more awful.  I've done a lot of reacting to whatever is stressing me out by hiding from it or taking the path of least resistance.  Or both.

So here's to trying things that make me uncomfortable.  Like going to therapy.  Or talking about going to therapy.  Like doing things make make me look or feel like an idiot sometimes.  Because who knows, it might be fun once in a while.

I'm doing better...

...but this post probably won't sound that way.

Internet, I'm in therapy/counseling.  And it's helping.  If you feel that mental illness is a faith or personality failing and I should just pray harder or stop feeling sorry for myself, F OFF.  It's none of your business.

After two young people committed suicide in our area, I started to think that maybe it was time to model something more constructive for my kids than just toughing depression out and waiting for it to go away.  And for purely selfish reasons, I wanted to stop thinking dying might be nice.

So my problem stems from two sources:  I have trouble dealing with the hormonal swings that happen around pregnancy and childbirth.  Yeah, even though I've done it so many times.  And family history?  I'll just say that depression occurs in 100 percent of my female blood relatives.

The other source:  Let's see...I have seven kids (one of whom depends on me entirely for nourishment), a full-time job, a crappy cluttered house, a husband that is constantly distracted and busy building a new house, and a fairly busy church job.  None of these are bad things, except for the old house, and we're in the process of fixing that.  But it's a lot to deal with.

So maybe it's no wonder that life is beating me up and stealing my lunch money right now.  I've learned that it's okay to be frustrated with things that I wanted.  I would always beat myself over the head because I chose to get married and have kids, so I deserved every bad feeling I had if I wasn't happy with some aspect of that life. 

It's a little easier now that I don't have to mentally punish myself for being irritated with the kids occasionally, or with Toby.  That doesn't make be a bad mom or a bad wife.  Somehow, giving myself permission to be mad sometimes has made me mad less often...which is a good thing for all of us.

(Image from the awesome "Heal Yourself, Skeletor" site.  It seemed appropriate.)

Regret

It seems like it's my middle name right now.  Either regret or resentment.  Is there a word for the odd sense of loss when you contemplate something you might not even have wanted?

I've had two things bugging me, so maybe if I put them out here in print on my blog, they'll leave my head for good.

One:

I don't have a wedding ring.  We were the classic broke teenagers when Toby and I married.  We didn't think a lot of fuss and expense were necessary, and were keenly aware that everyone in both our families didn't want us to go ahead with it.  We went together to Spencer's in the mall, and picked out a cheap silver band with sun, moon, and stars on it.  It was just a ring, so we'd have a ring, and a little nod to my intended astronomy career.

They day of our wedding, the ring disappeared.  I don't know what happened to it, or how. The man who performed the ceremony forgot the ring part, which was just as well, since we didn't have one.  It wasn't a big deal at the time.  We were just happy to be together.

Except...sometimes I wish I had a wedding ring.  It's not that a little piece of metal with a bit of mineral on it would make us more married, or that I need it to constantly fend off the advances of clueless suitors.  I don't like the diamond cruelty situation much, either.

I don't even know what I would do to fix this.  I can't go back in time, although I probably could have Toby use his metal detector at the decommissioned church to see if the original turns up there.  It would be odd to tell Toby he has to buy me one now, after fifteen-plus years of marriage...and we wouldn't be people for a traditional wedding ring with precious stones in it anyway.  I'm way more into the semi-precious ones with more personality than sparkle.  If I want a ring, I can buy one for myself.  I don't know why this bothers me at all.

Two:

I've never had a shower of any kind.  Not like that, I wash quite regularly.  I didn't have a wedding shower, or a baby shower for any of the kids.  It's not that I need stuff for my babies, because we're pretty well set these days with baby care items.  It's just that after all these years, in a community that is so excited about procreation, I wonder if it's just me that's never had one.

Don't get me wrong, I'd probably have been really weirded out if someone wanted to throw me a big party and give me things, especially with baby number 4, or 5, or 7.  And maybe that same community has understood that about me and thought it was doing what I wanted.  But after years of trying to blend in and not be noticed, it sometimes feels like I've done such a good job that no one knows I'm here.  Oh well, I suck at thank-you notes anyway.

I like being the person who does things a little differently.  It's part of our family identity at this point.  But sometimes I see all the things that people do because they're things everyone does, and I wonder if there's something to those traditions.

In the meantime, I feel sort of like I missed my chance to get on the tradition train, and it's never coming back for me to get it right.