Ummm…it’s been a summer. I’m trying to say that with a smile, because there were lots of smile filled moments, and when I think back over the summer as a whole, I see more happy than turmoil. (Which is good, no? Especially when blending a family together)
Turmoil has been heavy though. This is one of those cases where when it’s good, it’s good, but when it’s bad? It’s very, very, very bad. I lost myself over the summer. I went into mom mode and stayed in mom mode. I tried adding GC into my days, but by the time he would get home from work, I’m so exhausted…
Losing myself is not fun. Not at all. I had little time to write. My desktop grew a few layers of dust and gained a few cobwebs as it sat unused most of the summer. Anytime I sat down in front of it, chaos would ensue. I just couldn’t leave my kids “unattended” even long enough to go pee. At 16, 14, and 12 (not counting Scooby, you know, because the baby is supposed to be a PITA) that shouldn’t be. But it did, and it does, and…
All those ugly doubts and questions worked themselves to the forefront of my mind. Am I good enough? Am I being enough mom, enough wife, enough me? As for the mom part, I had enough of a support system to know that yes, I was enough mom (no, strike that. I AM enough mom.) The jury is still out on whether I was enough wife, but I can absolutely, positively tell you that I was NOT enough me. Nowhere close.
You know that phrase: If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy? I found it running through my head whenever I was cranky, which was a lot, or irritable, which was weekly, or mad, which was hourly. Man, what an undertaking! The biggest problem wasn’t the disrespect of the older kids, or the constant bickering, or the constant challenges to everything I say (“Isn’t the sky a lovely shade of blue today?” “That’s not blue. That’s turquoise.”). It’s not even that GC spent more time away from home than in it. And yes, these are all major issues, but, like the phrase says:
If momma ain’t happy…
How can momma be happy when she’s lost sight of herself? When she’s shoved her identity behind a label—wife, mom, whatever—so far that it felt like an alien had taken over her body? Who was that woman this summer?
When I write…when I’m doing my thing, I am happy. The whole world can fall to pieces around me, and as long as I’m being me, doing me things despite them all, it’s a bit easier to deal with everything and everyone when you have your own peace inside.
I don’t want to ever do that again. I’ve found the road again and I’m following it closely.