Rescue Breaths

** I tried to stay on task with this blog, but of course, my thoughts just don't stay in a single file line, and I no longer try to force them. So if you feel at times like you are bouncing of walls reading this, that's exactly how I feel...

~This morning, for the second time in a year, I was given a gentle nudge by the same dear friend. It's amazing how I don't talk to her for a couple of months and she somehow, somewhere, gets it. She prodded me to post a blog. It has been a while. And I just can't seem to focus long enough to sit down and give it a go. That's what I have been telling myself anyway. So here is my flailing attempt. Which feels lovely and threatening all at the same time.~

Ironically, last week, I started writing the obituary for this blog, because I was pretty convinced that the bitch needed to die.

She had served her purpose, but I had begun to feel that she was coming across as pretentious, preachy, under qualified and underwhelming. As in, I was coming across that way. And I probably am. And, I fantasized that her death should be fantastic.

I began the Domestic Hit Woman blog back in March 2011, shortly after my grandmother passed away. I found it to be a much needed outlet for me. Writing is therapy, for this self professed control junkie. Lately, I have been dealing with a lot more than my usual personality flaws that drive me and those closest to me bloody crazy. I now suffer from a form of anxiety that robs me of my sleep. Making me all that more gnarly (in a totally 80's kind of way). I certainly don't feel as comfortable socially as I used to and I am often on shaky ground with the level that anger and fear can creep up on me, from my blind side. I feel detached. Seeing a therapist is part of my life now. I need her to help me sort shit out. I will admit, those last two sentences, make me feel weak. And it shouldn't. But I am being as honest as I can be.

When I write, I live for sarcasm, bad grammar, and the constant drilling, questioning that I and most women (whether we mother someone or something or not) tend to put ourselves through. That a lot of people in general put themselves through, not just women. The perpetual "Am I doing it right?" "Am I good enough?" "How can I do it better?" So, with a blog, I get to put it all out there. And when I do, I get it back in spades. I get back that most of us, from time to time, feel this way and when we realize that we are not alone, we find comfort in it. At our weakest, I find we can gain strength just from that little ping that there are others out there, somewhere in the endless universe, that feel like we do.

 I find that regularly, the need that I have to express myself gets blocked by big meteor sized emotions that I don't know how to handle, connect with properly or express to others without hiding behind the ambiguity of the Internet. So a blog equals a perfect outlet for me. And I love anyone who reads the words that I write, because you give so much back to me. Just from reading. And maybe laughing. And doing that feeling like you are not the only one thingy. I love the strength in numbers feeling. I love the feeling of a feelings community. And I never used to.

10 years ago, I would have just stopped reading my own blog. The feeling of feelings community? That's syrupy.

But even writing has felt impossible. Not worthy, not good enough.

Yesterday, both of my children did something special. It wasn't a great grade on one of their tests or projects. He didn't get the lead in the school play and she didn't score the most points at her field hockey game. It was much more.

At lunch time, my daughter, her friend Kate and I, were on our way home from a road trip, We stopped to get lunch/dinner. After giving Kate the few extra bucks she needed to buy her Caesar Salad, my daughter said "You do so much for others, ya know that? You need to do something for yourself." and then she hugged me in public and kissed my cheek. Like a great big hug. She's thirteen, just shy of fourteen. Seems like a radical move on her part. And she captivated me. For Christ's sake kid, it was just a couple of bucks. But the eye contact from my daughter, the concern in her voice and my lack of true connection to the outside world and just feeling like I was going through the motions, while standing in line at Panera, caused me to pause. She is so mature and intuitive. It stopped me in my tracks. I am not the actress I think I am. I have been exposed as a fraud. Thank God.

The self doubter in me just got my reward. A caring and insightful kid. The mother in me, felt disheveled and revealed and successful all at once. It felt kind of awkward, the need to be called out. Getting called out by your own kid, and recognizing that it's warranted, is truly precious, if you are humble enough. I am not usually humble, but yesterday I was. A moment of true weakness. Good stuff. And part of me felt ashamed. And lucky. And more drained than ever.

Last night, my son, who I almost never see anymore because he is so busy, came home from work and I attempted to hit him hard with the old Parenting 101. Again, the motions. He is a junior in high school. We (Actually, its "I". I like to pretend my husband and I are both on his tail, but sadly, with my relentless worrying, it's just me) have been talking about the 11th grade since my son was in kindergarten. Of course the 11th grade, because its the year before the college application process. I am in close contact with the teacher of his Spanish 2 class (my son's most challenging class), Senor Sullivan (cracks me up every time I say it), and I had received and email from him earlier in the day, that my son was still missing some work from a few weeks ago. So after pleasantries were exchanged between my son and myself, I asked him to address the missing work before bed, even though it was late. My son, whose usual reaction would have been derived from aggravation with me, came up to me, hugged me ever so softly and said "Ma, you worry too much, you look exhausted, why must you worry so much about everyone else. I think you need to worry more about you."

Oh, this is bad, worse than I thought. Eye contact, concern in their voice and two genuine, unsolicited hugs (Is this a conspiracy!) from my two teenagers later (all in the same day) and...Voila...I got the message. In full. And not in black and white, in full Technicolor. I am in trouble. And they know.

Time for me to slow it down and get back to it. You too, if this fits. And don't pretend it doesn't fit, If it, in fact, does.

I recently saw an interview with a blogger/writer named Glennon Doyle Melton who writes the blog "Momastery". The heading on her blog page is "Truth Tellers and Hope Spreaders". Her and I both believe that blogging and truth make the best bed fellows.

So here is a few simple messages that we all know, but certainly need a reminder from time to time:

1)When we focus some time on ourselves, the people around us, who love and care for us, win. They win big. When you take care of yourself, your kids learn the importance of self love. Because, really, how else can you teach it. You can tell your child to love themselves and to do what makes them happy a zillion and a half times and if you don't practice it, you might as well be talking in Swahili.

2) Being truthful is not always easy, convenient or comfortable. Being truthful opens you up like a big old open wound and makes you vulnerable. But it also helps you heal and gain strength. And momentum to live life to it's absolute fullest.

3) If your only hobby is your kids, it's time to get an actual hobby. Or a massage. Or a hot bath in solitude with a glass of wine or...(See message #1)

4) If you need help get it. The mother lode. Asking for help is one of the toughest things I have ever done. If you see someone else struggling, ask them if they need your help, and then help them if they say yes. In fact, you may have to do it if they say no.

5) A special bonus message that has nothing to do with anything. (Yes, I told you, I am scattered): I post a lot of highlights of my life, like milestones and pictures, on Facebook. Hopefully not in a way that makes people think that my life is all sunshine and flowers, but because I think of it as my moving, long term scrapbook of sorts. I want my kids to look back and be proud of what I put out there, because it can never be truly erased once you put something in print of any kind or if you put something on the Internet. When my children are looking back on it on that day that they have off from work, with coffee in hand, just messing around on their laptop, I don't want them to see low lights, they already know what they are pretty much. I want them to see the highlights. The things I love and admire about them, myself and their Dad. They may be able to also see a beautifully needed cocktail I enjoyed or a tongue in cheek post, but they will never see negativity, smearing, hate, or me dancing on a table top after one too many (It never happened). I post things on Facebook for us, not so much for you. Sorry.

So, me and you should get back to something we love, or at least really, really like, if we have placed it on the back burner. Something that requires no stress, and brings happiness and contentment. If it causes you to go outside of your comfort zone, then that is DEFINITELY a sign that you should do it. Reach for it, nothing feels better than accomplishing something you were afraid of. Then, most importantly, don't forget to kick the guilt and self doubt and the negative head chatter to the curb, on your way there. You won't forget what really matters, either. Everyone will still be there when you get back. They just may be shocked that you were actually gone doing something for you. Let them be.

As for my prodder, she hit the nail on the head. Great timing, my friend. Per your usual. And thanks for pretending it was you that needed a blog post. Suave.

So, long live the Domestic Hit Woman. She was born to fix something that's broken and she ain't done yet. She has many friends and lost a few. Sometimes her family stops speaking to each other, or maybe it's just that they stop speaking to her (oh well). Not everybody gets her or likes her or can deal. She is mouthy and unfiltered at times. She never graduated from college and is not completely sure that deep down she isn't just plain lazy. But she feels deeply for you and what you think and feel. And she's just getting to the point now, half way through life, where she realizes just how much she really does care. She is a truth seeker. If you are honest with her, even if it's not pretty, she will be a loyal follower. And she will listen. She will be there for you in a firestorm even if you don't like her. Her husband and kids encircle her with love and laughs and pride and yes, frustration at times, and even though she finds herself struggling (don't worry, she's scrappy), her life, as much of a maelstrom as it is, is worth living every single day.

Or in bad grammar fashion: Every. Single. Day. (I can just digest it better that way, in bite sized pieces)

Oh, and by the way, thank you, kiddos. You are smarter than your old Ma. XO