Fine

On Sunday afternoon I meet two of my friends for lunch.  They met each other at 11 for manicures and pedicures, but I wasn't able to go because Geoff has to be at church services every  Sunday morning, and I have to either attend, too, or drop him off and pick him up, and in any case I have to take care of Katie then.  On Sunday we have attended the second service, and even though Geoff had promised me that he "wouldn't stay and chat" after this particular service, so that I could get to lunch on time, he still stays and chats, and by the time we leave I am irritable. 

I drop Geoff and Katie off at home, feeling slightly guilty that I am going to miss spending time with Katie this afternoon, feeling annoyed that it is already 12:26, 4 minutes before my lunch date, and realizing suddenly that my cell phone is completely dead, so I can't call to let anyone know. I feel helpless and powerless. 

When I meet up with them, twenty minutes late, they are a little giggly,  relaxed,  happy.  They are suntanned.  Erin's toes are orange, and Candace's are pink, and as I watch them I feel like I've missed out on more than just the nail treatments.  I am wearing my black Payless sandals, and they are both wearing flip flop type sandals.  I remember, too late, that I had brought a pair of flip flops to change into after church, but that I've left them in the car.  "How are you?" they say.  "You look tired.  Are you tired?  You look tired." 

"I'm tired," I say.  "I'm ok."

We go to lunch at Potbelly's, a sandwich place, because they want to get something cheap.  I get a diet IBC root beer out of the refrigerated case.  They both get bottles of water.  I feel like I've chosen the wrong thing, but that it is too late, and too silly, to change it now.  An old Steve Miller Band hit is playing in the restaurant, and they both dance along to the music.  I feel no urge to dance along.  I think that maybe I should try to fake it, but I don't.  I try to smile appreciatively at their dancing.  I don't believe the truth of my own smile. 

"Do you want to get a table outside?" Candace asks, and disappears to the sidewalk seating area. 

We sit down at a table outside and unwrap our sandwiches, and Erin looks at me.  "So, how are you?" she asks brightly.  "How's Katie?  How's Geoff?" 

I look at her, start to speak, and hesitate.

"Uh oh," she says.

I smile.  "Katie's great," I say.  "Geoff is fine.  I'm fine."  I take a deep breath and realize that I am choking up.  I'm glad I'm wearing sunglasses.  "Everything's fine," I say.  I laugh a little. I realize that I am trying to hide the fact that I'm crying, that I don't want to turn this afternoon into a pity party for one.  I realize that I'm not hiding anything from them.

They look sympathetic.  "I don't like to hear that," Candace says.  "'Everything's fine' is not good!" 

I tell them what I know.  I tell them that I really am fine, but that I am tired, just like I look.  I tell them that it is hard, that I am having a hard time juggling everything. I tell them that our new home that we moved into a few weeks ago is a mess, and that's it's bringing me down.  I tell them that I am still overweight and struggling with that.  I tell them that I need time for myself, but that I don't know when to get it or how to spend it.  I tell them that when I get home from work, I want to spend that time with Katie, and that by the time she is in bed it is 8 or 8:30 at night, and I am tired.  I love my daughter, and I want to spend all of my free time with her, and yet I want free time for myself. 

They say that I should go ahead and go out, even if it means I need to sacrifice an evening with Katie, that it's more important for all of us that I stay happy than that I spend one particular evening with Katie.  "You should come out to dinner or a movie or drinks with us," Erin says.  "You need to do something for you."

"I would do that," I say.  "I would totally do that."

Erin nods, but it has taken at least a month and a half for us to plan to get together today, a day on which we end up spending an hour and ten minutes together.

I change the subject and ask how they are doing, and they tell me what they know, and as they talk, I think: I love them both, but today I am not one of them. 

After we finish our sandwiches, we go and get Italian ice.  Well, Candace and I do - Erin pops a stick of gum into her mouth so that she won't be tempted to eat anything else.  Candace and I get small peach Italian ices, and the three of us walk down the sidewalk together toward the grocery store, where Erin needs to buy a few side dishes to take to a cookout that night.  We walk, and we talk.

As we stand in front of the deli case, debating what Erin should take to the cookout, I say that the topic which takes up more of mine and Geoff's conversation than any other these days is the topic of how wonderful our daughter is.  Erin shakes her head and says, "Oh, no," but I actually mean it in a good way.  I have thought, on more than one occasion, how much harder it would be to be a parent if the other parent is only half as into it as you are.  The two of us are constantly proclaiming to each other, "Look how cute she is!"  "How did she get to be so smart?"  "She is amazing." 

"We talk about other things, too," I tell them.  "But so much of the time that we spend together is spent with her, too." 

I wonder if this is what people mean when they tell you that you don't understand what it is like to be a parent until you have a child.  I always thought that they meant that you would not understand how much you would love your child, and I thought that while I might not know the exact intensity, I was pretty sure I could at least imagine it.  But maybe they mean that you will not realize how lonely it will make you.  Maybe they mean that you will not realize how hard it will be to put your own needs second or third, 98% of the time, for the next several years or longer.  Whatever they mean, lately I have been feeling it: I didn't know this is how it would be.  This is hard.

We walk back from the grocery store, and we get to my car first.  They each hug me and leave me at what I can't help but notice is my dirty, aging car (with broken turn signals and trash in the back seat), and as I walk around to the driver's side and get in, I suddenly start to cry.

They walk down the block away from me.  I get in the car, start the engine, and drive.  I pass them a few seconds later, and I honk hello.  They raise their arms and wave.  They smile. 

I suck in a deep breath and wave back, and as I drive past them, now that I'm in the car alone, I let myself cry. 

*******

After I get home, I pick Katie up.  I lean in toward my beautiful lovely toddler daughter.  "Can I have a kiss?" I ask her.  Sometimes now when I ask her for a kiss she will run across the room to me going "mmmm" and then pressing her head against my face.  But this time when I ask her she looks at me, lifts up her hand, and bats at my face.  She shakes her head.

"Why?" I ask her.  I read the other day that at this age, children should not be punished for hitting.  Instead, parents should say, "No hitting," and remove themselves from the child's presence.  "No hitting," I say, and I put her down.  She reaches for my can of diet Coke, then reaches for the remote control, then turns back to the tv, which is playing Baby Bach.  I sit in the chair by myself and watch her and feel sorry for myself.

*******

Geoff and I talk. I tell him I don't know how I feel about anything, hardly.  He asks what I am upset about, and I spend five minutes talking about all the things that have upset me today, from being overweight to being hot to being tired to being lonely.  How I feel about friends, how I feel about myself, how I feel about us, how I feel about our new home, how I feel about my job, how I feel about my age.  I am sad, I am scared, I am worried, I am confused.

He says nothing except that "I'm sorry you feel that way," and so after another minute of silence I say, "Maybe we shouldn't even be together."  He gets angry then, and asks me why I would say such a thing, and I say that it's because I am thinking such a thing, and that the reason I am thinking such a thing is because he is not talking to me, and because I am lonely, and I need someone to talk to me.  So we sit, and I cry, and we talk, and he cries, and he hugs me, and I talk more, and he tries to listen and ask questions instead of telling me how to fix things.  "I love you so much," he says, and I know it's true. 

"I love you, too," I say, and that is true, too. 

(I wrote what's above earlier in the week.  I was feeling tired and depressed.  I'm feeling much better today - sort of surprisingly better, since not too much has changed, other than that I've gotten more sleep and had some more free time and unpacked some more boxes - but I guess those things are enough to make a major difference in how I'm feeling.  Anyway, lately I've been wondering if I've been giving the wrong idea about how it is for me to be where I am right now.  It's good, overall, but it rarely seems easy.  Maybe I should write the hard stuff sometimes, too.)

Comments

[Dana]

Please keep writing the hard stuff, too, yes. Not because I want you to suffer (can you imagine?!) but because I like to think that you can feel us all reading and nodding and inwardly shouting, "I FEEL THAT TOO!" If you lived next door to me, I'd be over there right now hugging you - and I'd tell you about every time I've uttered, "maybe we shouldn't be together" when what I wanted say was, "I'd really like to not be together WITH MYSELF right now". And now I'm rambling.. :)

[Bozoette Mary]

Sometimes just owning up to the bad or icky feelings is enough to make you feel better. Because we're not supposed to feel that way, we try to crush those feelings down. But once you let yourself feel them, you can then be done feeling them. For a little while anyway. Does that make any sense? Anyway, I'm glad you're feeling better.

[Jen Z.]

Everyone's struggles are different, and I can't know exactly how you're feeling, but I am going through something so similiar that my heart nearly skipped a beat when I read your entry. Right now I'm overwhelmed and profoundly unhappy with several aspects of my life. I know how lucky I am, but sometimes it becomes too much to bear, and then it takes one tiny trigger for me to break down and cry.

I think you're an amazing writer to be able to put all that into words so I could feel it and picture it so vividly and cry for you.

[moreena]

Well, a comment from a stranger, for what it's worth...
I, too, have said such things to my husband, and even worse. For me, it's about feeling so horrid and trying to talk to him about it, and then realizing that he's not saying what I need to hear, and doesn't even seem to realize how hugely I am overwhelmed by the feeling. So it feels like I have to say something big, just to get his attention. I always regret it afterwards, but it happens sometimes. Luckily, he seems to understand this.
I'm glad to hear you're feeling better. Sometimes just a small improvement is all it takes.

[Laura]

I hadn't realized, until we became parents, how much my husband and I both took for granted the time alone together, and the time each of us had to do things on on our own. We knew things would change -- some people seem to relish telling you that, for some reason.

I get up, go to work, come home, and care for my daughter until she goes to bed. If that is early enough, I get time to throw in a load of laundry, read a book, etc. If it is not early enough, I get no time. And sometimes lately, with the heat and the teething, she ends up spending part of the night in bed with us. I love her with the white-hot intensity of the Sun, but I'd really like to just curl up and sleep without worrying that she'll wake up and crawl off the bed and hurt herself.

But today I am happy. Work is going well and I've been really productive this week. I have a four day weekend and have "negotiated" with my husband for some time to myself tomorrow afternoon. I may see a movie all by myself. I may take my laptop and go write in a bookstore or library somewhere.

Take care, Jessie. {{{{{hug}}}}}

[Erin]

I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

... and that next Friday we are going for those mani/pedis and cocktails. :)

LOVE YOU.

[J Fife]

I've been reading your journals for a long time now, but I've never commented until now.

I'm also a new mom. I just had to let you know that you put into words perfectly the things that I've been feeling but been too embarassed to admit. This mom/working/marriage stuff is hard. Thank you for being so honest. You are an amazing writer.

-Julianne

[Beth]

Jessamyn, I hear you. I feel exactly the same way. I can't believe how tired and overwhelmed I am sometimes.
It waxes and wanes, but life as a working mother has been a hard and completely freaky transition from my old life.

I miss my old life sometimes. One day last week I was feeling sorry for myself and told Basil I was going to leave him, and leave Beckett, and be skinny and go hang out in a bar and drink martinis and smoke cigarettes, and have nothing to do on Saturdays but veg on the couch and eat a pint of ice cream and have PMS in private like a sane person. He said, "You're leaving us?" I said, "Well, mostly I'm just fantasizing. I'd come back TOMORROW!!"

Sometimes I just want to escape. With a husband and a baby in a small house, the only place to escape is the toilet, and sometimes that's not even possible. It's frustrating.

I've been on a low carb diet for 2 weeks and haven't lost a pound. I feel like I've forgotten everything about being a normal person. I can't remember how to eat, get enough rest, exercise, make friends, hang out with my old friends, find time for myself, etc. I've forgotten how to be me. It makes me sad and angry, but then I resign myself, which is even WORSE.

I think it gets easier. People tell me it gets easier. I'm hopeful that it's true. But for now, I'm just focusing on cutting myself a little slack. This is a whole new universe, this being a parent and trying to maintain an identity other than being a parent thing.

From one alien to another, I come in peace. And bring a message of hope.

[gabby]

I read this and thank you for it. Since our decision to start trying I've been overwhelmed with the "good thoughts". I need to remember the "hard thoughts" as well and really go into this with as wide of eyes as I can. So, thank you.

[april]

if i could quit crying enough to see the screen,i'd tell you smoething to cheer you up. instead i knoiw exactly what you're feling right now and I"m glad you wrote it. now wheres that dman kleenex?

[Janet in Bakersfield]

Jessie, you are an amazing woman, wife and mother. Don't stop writing the hard stuff. What you shared is something most of us have gone through, but few can verbalize in such a clear manner. Thank you for being true to yourself and sharing your thoughts and feelings. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates what you have to say. {{{{big big hug}}}}

[Sara]

Jessamyn, seriously -- wow. I feel the exact same way you do. I am also a working mother of a young daughter, and I am going through the same issues of weight, "me" time, finding my new self, and trying to make it all balance. Some days I think that everything would be better if I stayed home with her, but that would just be replacing one set of problems with new ones (plus the fact that it just isn't possible right now). And I'd still be overweight. :)

I'm rambling, but I just wanted to let you know, if you haven't figured it out already, that you are not alone. We will both adjust eventually -- this is just one hell of a transition! Please keep writing about the hard stuff, if it makes you feel better, because it makes me feel better to read it.

[Beth]

wow...is about all I can say...I've been feeling hopelessly sad lately too...mine comes from wanting a baby so bad and having so much trouble getting there....what you wrote here made me cry, and made me feel better....thank you....

[C]

I think that sometimes it's so empowering and great and wonderful to just let it all go. To say what you really think/feel and deal with the fallout later. Hearts don't function with logic.

[shann]

Jessie, I've missed you. The real you. Thank you for talking about the hard stuff. Sometimes I'm right there with you & I think we all are. My dh & I just had a big fight over flower bed edging...give me a break! But it was really about tired, overwhelmed, and need some alone-time.

Give yourself some time. Katie will understand & one day it will be a powerful example to her. Take Erin up on those pedicures & cocktails!

(hugs) shannon

[Julia]

I know exactly how you feel. I'm going through the same thing for the SECOND time (older daughter is 12, young babe is 22 months). I always tried to find time for myself. Sometimes this involves paying a babysitter for an hour or two of free time, but I always figured that I was a much better mother to my children in a happy mode than in a rundown frustrated one. You write wonderfully.

[Lisa]

I think the hardest lesson to learn is how to bloom where you're planted. It's hard to feel divided in what you do- pulled by work one way, pulled by family another, pulled by the lifestyle you used to have in another. I can't imagine how hard it would be to be a mother and have to leave your child behind as you go to work every day. Because most people don't especially love their jobs- only the lucky few. However, you gotta pay the bills, so you gotta go. I am not a mother, but I understand that push me-pull me feeling all too well. By day I work a job that I've outgrown and have grown weary of, and by night & weekends I am a photographer, which is what I went to school to do and what I've wanted to do all along. After getting a taste of what it would be like to be a true freelance photographer, having to go back to the daily grind and the daily bullshit is almost unbearable. And yet, I have all these bills that must be paid. What my partner reminds me, and what we have to remind ourselves in times like these is that was ARE working toward where we want to be, and we'll get there eventually, and we're a lot further along the path than we were several years ago, so sometimes the best thing is to make the most of what you have, but at the same time allow yourself to acknowledge that you DO feel divided, and that it's okay to get frustrated. Sometimes frustration can be a powerful motivator!

[Jaimie]

I'm not a mom, but I just wanted to tell you that the little details in this entry were incredibly poignant - the Payless sandals when you wanted to be wearing flip-flops and a shiny new pedicure; the diet root beer when you felt you should have gotten water. When I'm feeling down about myself the shine seems rubbed off of everything, including the way I look.

I think you really touched a nerve with this post, based on all these responses! When you write something true and vulnerable like that, it's very powerful.

[Jana]

Isn't it bizarre how one day can seem so horrible and grey and hopeless, and the next can seem, if not wonderful, at least not as awful as before, when nothing's really changed? I've felt that way before too. Hang in there...you're surrounded by people who love you. And hopefully writing about it is an elixir, too.

[Trance]

I know that feeling so well, or at least what I think is that feeling (I won't claim to be able to read your mind). :) I've been there so often with my friends who seem to be breezing through life with no stress, and there I am, overtaxed, overwhelmed, stressed out, and constantly on the edge of crying yet really reluctant to open the floodgates and talk about it because I hate to be The Downer. It's tough. I think it comes in waves, and the secret is just to ride it, knowing that eventually it will peak and you'll catch a break.

Don't be afraid to lean on those who love you. They love you and will be willing to support you. It's tough to remember sometimes, but it's a valuable resource. Hugs to you.

[Amy]

I hope life is brighter this week. This entry really struck a chord with me, especially the part about the shoes... oh how I know that feeling. Your writing is beautiful, and your honesty is a gift to your readers (and yourself). You are just plain cool. :)

[TB]

Thank you for writing with such honesty. You express yourself with elegance and grace. I wish I had your talent.

[allison]

The highs aren't as high if the lows aren't low. Glad to hear you are back on the upswing.

And try not to forget that, even though they have lives different from yours, your friends have one purpose...to love you. Let them.

[bethany]

This post is AMAZING... the description of your relationship with your friends--S T U N N I N G. And the worst part about it all, I pretty much feel the same way with ALL my friends and family at the moment. Just a step out of touch or to the left, not quite in synch. I'm a mommy too (son, almost 3) and I think it is all about growing into our own as parents. Because, it HAS gotten better (on most days). And I am finding it easier to get away for a short bit.

[Poppy]

Trust me. It'll get better. You'll get alone time on the toilet. You'll be able to take a long bath. You'll get the manicure and pedicure and you'll lose some weight. One day you'll be sitting there reading or something and you'll realize that no one has needed you for a whole hour (!)

--P.