…and why I haven’t written a real blog post in a month.

Well here comes one… At last.

I know, right? Cra-zay.

 

Facebook. Twitter. Blog. Pinterest. Instagram.

 

I have never been more connected to a network of people I barely know in my ENTIRE LIFE. I have carried on intimate, personal conversations with people I’ve never even laid eyes on. I’ve poured over the blogs of fellow “mom-bloggers” until my eyes crossed. I’ve read, with some envy I add, the beautiful blogs of women I’ll never know. I’ve watched women create clothing patterns, knit blankets, crochet doilies, score thrift store finds, create funky, adorable outfits and generally look a lot more put together than I feel like I ever will. I’ve watched women lose weight and felt some mix of jealousy, self-pity and self-loathing until I couldn’t watch anymore. I’ve watched women struggle, like me, with me. I’ve felt joy. Inspiration. Envy. Solidarity. Anger. Strange mixes of all those emotions.

I’m human after all.

 

And this is why social networking isn’t always the best venue for people like me.

 

See I’m a 100% kind of woman. Not a 42% or a 77% woman, a 100% woman. I give everything I do, everything I have.

EV-ER-EEE-THANG.

So you can see how if I give my husband a 100% (and truly he deserves 110%) and the kids 100% (they probably deserve 120%, if they don’t demand it anyway) and the house 100% and my crafting ventures 100% and social networking (we’ll just lump all of those outlets together) 100%… well, that’s 500%.

I’m not a 500% woman.

And here’s the funniest part… I don’t even really LIKE to be that plugged in. I prefer a simple life. I like soil. I like to grow things. To be outdoors. I love to bake. To create. To tap in to the creative parts of myself. I love to watch my kids grow. To see them achieve. To meet their needs.

 

Also, I love my phone and I’m seldom parted from it but honestly, it’s more compulsion than it is actual interest.

(that’s where the whole 100% thing comes in.)

If someone text messages me, I have to text back. I HAVE TO OR I’LL DIE.

If someone comments on my blog I feel compelled to respond. I HAVE TO OR ELSE NO ONE WILL LIKE ME.

I wish I could say that if I miss an @ on twitter it’s no big deal but it’s a BIG DEAL. I feel like I’ve let someone down.

(I’m just being honest here people. I know the truth is people don’t care.)

We don’t have to go into why I’m this way (but there are pretty reasonable explanations). If I see Person A doing X, Y, Z thing then it automatically follows I SHOULD be able to do X, Y, Z ANNNND V and W too.

Case in point: I am a RN which of course means I went to nursing school and nursing school is hard. Dude. That shit is no joke. It’s busy and it’s full of information.  When you’re in nursing school you go to class and clinicals and THEN when that’s over at the end of each day you research pathophysiology and you write long complicated care plans for your patients and you research EVERY. SINGLE. MEDICATION they take. Even tylenol. Every day. For two (or more) years. It’s trying and exhausting and just that alone is enough to tax any normal person to the point of “WHAT THE HELL DID I DO? EFF THIS I QUIT.”

But not me.

I went to nursing school and I kept a house tidy with three small children whose school activities I tried to never ever miss (I had to miss the first day of school because of my Psych class and I cried the whole day).  And when I say tidy I don’t mean there was a path from the door to the kitchen. I mean CLEAN. Like clean clean.  And I held a busy job at church. Plus I held weekly study groups and posted practice test questions online. THREE family members ended up in the hospital. One of them was my son who had surgery TWICE.  Oh and I worked two twelve hour night shifts a week. Oh AND i was class president. Ooooooh AND valedictorian.

Yeah.

It might seem like I did all of that to make myself look better, smarter, more capable than the people around me who were just barely surviving. Like I was a show off or trying to make people feel inferior (and it may seem like I’m trying to do that now but I promise I am NOT).

No. I did it because I HAD TO.

I HAD TO.

Just like in high school when I had to take 5 AP classes and work full time. Until I literally passed out in my Chemistry class (someone scooped me up and took me to the office thankfully).

 

Remember that movie where Jack Nicholson can’t step on a crack and has to lock and unlock his door like 8 times?

Yeah. That.

OK It’s not THAT bad but it’s close.

When people say to me “OH I wish I had your energy” or “I wish i could do all you do” or “WOW. You do SO MUCH, I wish I was like that” I think…”NO. No you definitely do NOT want THIS.” You do NOT want to have so much ‘energy’ that you can’t sleep because there is a pile of laundry haunting you. You do NOT want to do all I do if it means that you can’t sit next to your husband at night without thinking about the toilet that needs to be scrubbed. I promise you, you DO NOT want that.

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to every person EVER who has had to deal with me when I’m in overachieveritis mode. Mostly my husband. I’m sorry. And my kids. Yeah. Sorry.

Anyway, I’m 36 years old and I’ve had about 20 years to figure out why I’m this way (part nature, part nurtue) and while I KNOW my weaknesses that doesn’t mean I actually DO anything with that information a lot of the time. Because honestly I can’t. Mostly I just worry about spending quality time with my husband and cleaning the house and writing the blog (and twitter and facebook) and my FOUR kids and when the last time I baked cookies was and when I’m going to finish that afghan and who needs what and where do I need to help this or that person and when am I going to reorganize the closet and oh crap I need to clean out Ella’s dresser and oh shit I haven’t worked out in three days. And. And. And. Oh and while I’m doing all of this I’m watching person A and thinking, “CRAP V and W aren’t going to be enough. I wonder if I can add it T and U too?” And I’m paralyzed by all that I feel I have to do and cannot. Paralyzed.  Sometimes to the point I can’t do anything at all. If I can’t give it 100% then I will rearrange my sleep, my sanity, myself to do it all the way.

 

So when I disappear, when I don’t blog, when I’m off twitter, when I’m just sitting on the floor with my baby DOING NOTHING but being with her or talking to my other 3 kids, know this… I am seeking balance and the only way I know how to balance is to back away completely.

I am seeking balance but don’t always know how to find it.

 

 

OVERACHIEVERITIS , self discovery , serious stuff

So recently I’ve contemplated the concept of restarting the blog… and I found myself asking the following questions:

1. Why?
2. When?
3. Why?
4. About what?
5. Why?
6. How?

and lastly

7. Why?

I’m seeing a theme here. First I have to admit that my reason for blogging before was mostly selfish. The blog to lose blog served as an outlet for my pent up feelings about weight loss about my bad self image and about my fitness routine. I was pretty faithful to the cause, weighing and recording and updating my progress. I appreciated the feedback from my readers and relished the praise of my efforts. When I reached my “goal” weight and found myself still dissatisfied I kept blogging for a time as I continued on the path to inner peace or whatever thing it was a I was looking for and then… WHAMMO. I realized something. Big. HUGE. I wasn’t finding it. It wasn’t what I weighed. It wasn’t how far or fast I could run. It was something else entirely. So I made some major life changes. And by major can I say Major, capital M? In fact I don’t think it would be a stretch to make that… MAJOR. In the course of the aforementioned changes I stopped blogging. There were a couple of pretty compelling reasons for this 1. I was really too emotionally busy to write 2. How do you adequately explain turning your entire life upside down?

Without too much detail (because no one has the time to read all that) let me recap, mostly in order:

1. This began with separation from the husband of 15 years (and subsequent divorce). This included: sharing visitation of children (which is a lot harder that you could imagine), move into apartment, division of assets (which is to say, I took my clothes and all the debt and he took the DVD’s and my dog), arguing, making up, some periods of time where we hated each other, other periods where we loved each other and yet other periods where I thought my life would never feel normal again. Unexpected side effects of said divorce included: missing my in-laws (who would have thought I needed them so much) and an almost complete severing of ties with my family (which would require another blog entirely)
2. Professional specialty change (from labor and delivery RN to Hospice RN. How much more opposite can you get there?)
3. New incredible relationship (with the boy who caught my eye at the 6th grade spelling bee)
4. Move into second, larger apartment.
5. Pregnancy (Yes. Planned).
6. Purchase of new home (and third move)
7. Wedding (at 8 1/2 months pregnant. Also planned).
8. Birth of baby @ home. Yes, on purpose. (at 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant).

So… you can see the issue(s) A. When would I have had time to blog? And B. How would I even begin to explain all that?
But now, with all that part of the preceding chapters of my autobiography written I can, again, begin to consider the “blog” as an outlet. But wait, what do I need an outlet for anyway? We blog what we know, or in my case, what we need.
That brings me, in a round about way, to my point.
I no longer need the blog.
Well.Well. Well.
How about that.
That’s not to say that blogging doesn’t have a place or purpose in my life. I like to write. Actually, given accommodating circumstances, I love to write. Well. Let me say that another way. I love to talk. And writing is like talking for people who 1. don’t have a captive audience or 2. don’t want to look completely insane talking to themselves or alternatively 3. people who like numbering things like an outline. Anyway, it’s not that blogging doesn’t have a place or purpose it’s just that I might have lost my target audience.
Begging the question: Do my former blog to lose readers want to read about how I used to weigh 124, far too thin, mostly muscle pounds? And how that WAS so NOT The Answer (capital T capital A). How I then turned my life over and around and upside down looking for The Answer. How I got peaceful, gained an intentional 20 pounds, got pregnant and gained yet 50 more pounds. How I felt like I should care that I was gaining weight, but how basking in the glow of love and the creation of new life, marveling at the amazing things my body was doing (as we should), I barely even noticed. How I now, at one month postpartum, weigh 168 pounds and only care because I don’t have any clothes that fit.
Maybe.
But I’m not entirely sure I even care to blog about that. In my oxytocin induced baby haze all I can think about is this little beautiful creature we created. I’m giddy with baby love and at the same time painfully aware that there is no toilet fairy that comes while you’re sleeping to scrub your bathrooms for you.

Besides that, my relationship with my body has changed. I… wait for it, believe in natural childbirth. In fact, I believe in natural mostly everything (except diet pepsi which is far from natural). I always believed in natural childbirth, it’s just that for whatever reason I couldn’t seem to achieve it. Pitocin. Pitocin. Pitocin. It’s the devil (but that’s for another time). But one month ago today (not lunar months, the other kind) I had a 10 pound 6 ounce baby. In. My. Kitchen. And though every birth of every child has changed me a little bit, this one was the earth shattering, mind blowing experience that will forever effect how I see myself. And all 168 pounds of my body.

So what I need right now is to bask in the love of this new little person. Let the toilets be dirty. Let the scale get dusty. Let the running shoes rest.

That’s what I need. So I guess that’s what I’ll blog about…

Beautiful Little Creature:

homebirth , inner peace , oxytocin , pregnancy , self discovery