I wish I could scribble in this space, a big wad of crossing lines of different thicknesses, thorny with barbs, wire maybe, all tangled up.
My anxiety
and Della's
and the non linear cycles they create.
Parenting is hard when it is easy. We have the most wonderful spirited, smart, sensitive child.
And those very things also predispose to anxiety, and holy fuck
hers and mine tango
and
it sucks beyond measure.
My panic disorder is finally ordered thanks to medications and EFT, TFT, EMDR and WTF.
But my child shares my triggers, has her own, and her anxiety triggers mine.
So off we go, into some form of hell.
A new therapist for her, interview on the 15th of April.
A new therapist for me, April 9th.
Empathy and compassion
exhaustion and blues
my adrenal glands probably look like craisins.
Got some great advice I am trying to apply: observe not absorb.
but it is like a tuning fork is struck and we share a harmonic frequency,
and the ground starts to shake, and the skies open, and I feel lost in it, to it.
***
so here we are. thriving so much of the time, but the time when it's hard is like an eclipse when the ancients thought the world was ending even if the harvest had been mighty.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
14 March 2019
30 December 2018
the end of the year
so here we are at the end of the year, and I am thinking about what i
have learned. I learned I need to create, in ways that feel creative to
me, as I am doing the work, letting the work through me, it is not
optional. it is nourishment. it is essential. I have learned that too
much work is not the blessing it may appear to be, but can impact
everything in ways that feel like suffocation. that right work in right
amounts is delicious. i have learned that my body and mind are brave and
that my panic was/is pain trying to express itself. be heard. be
understood. be accepted. and pushing it down and away is impossible.
pull up a chair and listen, katekate. That is what it needs. after
panic I need rest. full rest. sleep or distraction. I need to refill. i
have learned I am not good at that. I bullshit myself. I am excellent
at that. time to trade a little of my excellence in bs into excellence
in self care. unapologetic. simply necessary. i have learned that I
need connection that is simple. and I need conversations that are
complex. that I need beauty that is simple. and beauty that is beyond
imagining. I need to make space(s) for myself and within myself to hold
who I am growing into, so I don't take the shape of an old container
like a pot bound plant. I define the shape by my growing. i have
learned that loving others is what I am here to do. and that others
includes me. i have learned that doing my best work means telling the
truth, even silently to myself. i have learned that I can speak, and
that the listening is not up to me. but that I can speak in ways that
make it more likely to be heard. I have learned that my enthusiasm can
be a deterrent. too much. and the best I can do is laugh and call it
what it is, and know that it is a filter. if I am too much, then maybe
the work is not the right work, or the person is not the right fit, or
the time is not right. my enthusiasm is a gift. but so is my conscious
awareness of others. let me bring both together more harmoniously in
the new year. i have learned that my changing body does not mean I have
to reject myself because I am no longer familiar. it is an invitation
to renew my own familiarity with this place I call home. recognizing I
am in a time of rapid and chaotic transition. my needs will change as
fast as my topography and my chemistry, and i need to cultivate self
compassion, curiosity and fluidity in adapting. I have learned that love
can be deep and distant, can be simple and complicated. that I can love
and be loved and not understand or be understood. and that
understanding is simply not as necessary as acceptance. If I wish to be
accepted as myself. i need to accept others as themselves too. it goes
both ways. both. in and out. out and in. like breath. i have learned
that my mosaic of friends and family create the reality of my support
system. that no one can hold the whole of my needs and no one should. I
have learned to be a better piece in the mosaic of others'. I cannot be
everything to anyone else either. i have learned that i know shit about
parenting and my history of abuse and codependence makes this so so hard
as I dance the crazy impossible certain to fail dance of conflict
avoidance... but am doing my best with a smart sensitive spirited sprite
whose energy outpaces mine like an Australian sheep dog. i am learning
the difference between reacting and responding. this, my friends, is
slow painful learning. i have learned how much of my life is tethered
by a self I tend to so rarely. the one who is me. not the roles, the
duties, the actions, the work. but this kateness, this one. this one
who sits and writes and words come out like salty water of tears of joy
and relief, face turned upwards toward whatever is out there, that
connects with all and the everything, including all that is in here.
03 April 2017
As above, not always, as below
So here we are.
April.
Snow still up over my boots, but a serious melt happening right now. The sky is full of clouds saying rain soon, rain soon, rain soon, as if that is a surprise. The earth is heavy with water right now, while on the other side of the earth, this rain, this snow, this water would be traded for gold.
So here I am.
Kate.
Snow still up over my boots, and life happening both above and below ground. Above ground, I turned 50. Della is growing fast, and teenagering already, and Doug is nearly ready for his seasons away at camp. And I am not ready for that, not really. But here we are.
Below ground, I feel a little more stable. New medication holds the wolves of panic at bay. And I am returning slowly slowly to something that feels more like I used to. At least more like I used to. But different. I'm different. And I can feel the change in my bones.
I do not want to live wary. (I choose this word, not warily)-- I do not want to live in fear.
I don't. I don't want to live waiting for the wolves to come and steal my happy, steal my autonomy, steal my sense of safety. I don't want to feel as if my grip is tenuous. I want to feel strong and rooted and ready and able.
And I am shoring those up, digging deep, nourishing myself, and trying not to freak the fuck out when a windstorm comes and shakes the whole thing down and down and down.
I want to tell you about parenting and how, at 50, I am still panging with whateveritis that hurts when pregnancies are announced, and when little ones are passed, arms to arms, and the beginnings, so sweet, leave a longing. I want to tell you we talk about adopting and how, here I am, knees and soul creaky, imagining and not being able to imagine. Not with this child, not in this lifetime, and then I feel bad for feeling that. As if I should be open. But my openness is to not knowing what will come. Right now my heart is open in the direction of a family member needing extra love. And maybe that is what I am built for, yes, extra love-- here and here and here and here.
I want to tell you I am working hard at work that pays me with people I love. And I want to say that that is enough. But it isn't. I want to be creating more, writing, learning, self-directing. My financial fear is still in place, month by month, we make it. Have more than most on the planet, and yet, we are of that group that is one emergency away from catastrophe. So for now, I kiss the ground in gratitude, and make lists of things I want to do when I have time, when I allow myself time.
I want to tell you I am taking care of my body, eating well, and walking and spending time outside. But my last two foods were potato chips and potato chips, and I walked to get them at the kitchen counter but I don't think that counts.
I want to tell you that I am flourishing in this post infertility era, this mid life, this amazing life, and I am and I'm not. there is no post-infertility. there is no post loss. there is life after, yes, but it is never "post", it does not recede. it rides shotgun. and I have come to realize that is what this is. a companion of sorts, a thing that is part of my experience that is not undoable.
I want to stay and write all day, I ache for this ache ache ache for this
but now, the timer is going off, the one that keeps me on track (HA HA HA HA HA)
and, coincidentally, also means my egg is ready to eat. the one I have boiled and will peel and will imagine it is anything other than what it is.
April.
Snow still up over my boots, but a serious melt happening right now. The sky is full of clouds saying rain soon, rain soon, rain soon, as if that is a surprise. The earth is heavy with water right now, while on the other side of the earth, this rain, this snow, this water would be traded for gold.
So here I am.
Kate.
Snow still up over my boots, and life happening both above and below ground. Above ground, I turned 50. Della is growing fast, and teenagering already, and Doug is nearly ready for his seasons away at camp. And I am not ready for that, not really. But here we are.
Below ground, I feel a little more stable. New medication holds the wolves of panic at bay. And I am returning slowly slowly to something that feels more like I used to. At least more like I used to. But different. I'm different. And I can feel the change in my bones.
I do not want to live wary. (I choose this word, not warily)-- I do not want to live in fear.
I don't. I don't want to live waiting for the wolves to come and steal my happy, steal my autonomy, steal my sense of safety. I don't want to feel as if my grip is tenuous. I want to feel strong and rooted and ready and able.
And I am shoring those up, digging deep, nourishing myself, and trying not to freak the fuck out when a windstorm comes and shakes the whole thing down and down and down.
I want to tell you about parenting and how, at 50, I am still panging with whateveritis that hurts when pregnancies are announced, and when little ones are passed, arms to arms, and the beginnings, so sweet, leave a longing. I want to tell you we talk about adopting and how, here I am, knees and soul creaky, imagining and not being able to imagine. Not with this child, not in this lifetime, and then I feel bad for feeling that. As if I should be open. But my openness is to not knowing what will come. Right now my heart is open in the direction of a family member needing extra love. And maybe that is what I am built for, yes, extra love-- here and here and here and here.
I want to tell you I am working hard at work that pays me with people I love. And I want to say that that is enough. But it isn't. I want to be creating more, writing, learning, self-directing. My financial fear is still in place, month by month, we make it. Have more than most on the planet, and yet, we are of that group that is one emergency away from catastrophe. So for now, I kiss the ground in gratitude, and make lists of things I want to do when I have time, when I allow myself time.
I want to tell you I am taking care of my body, eating well, and walking and spending time outside. But my last two foods were potato chips and potato chips, and I walked to get them at the kitchen counter but I don't think that counts.
I want to tell you that I am flourishing in this post infertility era, this mid life, this amazing life, and I am and I'm not. there is no post-infertility. there is no post loss. there is life after, yes, but it is never "post", it does not recede. it rides shotgun. and I have come to realize that is what this is. a companion of sorts, a thing that is part of my experience that is not undoable.
I want to stay and write all day, I ache for this ache ache ache for this
but now, the timer is going off, the one that keeps me on track (HA HA HA HA HA)
and, coincidentally, also means my egg is ready to eat. the one I have boiled and will peel and will imagine it is anything other than what it is.
09 February 2014
dirty little secret
Hear me, those who are still trying to make it to this heaven called parenthood. I am not forgetting That loneliness. That hell. This is not that.
But.
With that said.
Mothering is at once truly consuming and profoundly lonely.
In my particular and perhaps peculiar mosaic of working at home and parenting, my ambient human interaction happens mostly at the grocery.
I spend days when I see Doug and Della and few if any others. I spend days in the summer seeing Della and no others at all.
I keep wondering how/when/where the energy could come from, the energy needed to foster possibilities of connecting, of meeting, of imagining friendship, of conversation, of even knowing if there is a fit beyond the knowing shared look of fatigue as we pass, cart by cart, in the aisles.
I don't know, exactly, how to remedy my situation. I've reached out today, the first time in a long while, to friends already made, local friends, people I love... but schedules are hard, complex, how do we do this?
It is a logistical tangle. No, not tuesday, a week from sunday, no... and then.... I peter out, not pressing on to three weeks hence because who knows?
I miss funny things, sustained effort of any kind... painting, writing, editing, reading... aimlessness....hiking. My little one's idea of sustained attention is about 15 minutes and that is if the show is of her choosing. Confessing, right there, the role of video in our parenting style.
We can walk, sure, but 15 minute loops...
I forget to lean on Doug, forget that I don't have to shoulder this all my self in the off season, when he is in town... I forget I can ask.
Tonight I went out to switch laundry over, and noticed the light, twilight, and noticed I was alone.
Upstairs quick quick to get into a jacket to walk around the "block" which is to say the parking lot behind our section of buildings, and back across the snowy field between us and the road, under some pines that feel like magic to me.
Back and forth I walked, because the first time I was not paying attention... so the second time I did. And the third.
And I came back reconnected to Me which, I guess, is the first step to all of this connecting anyway, isn't it?
But.
With that said.
Mothering is at once truly consuming and profoundly lonely.
In my particular and perhaps peculiar mosaic of working at home and parenting, my ambient human interaction happens mostly at the grocery.
I spend days when I see Doug and Della and few if any others. I spend days in the summer seeing Della and no others at all.
I keep wondering how/when/where the energy could come from, the energy needed to foster possibilities of connecting, of meeting, of imagining friendship, of conversation, of even knowing if there is a fit beyond the knowing shared look of fatigue as we pass, cart by cart, in the aisles.
I don't know, exactly, how to remedy my situation. I've reached out today, the first time in a long while, to friends already made, local friends, people I love... but schedules are hard, complex, how do we do this?
It is a logistical tangle. No, not tuesday, a week from sunday, no... and then.... I peter out, not pressing on to three weeks hence because who knows?
I miss funny things, sustained effort of any kind... painting, writing, editing, reading... aimlessness....hiking. My little one's idea of sustained attention is about 15 minutes and that is if the show is of her choosing. Confessing, right there, the role of video in our parenting style.
We can walk, sure, but 15 minute loops...
I forget to lean on Doug, forget that I don't have to shoulder this all my self in the off season, when he is in town... I forget I can ask.
Tonight I went out to switch laundry over, and noticed the light, twilight, and noticed I was alone.
Upstairs quick quick to get into a jacket to walk around the "block" which is to say the parking lot behind our section of buildings, and back across the snowy field between us and the road, under some pines that feel like magic to me.
Back and forth I walked, because the first time I was not paying attention... so the second time I did. And the third.
And I came back reconnected to Me which, I guess, is the first step to all of this connecting anyway, isn't it?
08 November 2013
rocked
today is my last day with a 2 year old.
how is that possible? truly... astonishing.
I was thinking back to before, as if it is a different lifetime. Standing at the fridge with the vials of liquid gold. Hoping for the best with each stinging injection, each stylized ritual.
There was a rhythm to it. The cycles, I mean.
And now, it is all downhill wild rush of in-the-moment-ness, yes with moments of foreshadowing and some of nostalgia.
Was she ever little? She is so big now.
Was I ever not this person? This one, this tired one with the biggest most filled and overflowing heart? This one, struggling and blessed, competent, incompetent, flailing, tender?
This one who is loving more and more and more and realizing, bone deep, that love has NOTHING to do with ease, and everything to do with mystery.
I hate when folks talk about marriage being work
and parenting being work
and work work work
hard hard hard
i thought, great, thanks for that. welcome! I wanted to hear, welcome to the best things ever!
and it is the best thing ever,
but to be honest, a lot of it is hard. hard hard. hard because there has never been a me doing this before, parenting this amazing child, learning these things in these moments.
i am humbled and awed and feel as if there is KNOWING that is just over there, that if I could just reach out and touch it, I could socket into a river of knowing, a river of ease, a river of being able to go with the flow of this without so much internal struggle and doubt.
it is the hardest most wonderful thing I have ever done, have ever had done to me, have ever taken part in doing.
there is no ease in this.
there are easy moments, moments that feel like silk, calm water under calm sky.
gentle.
but most of this truly is a mad rush.
a mad rush flying by in a twirly skirt wearing wings
or flashing impatience
or laughing hard enough to reach the very core of the earth and the heavens above.
my earth is being rocked, people. In every moment.
I am learning by the moment, learning how to be(more) centered in the storm, how to create safety, when to walk away, how to get down on my knees, hold my arms out, and welcome a sad being close, when no magic can happen but everything is magical that is happening...
I am learning to hold on and let go of ideas of plans of expectations of self judgement...
I am learning and relearning and relearning.
I am in need of a well to recharge and want quite desperately to build a tiny reserve so my patience does not end like a cliff dive onto rocks bristled with barnacles.
it runs out. just. like. that. and I suddenly hate the way my voice sounds, my chest feels, my face feels, my eyes, my mouth, as if I have been hijacked.
I am learning to get up, or go inwards. I am trying to learn to shut my mouth. Breathe.
but the thing I am learning most is how rarely I give my full attention.
and this may be the saddest thing.
the phone, email, internet, connection with things *out there*, pull at me all the time. I don't want to miss out, and in so doing I am missing out
on this
this miraculous now.
so my intention truly is to spend more time present. even if it is in one minute increments.
the space of 10 breaths.
focus, singularly, as singularly as possible on this amazing person.
I know this is about me me me and you want to know about Della Della Della and that will come, I promise.
how is that possible? truly... astonishing.
I was thinking back to before, as if it is a different lifetime. Standing at the fridge with the vials of liquid gold. Hoping for the best with each stinging injection, each stylized ritual.
There was a rhythm to it. The cycles, I mean.
And now, it is all downhill wild rush of in-the-moment-ness, yes with moments of foreshadowing and some of nostalgia.
Was she ever little? She is so big now.
Was I ever not this person? This one, this tired one with the biggest most filled and overflowing heart? This one, struggling and blessed, competent, incompetent, flailing, tender?
This one who is loving more and more and more and realizing, bone deep, that love has NOTHING to do with ease, and everything to do with mystery.
I hate when folks talk about marriage being work
and parenting being work
and work work work
hard hard hard
i thought, great, thanks for that. welcome! I wanted to hear, welcome to the best things ever!
and it is the best thing ever,
but to be honest, a lot of it is hard. hard hard. hard because there has never been a me doing this before, parenting this amazing child, learning these things in these moments.
i am humbled and awed and feel as if there is KNOWING that is just over there, that if I could just reach out and touch it, I could socket into a river of knowing, a river of ease, a river of being able to go with the flow of this without so much internal struggle and doubt.
it is the hardest most wonderful thing I have ever done, have ever had done to me, have ever taken part in doing.
there is no ease in this.
there are easy moments, moments that feel like silk, calm water under calm sky.
gentle.
but most of this truly is a mad rush.
a mad rush flying by in a twirly skirt wearing wings
or flashing impatience
or laughing hard enough to reach the very core of the earth and the heavens above.
my earth is being rocked, people. In every moment.
I am learning by the moment, learning how to be(more) centered in the storm, how to create safety, when to walk away, how to get down on my knees, hold my arms out, and welcome a sad being close, when no magic can happen but everything is magical that is happening...
I am learning to hold on and let go of ideas of plans of expectations of self judgement...
I am learning and relearning and relearning.
I am in need of a well to recharge and want quite desperately to build a tiny reserve so my patience does not end like a cliff dive onto rocks bristled with barnacles.
it runs out. just. like. that. and I suddenly hate the way my voice sounds, my chest feels, my face feels, my eyes, my mouth, as if I have been hijacked.
I am learning to get up, or go inwards. I am trying to learn to shut my mouth. Breathe.
but the thing I am learning most is how rarely I give my full attention.
and this may be the saddest thing.
the phone, email, internet, connection with things *out there*, pull at me all the time. I don't want to miss out, and in so doing I am missing out
on this
this miraculous now.
so my intention truly is to spend more time present. even if it is in one minute increments.
the space of 10 breaths.
focus, singularly, as singularly as possible on this amazing person.
I know this is about me me me and you want to know about Della Della Della and that will come, I promise.
23 June 2013
non weaning, yes, another update
after that shitstorm of emotion, that instantaneous shift that I was clearly not ready for...
well,
she's nursing again.
so.
what does it mean? it means I got a front-row preview of my actual process, and while it does suck, I will live.
tears don't kill us, thank god/goddess/all-that-is
but oh! there is grief
and gosh darn, how much I don't want to slog through that.... but I will, and I will live, even if it is astonishing in its complexity
but since i am in the habit of looking for hidden gifts, it also means I got a glimpse into what it might be like to sleep without the weight of my not-so-little-one slung across me, and, well, in some ways that will be nice. hello deep breath, I remember you.
it also means that I am aware of the fact of my own complexity, and at least I can practice (and practice and practice) self compassion...
thank you for your kind support while I struggle my way through this
well,
she's nursing again.
so.
what does it mean? it means I got a front-row preview of my actual process, and while it does suck, I will live.
tears don't kill us, thank god/goddess/all-that-is
but oh! there is grief
and gosh darn, how much I don't want to slog through that.... but I will, and I will live, even if it is astonishing in its complexity
but since i am in the habit of looking for hidden gifts, it also means I got a glimpse into what it might be like to sleep without the weight of my not-so-little-one slung across me, and, well, in some ways that will be nice. hello deep breath, I remember you.
it also means that I am aware of the fact of my own complexity, and at least I can practice (and practice and practice) self compassion...
thank you for your kind support while I struggle my way through this
22 June 2013
on not weaning, part... heck, I've lost count...
So.
Yesterday Della woke to a stiff neck. As a reminder for those of you who might have missed some salient points, we co-sleep (a most excellent plan that helped us survive her infancy, and a most shitty plan when it comes to making or even envisioning changes), and are still nursing especially at night since I am like an all-dessert exhausted buffet.
So, her stiff neck was horrid. A full hour of shocked horrified tears, full blown, so very sad and horrible to not be able to do anything to help (no! don't rub it. no! no warm compress...). She tried to nurse to soothe, and each time she tried, it hurt really badly and she cried harder (not good for either of us).
Her neck THANKFULLY improved as the day went on, but a midday attempt at nursing still hurt, so...
We tend to nurse to wind down before sleep, but last night.... no. She said she was done.
And then we went to bed, and for the first time ever, she fell asleep next to me and not on me, and I cried hard and lay awake for hours trying to come to grips with this sudden change.
I was not ready to have it break off like that, associated with pain, and Oh, it was bad for me.
Midnight, she turned and nursed one side.
3am she nursed the other.
(Engorgement pain is no joke, and I was surprised and grateful)
Then, this morning, we're up and going and I guess I won't know where we stand until tonight.
I do know this: change is part of every moment, and while some of this is about me holding on to things I will never do again, and a kind of closeness that is one I have never experienced, and a connection with her that I know will transform, but this I know... this transition is one of the most fraught with emotional complexity that I have ever dealt with philosophically or in real life.
This is really, really, really, really hard.
Yesterday Della woke to a stiff neck. As a reminder for those of you who might have missed some salient points, we co-sleep (a most excellent plan that helped us survive her infancy, and a most shitty plan when it comes to making or even envisioning changes), and are still nursing especially at night since I am like an all-dessert exhausted buffet.
So, her stiff neck was horrid. A full hour of shocked horrified tears, full blown, so very sad and horrible to not be able to do anything to help (no! don't rub it. no! no warm compress...). She tried to nurse to soothe, and each time she tried, it hurt really badly and she cried harder (not good for either of us).
Her neck THANKFULLY improved as the day went on, but a midday attempt at nursing still hurt, so...
We tend to nurse to wind down before sleep, but last night.... no. She said she was done.
And then we went to bed, and for the first time ever, she fell asleep next to me and not on me, and I cried hard and lay awake for hours trying to come to grips with this sudden change.
I was not ready to have it break off like that, associated with pain, and Oh, it was bad for me.
Midnight, she turned and nursed one side.
3am she nursed the other.
(Engorgement pain is no joke, and I was surprised and grateful)
Then, this morning, we're up and going and I guess I won't know where we stand until tonight.
I do know this: change is part of every moment, and while some of this is about me holding on to things I will never do again, and a kind of closeness that is one I have never experienced, and a connection with her that I know will transform, but this I know... this transition is one of the most fraught with emotional complexity that I have ever dealt with philosophically or in real life.
This is really, really, really, really hard.
14 May 2013
thanks dooce. I needed that.
Ok. besides being behind in my own writing... I am more than a bit behind satisfying my online addictions of reading about other people's lives.
And when I do get online in stolen moments and I've sent comments that mysteriously disappear or send mid sentence, keep tabs open indefinitely waiting and wanting to comment and just never actually doing it, then the system crashes, and so does my mind, and there we are.
But yesterday, a momentary foray in the world of dooce, brought me to the singularly most hysterical quote about parenting I have ever read.
Resonating, no doubt, with this mother of a 2 and a half year old wildly spirited multi personality-ed spit fire of a holy moly how can That big a Soul fit in that body???
And today, laughing again just thinking about it (the quote), I spent 10 minutes finding it again to share with you.
Without further ado I give you:
"
Whoever invented parenting is the same type of fucker who would hand you a whisk and a stapler and demand, “Make fire.”
"
Excerpted with gratitude from http://dooce.com/2013/01/22/her-name/
http://dooce.com/
And when I do get online in stolen moments and I've sent comments that mysteriously disappear or send mid sentence, keep tabs open indefinitely waiting and wanting to comment and just never actually doing it, then the system crashes, and so does my mind, and there we are.
But yesterday, a momentary foray in the world of dooce, brought me to the singularly most hysterical quote about parenting I have ever read.
Resonating, no doubt, with this mother of a 2 and a half year old wildly spirited multi personality-ed spit fire of a holy moly how can That big a Soul fit in that body???
And today, laughing again just thinking about it (the quote), I spent 10 minutes finding it again to share with you.
Without further ado I give you:
"
Whoever invented parenting is the same type of fucker who would hand you a whisk and a stapler and demand, “Make fire.”
"
Excerpted with gratitude from http://dooce.com/2013/01/22/her-name/
Copyright © 2013 Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved.
http://dooce.com/
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