A couple of bad hours

Some days throw me off. I can’t do my best on a day that I’m having difficulty functioning properly. I get worn out from things that aren’t really anything to be worn out about.

Today was fine until about 2 hours ago. I had gone upstairs for my daily alone time but I didn’t feel like doing the things I normally do; writing, calligraphy practice, reading. I was sort of in a daze. I decided to take care of other things I’ve been putting off.

I couldn’t accomplish one task. It was either my brain malfunctioning or questions arising that I couldn’t get answers to right away. It was lack of concentration. Lack of care, honestly.

I came downstairs with the expectation that either the dishes would have been done, Waverly’s water bottle would have been found, or the kids would have been shifting into quiet time mode. None of these things had happened and I immediately became angry.

It was stupid, really, because most other nights I don’t care. But tonight, I did care. I washed the dishes with rage, was cranky toward the kids as if it was their fault they hadn’t gotten changed and brushed their teeth yet. I lashed out on Paul.

I apologized to Paul.

We got the kids ready for bed and I went upstairs with them. I knew it was going to be rough for me. The build up inside my chest wasn’t subsiding even though I had moved on from my initial, irrational anger.

They picked their books. Gannon has been “reading” books and Waverly has been upset because she wants me to read. That was the first fight. Then they weren’t settling down. It was pissing me off. If either of the kids touched me, my skin would crawl. I wanted them to fall asleep so badly so I could bring this hell elsewhere. But they wouldn’t fall asleep. They wouldn’t stop moving, humming, sporadically crying, kicking me, touching me, spitting on their faces. It was driving me nuts.

I finally realized the only solution to ease uncomfortableness was to remove myself from the bedroom. I needed Paul to take over. I told them that I was having a hard time and needed to go away from them. Luckily Egan had just fallen asleep so Paul was able to go up. Now I’m sitting here, across from Egan, writing this from an excerise ball, convincing myself that it’s okay. 

I’m okay. 

Anxiety shows up unannounced and in parenthood it can be ugly.

I’m not proud of losing my patience tonight. I’m not proud of being irritable with them when they really weren’t doing much out of the ordinary.

I have three super intense kids and am a super intense mom with some pretty intense anxiety episodes.

So here I sit, reminding myself that I am human. I can have bad days. But I can’t take it out on them. I am going, slowly, toward peaceful living once more. These days feel like a set back. They feel like failure. They feel ugly.

I just wrote “these days” when it really was a couple of hours. That’s the ugliest side. I’ve already forgotten how awesome today was because of a couple of hours.

The more I strive to do better, the more I push forward through these moments, the easier it will be. But for now I’ll let myself feel the emotions and wish that I had some ice cream in the freezer.

2 thoughts on “A couple of bad hours

  1. I can so relate to this l never put in writing l wish l had you are and l think that is a good thing you are doing great praying for you love to you all

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