WORD VOMIT.
Happens every time. I swear.
But yesterday I was on the verge of losing it. Losing it, like walking out the front door, driving "somewhere" (probably like, Starbucks??) and then just cry in my car for an hour. Obviously at some point in my breakdown I'd text Ryan and tell him "I'm just at starbucks... want me to pick up TP on the way home?"
My life.
Here's what I wrote in my journal yesterday (in the midst of said breakdown, because I couldn't leave my house- logistical reasons like kids and stuff)
"There's no purpose in working harder. There's no point in trying to be better. Get better or do better. I am always the one who will be 3 steps behind. It's nothing new. I'm the one who effs everything up. I destroy possibilities."
(HELLO) #selfloathing
I'm not sure where the stuff came from about how I eff everything up... that just spilled out onto the pages; truth, I feel for sure, but not the catalyst to anything that happened yesterday.
Yesterday I was trying to work while Ryan was at the movies with the older kids. The two youngers were napping (they napped for like 30 minutes...omg) and I just got super frustrated. Like, shut the computer, stalked off to my room, scribbled in my journal and then watched youtube videos of Adam Duritz interviews. The thought that popped into my head, exploded and then bled on everything was this: "What's the point in doing this work today, Ashley? You're going back to the hospital on Wednesday..." The bleeding continued, "What's the point of trying to be a better mom? You're always going to be sick or in the hospital. Why are you dieting and trying to be active? You'll always be overweight and gross, because you'll always be sick and in the hospital."
Basically everything led back to me being sick. The excuse that trumps all excuses. "I'm sick." And I've been given that excuse for so long, I don't know what to do with myself.
I'm lost; I don't cook dinners anymore, because "I'm sick" and Ryan took that on. I don't do things at the kids' schools because "I'm sick" and I can't be relied on. I don't go to the gym anymore because "I'm sick" and what's the purpose in going to the gym one day, and then being hospitalized for a week? I mean, the list goes ON AND ON.
Excuses suck. They're like useless skin tags. Annoying, unnecessary, sometimes confined to just a single area, but often picked open, and bleeding, destroying anything in its path.
I don't have any good resolutions about getting rid of excuses. At the moment, I'm tired, it's raining and grey outside, my bed sounds like heaven. Should I abandon ship here (at Paneras) and head home? I mean, Wednesday I'll be in the hospital so what good is it for me to work like a dog on stuff that probably wont be touched again for weeks?
And every few minutes I have to backtrack; stop the bleeding- I am here. I am well today. I am listening to one direction and kicking butt on some work stuff. Stay. Stay. Be still.
Breathe :)
I start to feel confident. I have words written, a cup of coffee, a scarf and glasses, because its fall and I'm smart. And then the kid next to me points at my glittery toms and says "MOM! I WANT THOSE DOROTHY SHOES!" dammit.
Again, stay. Stay. Be still.
I honestly feel like this is a deep rooted problem that MOST of us have, if put in the correct situation. So I'm not super embarrassed to spill my beans.
Reflecting back on yesterdays scribblings... (seriously I'll have to post a picture- I felt like a musician writing important lyrics), I realize that I have LONG been an excuse giver. Unfortunately, its just now that I'm seeing the red.
To a point, we're all excuse givers. But let me just tell you a few stories.... so you know that I'm a chronic excuse giver;
This one time (at band camp...no) my bestest came on spring break with my family and I. We thought we were hot sh!t of course. I think we had cornrows, and those butterfly clips. I mean, supah fly. We also had this CD, full of burned songs we had illegally downloaded.. and these songs weren't Jesus songs. They were like, um, the complete opposite. We listened to that CD over and over. There was a song, it was the first on the illegal CD, and I literally refuse to write the name on this blog.... a few of you know what song that was... Anyways, my dad found it, listened to it, cracked it (the CD) into a million pieces and dropped the dreaded line, "I'm disappointed in you." To make a really long, embarrassing story short, at the age of fifteen I had to squirm in a chair, making excuse after excuse as to why that CD was in my possession, why I would ever listen to something like that, etc. (picture sex ed with your parents, diagrams and rap music that YOU don't even understand). It was awful. And I mastered the excuse. And I think I won; I blamed it on this kid at school- "I didn't even know what was ON the CD dad! This kid just gave it to me and I don't know what any of that means! We were listening to it as a joke!" yaddayaddayadda
So, see? In a way we're ALL excuse makers (I want ONE of you to tell me you didn't make an excuse in high school when you got in trouble with your parents...)
It just so happens I make a LOT of excuses. Like lately, my entire existence has been a giant excuse.
And that needs to stop.
I suppose if I need to get a grasp on reality every few minutes with the mantra (you are here. you are not in the hospital. you are working. you look like you're 20-not 40- you can totally pull off glittery toms and pink hair) I can survive this season of my life.
But I'm not going to lie; its hard. Very hard.
Anyways.
Like I said, this post probably shoudl've never seen light. Because its embarrassing, and now you all know that I am a chronic excuse maker. And that's no good.
But today, at this moment. I'm owning it. I'm owning everything. I'm owning this work that needs to be done. I'm acknowledging the hospital stay that awaits me. I'm going to grocery shop today, and make my family dinner because I can. When I'm done "working" I'm going to pick Henry up from school, and carry him out.
Because today, I can.
Excuse makers unite: Enough is enough.
Let's do this.
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