I haven't written in a long time! Once Levi hit the magical
age of three, his disposition underwent a radical change and, while he still
has his moments like any child, he has blossomed into an extremely independent,
smart, hilarious kid whose witty comebacks rival his parents' and whose artwork
puts mine to shame. While his growing up so awesomely is...well, super awesome,
it also took away that *spark* I used to fuel my writing.
Of course, there's still Natalie. MY GOSH. This girl is
INSANE! But in a good way...mostly. One of the not-so-good ways reared its ugly
head when we attempted eating out in public for the first time since the last
disaster. Nope...she's still not ready for that. And yet, I don't feel that
compulsion to write about her like I did with Levi... however, I largely
believe the absence of post partum depression this time around is the real
reason for that. I don't have the constant underlying pressure, frustration,
and anger that needs an outlet. I'm so glad that's passed!
Overall, I feel like I've had writer's block the past few
years. It appears I need to have some sort of underlying angst in order to feel
that urge to write. Makes sense... I'm sure writing is therapeutic for me and
has helped me in the past. Usually I keep it private, however. Maybe I just
need attention? (Prob.)
So here I am. Which means I have some uncomfortable
underlying feelings about something and need to get it out. But it's not about
the kids anymore...(is that okay?) It's just about me, as a mom. So, still in
the same ballpark, just a different game.
This year, my struggle is with friends. Close friendships,
specifically. I'd been coasting along the past few years with a very select few
close friends, maybe only two or three who I actually interacted with
regularly, and it was enough for me, then. I felt very secure in my self-defined
introverted world. Introverts were suddenly *a thing* a few years ago, and
there were so many articles about our uniqueness and overall awesomeness
splashed across social media that I suddenly didn't feel so alone. I
simultaneously exulted in the feeling of overall comfort and the sweet,
unexpected relief from anxiety that came from knowing that it was okay for me
to be alone, and that I could, in fact, enjoy it. (Of course I have my little
family--John, Levi and Natalie. But I've learned that being married and having
kids doesn't change feeling lonely overall).
The side effects were amazing while they lasted. My social
anxiety disappeared (or at least greatly diminished). I stopped worrying about
the fact that I had no friends at church and sat alone every Sunday. I made a
goal to meet one new person each Sunday and, if I failed, to not let it bother
me. I didn't mind shopping alone anymore, but instead enjoyed not having to
compromise any of my time for someone else's schedule. I didn't mind rotating
through my two to three close friends occasionally, seeing them maybe once a
month each but conversing with them daily on the phone. I felt like I had a
nice network of support from my facebook friends and family, knowing everyone's
family lives so completely thanks to photos and online updates.
There was only one hiccup. One small thing--but it turned
out that it wasn't small--it was major. One of my close friendships was
extremely toxic. I overlooked it because I was so at peace with the way my life
was, and I knew the act of cutting this person out of my life would shake the
foundation of everything, as she had been one of the most solid things in my
life since my childhood, and she was family. It is extremely hard to take one
of the pillars you've used as a stabilizer through most of your life and remove
it because it has started to decay and crumble. It was like a form of denial,
the past year or so, where I tried to convince myself that the good parts were
good enough and the bad parts could keep being forgiven and forgotten.
Eventually, I found I couldn't forget, and I couldn't forgive, and I forced
myself to let go.
And now? Now it feels like my foundation has
crumbled. I didn't realize I had each part of my life separated into these
exact puzzle pieces that were keeping me secure, and that losing one would so
drastically change the picture. At first, I tried to convince myself that I was
proud of myself for doing what needed to be done, but I couldn't move past the
feeling of devastation and regret. Finally, I allowed myself to cry and be
upset about it--to admit that it was horrible, and that I was sorry, but even
more than sorry I was still angry. Angry that this wasn't even really a choice,
and that despite how I was treated, that I still felt guilty. Angry that I lost
more than she did. She always knew exactly what to say in a fight to cut me
down, as she knew all of my weaknesses, and I walked away with her words
burrowing into my skin, despite telling myself that she only said those things
out of her own twisted sense of self preservation. But that wasn't even the worst part-- the final
jab came when the rest of our family, the ones who had only recently started accepting
me back into the family, shut me out again, because she wouldn't allow any of
them to keep contact with me without suffering. I never thought, at this age in
my life, that I'd have to deal with my family disowning me twice. It took me
until I was an adult to forgive them the first time--over 15 years. Never
again.
So now it's a fight within myself. I couldn't maintain that
peace anymore, and now I feel like I'm trying to find my way through thick fog,
find my way back to inner calm. My anxiety is back, and it's so much stronger
than it was before. I had my first panic attack sitting alone at church weeks
ago, and while it led me to meeting my only friend there, I have had to fight
to go back every Sunday since, and I never know until Sunday arrives if I'll be
going or not. So far, it's a losing battle-I had to leave the service this past
Sunday and wait outside while my closest friend called and talked me through
the hurt of being surrounded by people and yet still being so utterly alone. I
deactivated my facebook account, upset that I had convinced myself that knowing
so much about people meant that they were actually my friends or that they
offered any real support. I came back, however, and culled my list and left
only those that I plan to actively include in my life (as well as long distance
friends and family that I still care about). I am pursuing closer relationships
with the family God blessed me with-- I have always been thankful for them, but
the magnitude of what I've been given is exemplified when going through
rejection from my biological family. I am forcing myself to be more outgoing,
and to call friends and make actual plans. I'm being blatantly overt about making
*new* friends, introducing myself to other moms and asking them to be my friend.
(That's still a work in progress, however. While I'm sure I probably appear
ridiculously self confident, I can't make myself actually set up real plans to
hang out. Making new friends is HARD!)
Well, I've stopped and read over what I've written, and-my
gosh-does this sound like something that should be a private journal entry! But
it's part of my process, I think. I can't just live with this anxiety--I need
to get past it. I feel like I'm in AA and these are the steps I need to take to
recovery (ha!). I want to be closer with my friends. I'd like more involvement
than just 'liking' facebook posts. It's hard, of course, with two kids (one who
despises being in public) and my business *finally* taking off this year (crazy
random schedule). But I can do lunch dates if you're willing to put up with my
psycho toddler. Did you know that DQ has $5 lunches? They include a DRINK even,
and dessert! WHAT? And in the fall, I love going to pumpkin patches and other
such activities, OVER and OVER. John hates them, and would appreciate me
finding others to go with instead. I'm a hermit in the winter (fear of driving
on ice) but I'm a great conversationalist over text! Just sayin'.
So...I think that's it. I feel a bit better now, like I said
what I needed to say. I'll feel awkward about it for a week or so, and reread
this a million times and pinpoint all the things I could've said
differently/better...but it is what it is. I'd like to think only my good
friends would read what I write anyway, and maybe some of them can relate.
Now to awkwardly end this. Oh look! It's 1am! I must to bed
go!
