Prepubescent Daughters...

...are something else!

I don't have any idea how I'm going to survive my youngest and only girl. The mood swings are gigantic and unpredictable. Moreso than even my own!

My poor husband.

I'm pretty sure I know why he works in another state, I want to work in another state...Hell, another country!

For the next 7 years.

At least.

You know, the boys when through some bull shit when it was time for puberty, but nothing like this.

Not even BEING a prepubescent girl is helping. I mean, yeah, I'm in my 40s, but I still remember what it was like to be a preteen...Although, my preteen years were marred by tragedy, I don't remember ever being a psychopath.

I actually think I might be more of a psychopath now than I was in my preteens and teens.

For example, she painted her fingernails. Instead of patiently letting them dry...she poked on and it left a mark. There was a meltdown of epic proportions. Screaming, crying, and stomping around the house. The wiped all of it off with a tissue because she was out of nail polish remover which sent more gales of frustrating yeowls.

She's just barely into puberty...I mean just a smidgen. I fear for the days of full blown PMS and cramps and actual boyfriends.

If I live long enough to see that, I mean.

~Kim

Mordant Matriarch Podcast Episode 3 Transcript

Podcasts can be found here: Mordant Matriarch Episode 3

Welcome to The Mordant Matriarch Podcast Episode 3.

I’m your host, Kim, Matriarch extraordinaire.

You can find the full transcript of this episode at www.mordantmatriarch.blogspot.com.

We talk a lot about what other people do and don’t do when it comes to “momming”, but you rarely hear what mothers have to do themselves.

Yeah, I know that we all bitch (out loud to other women) about having to be the maid, the nurse, the chef, and everything else we have on our plate. But let’s talk about households out loud.

We’ll start out exploring single moms. I’m as close to a single mom as a married woman can get. The only thing that I don’t do that they do is work a full time job while doing everything else. Please, don’t take that as an insult, single mommas. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you ladies are fucking warriors! Some of you don’t even get child support from your children’s dad or dads in any way whatsoever. Which I think is completely bull shit, but that’s for another podcast.

Not only do you do all of the physical stuff, you’re solely responsible for their mental health as well.

If something goes south, you’re the one that deals with the fallout. Consoling your child or chastising him/her. Providing discipline if your kid is on the doling end of trouble. All the while dealing with your own feelings on every situation. Some of you have familial support, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, etc., but some of you don’t. Even sometimes familial support isn’t enough because everyone has a different point of view than a mom. This is when you need a best friend. Someone that you can tell your secrets to, your feelings, or just breakdown. Sadly, not everyone has this either.

Now on to married moms/moms in relationships. You have a husband/boyfriend or a wife/girlfriend who should be your greatest supporter. You’ve had children together, you’re a team, right? In some cases, that’s very true! Your significant other is in the trenches with you through everything. Some of you have the yin to your yang. You fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, but even so, mothers view everything differently than fathers (if you’re married to a wife or with a girlfriend, I can’t speak to how that works out because I know it’s like a typical relationship in a lot of ways, but I’m not sure how the empathy and nurturing is different or the same). I’m sure there’s something physio that explains it, but I’m not even sure scientists can pinpoint what it is. Regardless of what we’d like to have our male spouses (again I can only speak to this) be like, they’ll never have the same bond a mother has with her child. They’ll rarely be the one to shoulder the heaviest of loads, I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but it’s rare.

Whether we want to believe it or not, our society is still staunchly patriarchal. It’s not as black and white as the 50’s, but it’s still there. We, as women, are working to change the tide, but it’s a long row to hoe. We’ve allowed men to be the bread winners, the hunter and gatherers, while we worked behind the scenes to make sure our homes are running like well-oiled machines. Little Suzy and Timmy are well-behaved, well dressed, clean, polite, well-adjusted, well-socialized, well-educated because Mom does her job and Dad does his. The kids seek out Mom because Mom is always there. Mom is the cheerleader, the nurse, the cook, the launderer, the dishwasher, the boo-boo fixer, the first heartbeat they ever heard.

When shit goes bad, if they go to anyone, they go to Mom. So, when it hits the proverbial fan in a way that affects the entire family, Mom is the one who everyone looks to to fix everything. She’s the emotional support for the entire family. She consoles the most affected child, and if she has more than one, she explains and explains and comforts and reassures the other(s). She also helps her husband get past whatever feelings he might feel and if it’s really big, she consoles, explains, and talks to extended family. She shoulders it all. WE shoulder it all.

We talk to our friends in a matter of fact way, sometimes we even rave to our friends, but it doesn’t quell the inner turmoil because we’re not only dealing with our feelings. We’re dealing with EVERYONE’S feelings.

So, on top of all the other bull shit we’re expected to do as mothers (working or not, single or in a relationship, because we all bear the same thing regardless), we’re trying to make everything alright for everyone. Sometimes, we never get the chance to deal with our own feelings while we’re doing. Sometimes it’s years and the urgency long forgotten by everyone else.

They either become skeletons in the family closet, or we shove it so far down because we have to continue to do all the usual things. There’s a saying, “No rest for the wicked.” There’s a definition of wicked that is “going beyond reasonable or predictable limits : of exceptional quality or degree” according to Merriam and Webster’s dictionary. It’s in this definition that mothers are wicked. Sometimes they fit into the others, you can look those up yourself, but this one is the most fitting over the most mothers. Which is why we do the things we do. Because we can.

I want you to think about this every time you feel like you can’t go on. Every single mother (with the exception of few) is a wicked warrior. We very literally have the capability to do it all.

The other take away from this is: Build a support system. It’s so important. Build a tribe. Be a part of someone else’s tribe.

Stop doing it all alone.

Today’s rant:

Stop settling. Seriously, stop settling. Stop taking the easy route. Stop using your fear as an excuse. There is no reason that you should accept anything but the best from anyone in your life. I get the psychological ramifications of comfort, knowledge, and even predictability in the status quo. I totally get it, but there has to come a point where you say, “This is bull shit! I deserve better than what I’m getting here!” and you formulate a plan to change what you’re doing.

Demand the promotion. Demand the respect from others. Demand respect from yourself! Learn your worth and discard anyone who doesn’t see it. Take the leap. Teach your children respect for themselves and respect for others. Teach them their worth by showing them yours. You are setting the example for your children.

Every time you do something, think about it. Think about it in terms of your sons and your daughters. “How would I feel if this was happening to my child?” If the answer is anything but happy or proud, squash it. 

Squash the fuck out of it.

There’s a difference between knowing self-worth and being egotistical. Know the difference. Live the difference.

Stop fucking settling! Please!

Judged Me:

This is brought to you by Eternally Exhausted.

“I was in the grocery store with my two toddlers, 3 and 1. Usually, I’m well prepared for a shopping trip, but this one got out of control so quickly that I didn’t see it coming until it was too late. We were going up and down the aisles and I was matching my coupons to the items on the shelf. Of course, I was driving the tractor trailer of shopping carts so that I didn’t have to have two because you know that the 3 year old cannot be trusted to walk through the store. I rounded the corner with my gigantic shopping cart and accidentally ran into the behind of a man stopped at the end of the aisle. I blushed and apologized trying to explain how hard these stupid things are to push, especially when there are two tiny distractions loaded inside. He exclaimed, ‘Jesus lady! Watch where you’re going! You could have really hurt me!’ as if I came around the corner at 90 miles an hour with the intent of mowing down everything in my path.

When the man yelled, it set off my 1 year old. She had that look of shock on her face that only a toddler can and started crying. I’m trying to comfort her and the man is mumbling under his breath how children should be left at home so they don’t bother other people.

I mean, seriously?! I apologized again and pushed on with my blubbering one year old and the three year old is chattering like a chipmunk. I can’t hear him over her sobs, and he starts to get frustrated. Then he’s raising his voice over hers, which makes her cry harder. At this point, I’m ready to surrender, but I was almost done, so I thought maybe I could zoom down the aisles and grab the last of the things I needed and get the hell out. I shouldn’t have.

I grabbed my last 3 items and hurried toward the registers. I passed the man I had run into and he was with his wife. “That’s the woman I was telling you about! Look at her. Her kids are out of control and she’s not doing anything about it!”

I almost expected his wife to shut him up, but instead she replied, “Our children never behaved like that! These young people don’t know what they’re doing!”

Now, I’m holding back angry tears and both of my kids are having monumental meltdowns. I just want to get out of there.

I shot them both an angry look and ran for the front of the store. I picked the shortest line, which ended up having the slowest cashier on planet earth. The kids are grabbing at all the crap the stores geniously stuck within arm’s reach and I’m battling them as I’m trying to load my items on the belt, cramming them in the smallest of spaces. The woman in front of me muttered something about misbehaving kids while I was proving my prowess as an octopus. The kids were in an uproar. Then I lost it. Instead of anyone consoling me, they just stared. The looked at me like I had three heads and gills. No words of encouragement, just stares of judgement. It was awful.”

Want to share your stories? Send an email to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Judged Me” in the subject line. All stories will be shared anonymously. You’re welcome to sign them however you like. (i.e. Judy Judged A Lot or Can’t We Be Friends) The only time you will ever hear from me is when your story is going to air.

Dear Matriarch:

Today’s question was sent in by Stumped Spouse.

She wants to know “How do I get my husband to help out with the kids and the house?”

(laughter)

Dear Stumped,

Sorry. Sorry about that. It’s an age old question that has lots of answers and nothing proven.

This goes along with something I said earlier. We’re weaving our way out of the patriarchal society that we’ve, as women, have allowed to happen, but it’s going to be long before the men are sensitive and knowledgeable about what women need when it comes to a partner.

So, for now, all you can do is ask. Seriously, it’s that simple. “Hey, can you help with the dishes?” or “Can you give Robin a bath?” If he still won’t help…re-listen to the rant above.

Dear Matriarch is the mother of advice spots. You can ask me anything. I can’t promise I’ll see things the way you do, but I can promise I will always be honest.

I will also provide you with facts if need be.

Have a question that you want answered? Send it to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Dear Matriarch” in the subject line. The only time you will ever hear from me is when your question is airing.

So that’s it. That’s a wrap.

Today’s podcast was sponsored by The ADHD Quilter. Custom creations for everyone. www.theadhdquilter.com. If you can dream it she can do it. Incidentally, that’s me because no one else knows this podcast exists.

If you’re interested in sponsoring an episode, send an email to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Sponsor” in the subject line and we’ll work something out!

One last thing before I go. I do this for free. I’m too small for sponsors and I don’t want a ton of ads across my site so if you’d like to help a sister out, there is a “Donate” button on the website. It will help keep me from having to do all those things I complain about on other sites. And one day, I might actually get the button up.

Thanks for listening! See you next time.                       

Mordant Matriarch Podcast Episode 2 Transcript

Podcast can be found here: Mordant Matriarch Episode 2


Welcome to Episode 2 of The Mordant Matriarch Podcast.

 I’m your host, Kim, the matriarch extraordinaire.

 A complete transcript of this is available at www.mordantmatriarch.blogspot.com

Let’s talk support. We all need it, but we don’t all do it. We should, but we’re all swimming upstream. That’s what makes being a woman and a mother (and whatever other hat you may be wearing) so damn difficult.

We’re expected to be stronger than a man, but not to show it. We’re expected to run a household, but never complain about it. We’re expected to have the best-behaved children, but only in the way that someone else thinks is right.

Am I right? I mean seriously, how can there possibly be ONE RIGHT WAY to raise children. Look around you (if you’re out in public this will work, if you’re at home, like me, not so much. go browse your woman friends’ Facebook photos for reference), does every person you see even LOOK like you, let alone hold your same beliefs and values? Does that make them wrong?

Uh. No!

That’s the beauty of life. We’re all different! We were all raised differently, by different types of families. Sometimes playing by the rules doesn’t even work and we’re stuck in the middle of this sea of confusion and information without a lifeline because everyone is so concerned about lending a hand. Sadly, it’s not even lending a hand that’s the problem. Mothers are afraid to ask for help because instead of the support they need, they’re more likely to be judged about what they’re doing.

I will never understand why women, in general, don’t try to stick together.

You co-sleep? Wow, I could never do that. You’re a bad ass.

You’re baby has been sleeping in her crib since day one? Damn! That’s awesome!

Look how easy it is! LOOK!

Oh and shall I mention the breast feeding in public lack of support. Why should a woman feel like she has to stay locked in her home because someone might be offended that her child is hungry? Come the eff on. No one wants to eat in a bathroom. If you’re offend YOU go eat there. Instead of offering support to the mom who is just trying to live as normal a life as possible for a mom. How hard is it to not look at boobs or to say anything like “You’re amazing! I can’t imagine how hard it must be to get out of the house.” And buy her some freaking lunch.

Women have been so catty, like it’s some competition of “Who’s doing it righter”. It’s not. If you see a mom struggling, reach out. Tell her it’s going to be alright, even if you don’t know that it is. Share your survival story. Let her know she’s not in the trenches alone. Do NOT under any circumstances offer her advice on her situation. She just needs to hear a kind voice. You never know if you’re the only person who’s taken the time to make her feel better.

It doesn’t take much effort to be kind and that’s the type of support we need!

Today’s rant:

You know, if you’re feeding your child, it’s none of my business. I don’t care if it’s bottled breastmilk, bottled formula, milk straight from the tit, or even a baby formula bong (okay not the last one.), fed is best. Also, I don’t care WHERE you do it. In Target, the mom mecca, in Wal-mart, in a restaurant, in your car, in your house, on the roof (which probably isn’t safe but you get the point). It doesn’t matter!

Did you hear me? IT DOES NOT MATTER!

If someone has the balls to say something about you breastfeeding in public, I hope they trip over a non-existent crack and break their nose so they have to look weird in public. Because, quite frankly, that’s weirder than seeing someone do something that comes naturally. Women have been doing it for CENTURIES. This isn’t a new thing. Got a problem with horse tits? How about engorged goat boobies? If you’re the one making snide remarks, do you do the same when you see other animals do it? No. You probably go aaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwww how cute. I mean aside from the fact that it would be unsanitary to have farm animals in a restaurant, (you gotta look past that) you wouldn’t even think it was a big deal…And if you did, please don’t breed.

 So, I say FEED EM OR BUST!

 Completely intended that pun.

Judged Me:

So, since I’m new and no one has been brave enough to send me their stories (which would be completely anonymously purveyed), I’ll give you a special insight into my world. Again. Eventually, you’ll get bored and send me something about you.

Here goes.

I am my worst critic.

Sure, I’ve gotten judged by others…a lot…but in reality, I’m the worst.

Every single decision I make, I’m second guessing and I’ve had to make some major decisions for my kids. Decisions I hope none of you ever have to make.

I’m currently judging the hell out of myself for how a handled a massively screwed up situation that happened within our family. I have no idea if I handled it right. Only time will tell, and I’m not sure I’ll live that long. The mom guilt is real. Imagine if I had my own mom guilt, and someone judged me. (Oh and they totally would if they knew what was going on)

I guess the point of this rant is…stop judging each other knowing that we all judge ourselves. No one needs anymore negativity in their lives!

Want to share your stories? Send an email to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Judged Me” in the subject line. All stories will be shared anonymously. You’re welcome to sign them however you like. (i.e. Judy Judged A Lot or Can’t We Be Friends) The only time you will ever hear from me is when your story is going to air.

Dear Matriarch:

So, this episode’s question was sent in by Agonized by Adolescent Absurdity.

She wants to know “Why the hell do teens do stupid stuff?”

Dear Agonized,

Funnily, you’re in the right place. The scientific answer is because their frontal lobes, which houses logic, isn’t fully developed until into their 20s.

My take on it is that we’ve become such an instant gratification society that they don’t even think of the consequences of their actions before they do something completely off the wall. For example, we all know that our kids are smart enough to not eat damn laundry detergent, yet here were are having to remind them that it could kill them. And the whole reason this is even an issue is because someone became social media famous who did it.

Social media is the epicenter for teens who want anything; sympathy, empathy, fame, ideas, you name it, they can find it on social media. AND it’s in the palm of their hands. They can take their access to everything anywhere they go.

So, just keep treading water, Agonized. We’re not the first ones to go through this, and we won’t be the last. I long for the days when the phone was attached to the wall and if you wanted to say something there were 3 ways; over the phone, in a note, or in person and if you did something stupid, millions of people didn’t get to watch it, they either had to be there or hear about it 2nd hand (or 3rd hand etc) until it became so legendary no one would dare try it.

Dear Matriarch is the mother of advice spots. You can ask me anything. I can’t promise I’ll see things the way you do, but I can promise I will always be honest.

I will also provide you with facts if need be.

Have a question that you want answered? Send it to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Dear Matriarch” in the subject line. The only time you will ever hear from me is when your question is airing.

So that’s it. That’s a wrap as “they” say in the business…whatever business that is.

Today’s podcast was sponsored by The ADHD Quilter. Custom creations for everyone. www.theadhdquilter.com  If you can dream it she can do it. Incidentally, that’s me because no one else knows this podcast exists.

If you’re interested in sponsoring an episode, send an email to mordantmatriarch@gmail.com with “Sponsor” in the subject line and we’ll work something out!

One last thing before I go. I do this for free. I’m too small for sponsors and I don’t want a ton of ads across my site so if you’d like to help a sister out, there is a “Donate” button on the website. It will help keep me from having to do all those things I complain about on other sites.

Thanks for listening! See you next time.

So, I Started...

...this little podcast.

I'm not sure why. I don't have time to do anything else.

Aside from my sewing venture (www.theadhdquilter.com), I'm also dealing with a massive shit show.

Something happened that has changed my family forever and it feels never ending.

So what do I do? I start a podcast, of course. Distraction is good for the soul and man, do I need distraction.

Amongst trying to instill normalcy in this household, manage 2 different spring breaks, finances, doctor's visits, get a sewing business off the ground, I decide it would be a good idea.

It's fun though. I like it. (I hope you do too)

I'll be back with another post soon about how things are going around here. I know you're just dying to know!

When all else fails, put more on your plate!

~Kim

Momming in an Atypical Marriage...

is atypical (didn't see that coming did you?).

I catch a lot of flack for my marriage. It's really none of anyone's business, but because people see our family doing it differently they feel the need to comment.

I'm an oilfield widow.

No no, my husband didn't die in the oilfields, he just works there...All.The.Time.

He's traveled all over the U.S. for work. For the last ten years, with the exception of about eightmonths, I've done the majority of married life alone. I jokingly call myself a married, single mother.

I hope that the actual single mothers don't take offense to this. What you do is nothing short of amazing. While some of you have amazing dads for your kids that provide and are being dads, a lot of you do it all on your own. I have no words for how incredible you women are. I mean to take absolutely nothing away from any of you.

What I've done, for what feels like forever, is manage a household, raise three children, for a time I went back to school, and work part time while my husband sacrifices so much so that I can stay home and do all of those things.

Really, this probably saved my life.

If you've read any of the last few posts around here, you know that I have been dealing with severe depression for a couple of decades. By dealing with, I mean existing and nothing more.

I have massive guilt for how much more I could have done for my kids if I was functioning like a normal human being, but I digress.

We've gone months without seeing each other. He missed out on tons of the kids' activities, successes, failures, and a ton of firsts. We often talk about the sacrifices women make for their children, but rarely do we approach the other side of the coin.

Expectations put on mothers set fathers up to sacrifice. We refer to them as baby sitters, but they shouldn't be. There are two people who created life, there should be two people who care for and own that responsibility. Dads should be able to be dads. They should be able to play Barbies with their daughters and teach their boys how to pee in the woods without prodding from Mom.

Our society is slowly changing and finally ALLOWING (that's crazy isn't it?) dads to be more than just "hunters and gatherers". It's allowing them to be sensitive and caring with their children, to take time from hunting and gathering to be there for the first weeks of new life, and most of all, it's allowing them to be more present than ever.

Most of the men will have to completely abandon what their father's taught them. You know, the "little lady in the kitchen with the immaculate house that don't say shit if they have a mouth full about anything."

That's going to take GENERATIONS! Seriously, generations! Now, don't get me wrong, there are some men who have already broken the mold, but it's a small sample. It's a social revolution that I'm excited that my own boys will be a part of.

~Kim

The Agony of Defeat...

is a bitter pill.

Tonight I feel defeated. Not in a way where I actually lost anything. Not technically anyhow.

I'm in a constant battle with my ten year old. She makes some not-so-good decisions, deliberately does things she knows she's not supposed to do, and screams at me like I'm some lackey in a ship's bowels that isn't rowing fast enough.

Today, I broke.

I lost it completely.

She boxed up every single damn thing in her bedroom and I've moved it out.

Everything with the exception of the bed, clothing, and shoes.

As I hid upstairs and cried for at least a half an hour, all I could wonder is where I went wrong. How did I raise a little girl who just doesn't give a shit about getting into trouble, who has no respect for me, and no respect for the rest of the family?

I just don't understand it. I expected it in the teen years, because they all go through it, but she's only TEN! TEN!!!!

Tonight I was told that I hated her, she wants to go live with Gramma, that I should adopt another daughter who would be perfect, and that she's going to run away.

Talk about a knife to the heart.

I'm hanging tough this time. She was already grounded for a stunt she pulled earlier in the week and decided it was okay to not do what she was told to do and to mouth off.

Uh. No.

So, now, I'm the asshole mom (which I'm not good at because I don't like being the asshole mom).

She's down there asleep and I'm up here on the verge of tears again.

She's not the only reason that I'm on the verge of tears, but she's championing the cause.

I feel defeated. Really fucking defeated.

~Kim

I Am So Ridiculously Stressed Out...

...That I can't even tell what's working and what's not.

It's really that simple.

There is so much weighing me down right now, I'm not even sure a "normal" person wouldn't crack.

Yes it will all work itself out.

Yes I have survived this (almost) exact same thing.

Yes I know it's just a small thing in the scheme of things.

I know all of these things, but the weight. The responsibility. The fact that life is basically at a standstill because I cannot handle things immediately (and not for lack of trying or being overwhelmed and not doing anything, that's what put me in these situations).

I'm worried.

I'm stressed.

I'm tired.

~Kim

I Promised Transparency...

...so here we go.

Yeah, I know it's STILL day...um...hang on...day...um...16 maybe...whatever. It's irrelevant.

I'm doing a lot of soul searching.

Trying to figure out what crappy habits need to go and what new habits need to be created is hard work.

Being honest with myself is hard as hell, too.

My drive to help the meds work is dwindling. Apparently, I can only be an optimist for so many consecutive days before I just say fuck it and go back to the old me. Not completely the old me, but a couple versions ahead. Maybe.

My brain fog has lifted some. My short term memory is still trash, but I'm assuming it'll come back around eventually. I can think more clearly. I can focus on things (most of the time) and give my full attention.

I'm still quick to anger. I still don't want to get out of bed about half the days of the week, but that's an improvement in itself. I still struggle to make myself take a shower. I still struggle to get off the couch to complete tasks about half the time. I go through energetic spurts where I get a shit load of stuff done and other days, not so much.

That last thing is really no different than before with the exception that they seem to happen more often than, say, once every 6 months. In 16 days, I've gotten a lot more done.

I'm NOT dealing with stress any better. I've got plenty of crappy stress rearing its ugly head and I just can't handle it. Where before,  I would completely shut down, now...Well, I don't completely shut down. I'm trying so hard to keep functioning through it.

I'm sleeping better. I've noticed that my body is getting tired earlier and that I'm going to sleep at a decent hour. This in-turn allows me to awaken at a decent hour and not feel completely exhausted.

I've also noticed a change in my appetite. I'm eating less and not in a "I gotta get skinny" kind of way. In a passive way. You know, I'm not constantly eating. Smaller meals, smaller portions, and it's happening in a completely organic way.

Eventually, I want to transition to Keto, but that's down the line a bit (I tried last month, but I couldn't do it...stress eating is a bitch).

So there it is...A little over the halfway point and there's what's changed, what hasn't, and other random things.

~Kim

I Opened This...

yesterday to write a post.

It was day 15...Today is day 16.

My stress level is so high. I'm back to minimal functioning.

Did you ever have a person in your life that was just constantly on you for every single mistake you've made that they know of? You know, the type of person to remind you of the past and tell you you're doing it wrong in the present. They also tell you that whatever you're doing for the future won't work because of the past. Like the past is some kind of fucking blueprint that you have to follow.

As if you can never move forward because you've changed (or are trying to change).

Let me tell you something. You might move back and forth on the same landscape, but there is no need to follow the same footsteps. Now, normally, the footprints would slowly wear away if you didn't use them anymore, right? Imagine a person who constantly puts you back in those footsteps, even though you know they're not on the path you want to take.

I have a person like that in my life.

Yeah, I hear you telling me to cut this person out, but there are just somethings that I cannot do. That is one of them.

I'm working on blocking out the noise so that I can concentrate on what I want to achieve (and come back and be very "BOOYAH! I TOLD you I could! I'll accept your apology whenever you're ready.").

I'm learning how to prioritize. Boy, that's something else. I'm also trying to learn how to follow through, something that I've struggled with as long as I can remember.

That being said, I have accomplished a lot in the public eye, but someone else was holding me accountable and I couldn't let them know that sometimes I just can't even make it out of bed. I couldn't let the world know that I was battling depression. I don't want sympathy. Never did.

I didn't want anyone who was not in my inner circle to know what I was like behind closed doors.

Once, I drove to work and sat in the parking lot for fifteen minutes convincing myself to go in. The day after that, I stopped picking up jobs. I knew then that things were going to get much worse.

Now I'm trying to weed my way out of the mire and I keep getting shoved back in. Due to the fact that my life has been a mess for twenty years, I'm not able to change. Not able to get my shit in order. I'm incapable.

BULL SHIT!

I no longer feel responsible for someone's opinion of me, my mistakes, or my life choices. I have given myself permission to let go, ignore, or possibly fight back.

I'm empowering myself!

~Kim

So We're Going To Skip...

ahead a little bit.

It's day 14.

(My last post said day 11 and it was really day 10, I guess that's good that I'm losing track? Who knows)

We had a very busy weekend of travel baseball for K. I was so exhausted when we finally did get home each day that it was all I could do to change out of my clothes and go to bed.

We're in transition. A HUGE transition. A "buckle your seat belt because it's going to be a bumpy ride" transition.

I'm hopeful and terrified at the same time.

I had time to think about things this weekend while I was driving all over hell between hollering at the kids to keep their hands to themselves, telling them to knock off the fighting, and answering the "Are we there yet?" question a million and a half times.

I think we're finally in a good place. We're on the same page, the Patriarch and I.

While he's transitioning to a new job in the same field with a new company (after getting monumentally screwed by the previous one), we're talking about money.

Money has been my coping mechanism for everything that has stressed me out over the years. I haven't been able to rein in my spending. This has put us in ridiculous spots over the years, yet I've never changed.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I've changed a little. I used to spend out of spite. I would spend on the most ridiculous things on the planet. I blew money like I was (a much smarter, more considerate, and better looking) Donald Trump.

I kept up with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Appenbauckers, and everyone else on the planet. The weird thing is, it didn't matter. I didn't care if I had cooler things, it was simply a coping mechanism.

As they say, old habits are hard to break.

This is the first time the Patriarch and I have actually talked about how screwed up our money situation is. Today is the big day. We're going to lay out everything. (Mostly me because I run the finances) Time to come clean. Time to make changes. There's no reason that we shouldn't have a fat bank account (other that we're both impulsive as fuck) and no money worries.

He sacrifices a TON so we can have what we have, but there's so much more to it.

Anyhow, I'm crazily worried about this transition. I'm going to have to talk myself out of a lot of things like eating out all the time (laziness) and stupid unneeded crap (that just calls my name).

We're going to do it though. HAVE to do it. The kids are getting older and they're going to need our help to transition to their adult lives.

I'm hopeful. I feel better every single day. I still have to force myself to do things though. Stupid little things like take a shower or change out of my pajamas. Shoot, even putting dishes into the dishwasher (which is a ridiculously simple task) takes twenty minutes of cajoling.

Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. When I go to beat myself up about it later, I try to remind myself these shitty habits were not created over night so they will not be broken over night.

My short-term memory is still shit. I keep hoping it'll come back once the clouds have relatively cleared, but I'm starting to get cynical about that.

For example, the Patriarch keeps reminding me about a conversation we had last time he was home and I cannot remember it for the life of me and it was IMPORTANT! I mean, seriously, why can't I remember stuff?! UGH!

Now, I feel like it's gotten a little bit better, but still. I just want to be normal. Oh how I hate that word, but it's what I want, more than anything in the world.

Still waltzing steadily forward, even though I feel like I'm offbeat.

~Kim

If There Was Ever...

...any question about whether this is a miracle cure or not. Last night and today answered that.

It's day 9.

I'm overwhelmed. Shit happened and I "can't even" right now.

Everything the kids are doing is annoying the ever-loving shit out of me. Even stuff that shouldn't.

I can't adult. I had to accept some help. I feel guilty. I'm also angry, sad, anxious, and depressed.

Mind over matter only lasts so long. Twenty-one more days will make the thirty in which I could be feeling the full effect of the meds.

I'm feeling hopeless, but it's not hopeless that this treatment is the right path. It's hopeless that I let things go wrong for so long in life that I'll never be able to fix them. The shit storms will keep coming and there's nothing that I can do about it. My molehills have become mountains again.

It's becoming more obvious to me that I cannot handle stress. I functioned today. I didn't want to, but I did anyhow. So, I guess that's something.

All I can think of right now is, "Fuck!"

~Kim

You Know You're...

...doing better when you can actually force yourself to do things!

Day 8 and here I am.

I didn't want to write a post. There's really nothing significant between yesterday's late afternoon post and today's.

The only thing that I really wish would change is my sleep pattern. I'm still waking up tired.

It's Independence Day. I'm sure there are BBQs and family gatherings all over the place, but my family doesn't have one anymore since my grandma passed away and the family pretty much all went its separate ways.

I hope you're enjoying the day with your family. Hopefully, next year at this time, I will have the wherewithal to put together my own gathering.

I didn't realize how lonely depression would leave me. I've turned down so many invitations to places that I rarely get invited anymore. I've made my friends have to work so hard to be my friend that I can't imagine what they say about me to their spouses and other friends who are normal functioning people.

Huh. There's something that I never would have realized. I guess forcing myself to write this post revealed something that was just below the surface.

Thanks to my friends who have worked so hard to stay a part of my life. I thought it was just the fact that our kids have grown up and we don't find ourselves in the same places (i.e. the little league baseball fields) anymore. I now realize how hard I have been to maintain any kind of friendship with.

Damn. I think I'll have a pity party today. Fireworks and all!

~Kim

Wow! Where Did...

...the day go?!

It's day 7 and I've been so busy all day that my post is coming a lot later than usual.

Between ensuring one of my teens is sufficiently punished, visiting with my mom, making sure that the youngest is thoroughly pissed at me, and letting the oldest sleep because he went on an overnight cleaning bender, it's been one hell of a day!

I just wrapped up doing some dishes and am contemplating what to cook for dinner. It's probably one of the fullest days I've had in a long time.

The kicker for me? I still want to get other stuff done today!

I am feeling a little tired, my sleep hasn't quite regulated yet. I'm still awake later than I want to be, but am getting out of bed at a decent hour. I'm hoping that will sort itself out as I learn how to let the stress of life go little by little.

That's happening!

Don't get me wrong, I still have a laundry list of things that need me to 'deal' with them, but I am not looking at that list and just shutting down. It's incredible. It's such a weird feeling.

It's freeing.

I'm still convincing myself to sort out some counseling so that I learn how to take the inevitable "bad days" that come. I will. It's hard to break the procrastination habit. I'm a habitual procrastinator. (Gee, wonder why I'm always stressed, huh?) I cannot even remember a time that I wasn't.

I believe that may be my biggest hump. Doing what needs to be done, before it absolutely positively has to be done or after it already should have been done. (Gee...what a novel concept.)

I still have messes to clean up. I still have kids to rewire because my habits have become theirs in a lot of cases. I still am doing the majority of it by myself (don't get me wrong, the Patriarch has just as much stress, if not more, as I have). Somehow, it no longer feels like a mountain that I cannot move. I can see the small rocks and mid-sized boulders that I can move. I don't see it all as one big problem rather than a bunch of little ones. My perspective has changed.

I'm not sure if it's the meds or if it's just the fact that I knew these things all along. Quite frankly, I think it's a combination of the two. The meds are allowing my brain to function more normally. Therefore, I can think about things individually rather than one big lump of suck.

I've been having thoughts of getting back to writing. I've got a few people who are awaiting my next book, and I think I may be able to get sorted out soon. This is a huge deal for me. I miss writing.

So there you have it. I feel human. I actually don't mind leaving my house. I'm making molehills out of mountains. Go me!

~Kim

Parenting In A...

...depressive state is hard.

It's day six. I'm impressed with myself. I have managed to remember to take my pill every morning.

That in itself is a monumental achievement, but I've had some other milestones.

Yesterday, I left my house.

I walked with the drama queen down to the local park to watch the fireworks. I even talked to people face to face.

I know, right?! It's a miracle!

Okay, that might be going a little far, but it's something. I always enjoy my time out of the house, but I have the hardest time making myself leave. This time, I didn't.

Hallelujah for small victories!

I even went preemptive and put my bursitis cream on my hip before we left so I wouldn't be writhing in pain the whole time we were gone. F.Y.I. the max on that is about four hours because I thought I was going to die by the time we got home last night. (And I still can't believe at 43 I have bursitis! What the hell?!)

This morning, I had to deal with a not so pleasant part of parenting. I was dreading it. I really was, but I handled it.

Now, my kid knows that I don't expect him to be perfect, but I do expect him to take ownership when he fucks up.

I don't freak out about stuff very often. I'm a pretty laid back parent. Usually, when I have the freak out moments, it's because one of the kids has decided to freak out themselves.

I had a moment like that this morning. After a calm conversation about what happened, why it was wrong, how my trust is blown at the moment, and the consequences, there was a moment when I asked for the phone (grounded 1 week from it) and he yelled "Stop rushing me!"

I looked at him, baffled that this child, who had just gotten into serious trouble, thought it was okay for him to yell at me regarding his punishment. He then threw said phone and punched the wall and yelled "This is bull shit!"

I sprang up and called him back and we went at it, but I noticed something. The feeling was different. I wasn't so mad I couldn't see straight. It was a controlled anger. I could control it. I didn't feel like I wanted to put his head into the wall. I backed down. I let him go and gather himself.

He did. He came back and asked if he could talk to me. And we did.

There were tears on both ends, but there was good conversation.

I feel like that was a big victory.

Huge.

Today, it will turn out okay. My hope is regenerated.

~Kim

Are You As Tired...

...of this as I am?

It's day five. It's so funny, I keep expecting to just wake up one morning and feel right. Now, the intellectual side of me knows this is bull shit and it doesn't work like that, but the dreamer side of me has an image of how I want things to go.

I'm currently listening to Rose Madder by Stephen King on Audible. (Stop it! I can hear you!) It's really interesting because I'm really identifying with Rose's inner dialogue. She has a voice she calls "Practical-Sensible" and I have that voice too. She has it because she's fleeing from an abusive marriage. I have the same voice, only mine keeps me grounded.

Being grounded is a hard thing for me. I have a tendency to build lofty goals (only to fail usually). My creative mind, the same one I use to write, likes to build my ego up, then "Practical-Sensible" shows up and grapples me back down to earth. Usually, within a few days, and sometimes even immediately.

"Practical-Sensible" reminds me of all the research that I have done on depression, depression medications, therapy, and recovery. She reminds me that there is no miracle cure. She reminds me that depression isn't something I can control. She also reminds me that if I don't find a therapist, the best drugs on Earth can't help me. She reminds me that recovery takes time, energy, and change.

On occasion, I've been known to stifle her, but I'm coming to the realization that I can't.

Well, I shouldn't.

If I didn't have that "Practical-Sensible" voice in my head, my kids would be introverts, wallowing with me in my depression. That voice came into existence when I needed to pick myself by the boot straps (as so many people have told me over the years) for my kids. When I needed to make doctors' appointments, when I needed to advocate for my special needs kid, when I had to wake up every morning and drag myself out of bed and take the kids to school, I needed her to keep me grounded then and she continues to keep me grounded now.

So, I guess I should thank Stephen King for giving an identity for one of the voices in my head that has helped me function.

Who knew a prolific author of horror novels was such a scholar of the human condition?

~Kim

Dun duh...

...duuuuuuuuuuuuuun!

Now that I have your attention, I'd like to remind you that it's day four.

Yesterday was a good day. I got a lot done, I felt accomplished, and I tried to keep it going.

So far today, I'm nonplussed. I woke up tired. Everything my daughter says to me is irritating. The stresses of every day life are sneaking back in.

In other words, the newness has worn off.

Don't get me wrong, I still have hope for the future, but the reality that even "normal" people have bad days is lurking. I don't want to have bad days, but I want to have good days.

As my wise husband says (I totally need a sarcasm font), "You can't have good days if you don't have bad days." The philosopher of my life.

Just typing that makes me want to smack him upside the head. Not even because his little quips of wisdom come at annoying times, but mostly because he's right. And now I want to smack myself upside the head because I just typed an admission of my husband actually being right.

Anyhow, he's right. (Damn it. I said it again.)

Today is a down day. It's alright. I mean I'm four days into a medication that probably takes a month to build up in my system to proper levels.

The mission next week is to find a therapist. I need to find someone to help me cope with all of the stress of every day life. Someone who can help me cope with the kids, money, and life without shutting down the minute I feel overwhelmed.

We've got to travel tonight for baseball. Generally, the only reason I leave my house; a kids' activity.

It's alright. I'll do it, like I always do. Hopefully, I can get a nap today and maybe find a little more energy.

Keep trudging forward. Life looms around every corner. I want to live it.

~Kim

I'm either having...

...a really good day (yes I have those without meds) or I'm feeling the energy my doc told me I might see.

Either way, I'll take it!

The funny thing is, I've got nothing to do today. Really, I don't have to leave the house today if I don't want to.

I really don't want to and that's okay.

It's day 3.

I'm proud of myself for one thing...I have remembered to take it every morning!

My depression is so severe that it has affected my short term memory. I can't remember shit. I tell the same stories over and over to the same people. Someone will tell me something and five minutes later I will ask them about the subject like it's a completely new development. I will tell someone that I'm going to do something and then completely forget about it if I don't put it in my calendar immediately (which I constantly forget to do!).

I want to feel "normal" (good grief I hate that word, but in this case it seems necessary) so badly that I've strategically placed my pill bottle so it's the first thing that I see in the morning.

Here's a small example of how I'm feeling today as opposed to four days ago.

I went grocery shopping. I bought a cantaloupe. It sat on my counter for four days. Every time I was asked to cut it I gave the cursory, "In a minute" response. Surprise. Surprise. It never got cut.

I woke up this morning. I was asked to cut the cantaloupe (and the watermelon that had been sitting there since Saturday (for those keeping score, today is Thursday) and I gave the cursory "In a minute" response. Surprise! I got off my butt a few minutes later and cut them both.

Some people will look at this and see the ridiculousness in the fact that I couldn't even manage to cut up fruit. Others will look at this for what it is: a small victory in the grand scheme of things.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring! Maybe I'll wash, dry, fold, and put away a load of laundry! The possibilities are endless.

Today, I cut the fruit!

~Kim

So, Now It's...

...day two.

No new news to report.

I'm not surprised, I didn't expect there to be anything.

I did have to explain to someone close to me that changes weren't going to happen overnight. When I was asked, "Do you feel any different?" I had to concede that I did not indeed feel different.

I wanted to feel different, but I knew I wouldn't. Still, saying it out loud felt like defeat. It bled into my hope.

I've spent most of my life being a realist. Okay, that's a lie. I spent most of my life being a dreamer. I dreamt of the things I could do or could be if I could just make myself do this, that, or the other. If I could just make myself get out of bed with a smile on my face and set goals, I could accomplish anything.

I believed, for a couple of decades, that I could beat depression if I set my mind to it. You know, the mind that's sabotaging me at every turn.

The mind that's giving me these wonderful ideas that I could be a successful writer. The mind that says, "You could be a great baker! You should open a bakery!" The mind that says, "You absolutely SHOULD do this, because you'd be a huge success! You're special!"

The mind that the next day says, "Are you sure you even want to get out of bed?" The mind that tells me that showers are too much work. The mind that tells me that it's just too much work to be successful, eat a cookie.

My mind knows that I should be taking the dog for walks every day, but won't allow me to get my ass off the couch because it takes effort. The mind that deals with stress and tasks by being overwhelmed and doing nothing.

I worried for a long time that getting treatment for depression would take away my creativity. It is almost as if I am addicted to depression. Much in the same way an alcoholic says, "I can quit any time I want to," yet can't refuse a beer. The way an addict's body wants something; drugs, alcohol, or even food, my body is so used to being depressed that it is afraid to be anything else.

I clinging to hope. Hope is all I have.

~Kim

The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day. #3

This one is simple.

It's my husband.

He has tolerated more bull shit from me than anyone should have to. Seriously.

All of the weird pregnancy cravings. The crying fits because I couldn't find socks (his favorite pregnancy story to tell people). Working away from his family so we can have everything we need or want. Pulling endless hours at work. This list goes on and on.

Don't get me wrong. The past twenty years hasn't been sunshine and rainbows the entire time. In fact, a large chunk of it was spent angry, depressed, and arguing. (You can read about that here.)

Our is a love at first sight story. Yeah I hear you groaning, but it's true.

The minute he walked into the bar where I worked, I saw him and knew right then he was the one I wanted to marry.

When he didn't hit on me, after countless openings, I didn't become discouraged. I kept advancing and before he left, I asked for his phone number.

I waited a whole day before I called him. I was pretty proud of myself for not succumbing to the urges to phone him immediately that night. I was strong...

We talked for two hours that first night. It wasn't deep or meaningful, I couldn't even tell you the topics of conversation, but it was a start. Any logic left my body.

He was my dreamboat in Wranglers, a black felt cowboy hat, and cow skin boots.

He picked me up for our first date in his Chevy Blazer. He conveniently left out that it was older than me, had no exhaust, and rust everywhere. Turns out, I didn't care.

After dinner and drinks he brought me home and we sat in his truck and talked. I will never forget it. Here's how the conversation went.

B: There's something I need to tell you.
Me: Who is she? I'll kick her ass.
B: *chuckles* No, it's not like that at all.
Me: Then what?
B: *snickers and waits*
Me: C'mon! Out with it.
B: *smiles his smile that still makes my eyes flutter and my belly swim*
Me: You're married? You're a criminal?
B: Nope. *long dramatic pause* I'm gay.
Me: No you're not!
B: No, I'm just 20.
Me: Jesus! Seriously?!

I met him in a bar, and am not a pro at spotting fake IDs. He's said he was 23, just a year older than me. It lied! So his big secret was that he was younger than me.

He courted me for weeks, walking me up to my door, kissing me good night, and leaving as gentlemanly as he had been on all of our dates. No advances, no innuendos, nothing.

In my adult life, I hadn't dated (nor slept with) anyone like him. It was like the old cliché: Hook, line, and sinker.

That started the best love story of my life.

Twenty years later, sometimes we forget those moments, but you can see them now and again under a veil of looks or touches or words.

Sometimes, I'm not a very good wife to him. I think most marriages go through that. Ours goes through it often. When depression sneaks in and I can barely function, let alone cook a fantastic supper, it dulls everything around me, including the love of my life.

After several (early) years of hearing, "Just wake up and say, 'I'm going to be happy today' and you'll be fine," or 'Depression isn't real," he finally came to the realization that it is indeed real and his wife suffers from it.

Clicking the link above will take you to that side story. Oddly, love endures.

He still does the little things to make me feel special. I'm working on trying to remember to do the little things for him because I want him to know he's one of the reasons I get out of bed every day.

He's given me three of the greatest (albeit sometimes hair-raising) gifts on the planet and my life wouldn't be the same without him in it.

Yes, it sounds like a sappy love story, and it is, but it is much more than that to me.

It's a reason to live.

~Kim

photo credit: Wedding Rings (license)
Cowboys In The Dark (license)