Warning: If you’re looking for something about our friend Jesus or a cake that will make all things better, you should skip this post. This is a pour-it-out, lots of nonsensical stuff post. It’s a post I’ve been really fighting back because in my head it sounds like every other new mom post out there. But I believe or hope (or both!) that if I get this out, the other less “me me me!!!” stuff will flow because right now, it’s not.

The goods are getting completely tripped up and drained out of me. The energy to write and draw or speak and listen is being sent off in missiles of anger and frustration. Fortunately, the attacks are being waged on things that don’t really care, like all the junk mail in my inbox. So far today, I have had it out with Whole Foods, the Maryland SPCA, Direct Loans, and some Meet Up book group I forget my password for and so, can’t opt out of their newsletters. I also had some words for our bed, which I swear to you was fighting me back as I tried to make it this morning. It got punchy so I ended up just sprawling across it like a spider throwing a tantrum (which does happen to be my spirit animal.)

What frustrates me the most is that I can’t trace these feelings of TOTAL and UTTER fed-up-ness back to anything in particular. Zo is probably as easy a baby as they come: she sleeps through the night, plays by herself really nicely, and seems to know when I really can’t handle a total diaper blow out. I have the ideal work situation right now that allows me to work from home and go to the office when the walls start to close in on me. My needs are very few: water, time outside, a good stretch a few times a day, time to get quiet, a space to pray, something to read that I’ll get lost in. All of these things are checked off right now.

And still, it. is. hard. It’s a kind of tired that napping for a week straight could not fix. It has depleted my patience, perspective, and grace tanks and leaves me feeling really, really raw. I look around and from all the evidence I’ve gathered it seems like at this point I’m suppose to be back in the game or to have fallen into a comfortable pattern and that doesn’t feel anything like my reality.

The reality looks like this: a tiredness, sure, but more the feeling that every time I get within inches of the finish line it’s pushed back another ten feet, that there’s a perpetual incompleteness. At the end of the day I no longer get to stand on a podium and say “Look at my accomplishments and all these shiny medals!!” I could do my work, get dinner on the table, do twelve loads of laundry, go for a run, do everything that used to fill my tanks and still I would feel completely emptied at the end of the day.

And that’s what it feels like too, that it’s no longer about filling my tank but about emptying it, giving it away.

Hmmm, when I put it down like this, it makes sense that things feel a little better when what’s inside is spent in a meaningful way. This might explain why reading with Zoey or being with a good friend (who also happens to be a really good person) feels like a good investment, like the kind that goes forward and grows on. I’m going to need to sit with this for a little bit. See if this is a perspective shift that actually fits, makes sense, reframes the day-to-day.

More later… K


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