It’s 10:30 at night and I’m sitting in my kitchen listening to the coffee pot spit and splutter while I brew up a giant pot of herbal tea. I wonder absentmindedly if our stomachs make similar sounds when we digest. Tonight I have forced myself to slow the hell down. My mind is uneasy. I could go to bed but I know I’ll just flop around like a fish and get irritated. So I’m sitting here taking in the gurgles and breathing in the floral scent drifting from the coffee pot.
I don’t particularly care for this brand of self care. I prefer the distraction kind. The kind that says “treat yo-self!” or “lets read and pretend that life doesn’t exist!” I even prefer the horrible self care that comes with cleaning. I do not like the quiet, reflective, think through your crap type of self care. I do a lot of thinking when I write but I always see it as something fun, not something necessary. Tonight it is part of my something necessary. I suppose that makes you, Dear Reader, part of my something necessary too.
It’s so easy lately to be hard on myself. I normally bumble along somewhere between quiet confidence and a giant ego. I make it a point to recognize my shortcomings and flip them the bird. Lately though, I’ve felt my swagger slip. It’s harder to laugh at the things eating away at me. Trying to balance all of the facets of my life seems insurmountable today and I find it hard to muster up the pep talk that I need to carry on. My pre-baby weight is back and all in the places that I don’t want it to be. I’ve been making great strides with my housework but I’m not where I want to be. I’ve missed two days of my 40 day challenge and no end in sight to all of the things that I need to do. My head is aching. I worry that my girls need me around more. I am making problems in my head where there are none. Mountains out of molehills if you will.
I know this. I know that I am not all of the horrible things that my stupid anxiety is telling me. I know as I sip my tea and breathe in the sweet smell that I am strong enough to tackle tomorrow. That the one day or two days or however long this funk lasts, will not break me. In this moment, I choose happiness. I choose to tell the dark thoughts to kiss my exhausted butt. I choose to slow down and reflect on the victories in my day: the giggles of my girls as I chased them around, their big grins when I went to pick them up, the load of laundry that I washed, the clean dishes in the dishwasher, the perfectly brewed pot of tea…
Mom Van Confessions 