Whale Rising

Forever ago back in college, I once had a psychology professor give me advice about my struggle with anxiety:  Make a simple life for yourself with as little stress as possible.  I find myself laughing at that advice regularly because life just doesn't make itself simple for you.  I did find a great husband who supports me.  I did complete my education and successfully worked for years.  Other than that, though, his advice seems to have fallen off a cliff.  Several rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), a miscarriage, complications from IVF, my first born, my twins and so forth.  I don't regret any of this but one could never characterize these life-altering events as being simple or stress free. 

This morning I woke up lower than a whale's butt (one of my Mom's awesome, west Texas expressions).  Everything was bothering me.  One child was feeling poorly and needed my undivided attention.  The other two kids were being relatively fine but they each had their needs and wants (which in years past influenced my creating the song "the needy-wants") that require attention and energy.  Hair in a wad on top of my head, eyes seeking a fresh pot of coffee, I found myself berating my life, how much I suck at it, and worrying about how to get through another day.  From finding a random booger by the tub (uh, gross), to smelling pee in my bathroom from well intentioned, early potty trainers missing their mark, to remembering how yesterday one of my son's wasn't allowed to play outside with the other kids because I let him wear shorts and forgot to give him a jacket, I kept listing off all the aggravating things in my life and kept finding proof of my failure as a competent parent.  Lest this seems like a puny list, I am not listing it all.  There is plenty more such as the undies that need cleaning BEFORE they go in the washing machine, the fact that I couldn't find snacks for the twins for school, and the fact that I am just plain worn out with my crazy world.

So after getting things moderately under control, I took a bath.  Despite my son with autism using a timer (my brush turning in circles to his own time) to try to speed me along just outside the door, I dove inward and told myself to shut up.  Using some of a good friend of mine's words, I told myself to "cut that shit out" and wo-"man up, mo fo."  Completely useless advice meant to be taken comically, I couldn't help from giggling.  It takes some courage to tell a woman like me such things without fear of being annihilated. 

Thanks to my husband, friends and family, I have found one of the only ways to shift my focus from the negativity to a more reasonable frame of mind is to use humor.  I am fortunate to have friends who knows just how to say the worst possible things that make me laugh.  Thankfully, when my husband isn't wallowing in the pit of insanity with me, he too can make me laugh and remind me that I'm more than all this chaos.  I am still the young girl in the professor's office asking for help with anxiety.  I'm just older now and can teach the professor a few things about managing stress.

If I hadn't gone to the gym the last few nights, I probably could relate too closely with the analogy of being lower than a whale's butt.  After having a few laughs and calling myself on my own bullshit, I can safely say that this, uh, whale is heading for the top.