Anxiety and Vulnerability
Wow, on this past Sunday, I had a beautiful moment of Anxiety and Vulnerability. That sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it. Anxiety is not beautiful and vulnerability blows chunks. Honestly, I had had a relaxing day.
Sunday’s are my “non-parenting” days. I don’t cook, clean, or parent (hahahaha). This is a day of rest, reflection, and sometimes organization. I catch up on emails, menus for the week, organize a closet or two, church, and just relaxation. This particular Sunday, I tackled shaving my dog.
As the day wore on, nothing out of the ordinary was happening. I was noticing our new mattress isn’t as good as it was. My room needs to be dealt with but I didn’t want too. I took a shower, wrote for my blog, and pet my critters.
Then, about 10, I asked Bart to bring me up something to drink. We sat for a minute and talked about the upcoming week. He followed me into the bathroom and we chatted more. As he was sitting on my stool and I on the pot, cause why not, I began to feel anxiety wash up over me.
In the past, I would push it down and ignore it. There is no way on God’s green earth I would disclose what I was feeling to Bart. Show no emotion. Show no fear. Show no weakness. Wait till you are alone as to not burden him or have him look at you with that thought of I am crazy.
This time, however, I let it all hangout. I explained to him that, physically, I was feeling like a troop of butterfly were inside my chest and all flapping their wings as hard as they could. I was cold but sweating. I was hot but shivering. I could feel one tear emerge from the far corner of my right eye and that my nose was beginning to stop up because I could feel me suppressing the tears.
I explained that I can logically discuss all the things and rationally know it was going to be okay. Yet, I couldn’t stop. I began shaking, a bit and my hands starting swelling. I was saying irrational things like my 9 mth old granddaughter doesn’t love me because I told her “no” the other day and made her cry. I know that isn’t true but that is how I felt at that moment.
The thought of the rest of this month and next month overwhelms me but this week…this week… is emotionally one of the hardest weeks to come. I don’t do well when I am busy and have things to do everyday. I have to have a down day or I will come unglued. Not everyone is like that but I am. I have to have a day where peace reigns and I can dictate what I do.
This is not that week.
I explained to him that I had orders for complete blood work. I was going to go tomorrow but then realized that I had a hair appt at 11. Then, I had to get Hunter and drive to Nashville to spend the night for his surgery on Tuesday.
I need to get bloodwork down because I have not had it done in a few years. I am considering changing providers…not because I dislike or don’t trust my existing provider because I do. Well, trust is a big word, so maybe not trust him but I do like him. Its just when you hit 49, your male doctor does not understand the world of females. He is book smart and we have a great relationship.
Anyway, Bart said that I should wait until Wednesday to get that done, so that puts me at doing something everyday. Again, not good with that scenario because of zero down time. Now, my anxiety shifted back to my hair. I’m thinking of getting it cut like I did before, but I want it to grow out.
At this stage and season (literally the season), my psoriasis flares up and this time has landed in my scalp, shoulders, and upper arms (and thighs). My scalp is not healthy and my hair starts falling out till the spring. Whatever.
I wanted to get my whole head a pretty purple. Yet, I know that will displease my mama. I know that I have weddings to go to in January and I HATE to stand out, yet my sister wants me to be me. Bart’s statement was f*ck this and that person. They don’t dictate what I do. It isn’t their hair or their money and I don’t sleep with them. He will love whatever I do, though I know he prefers blonde and long. He loves me for me and lets me experiment with my hair. Plus, he loves the color purple. We shall see.
Then, I swirled about surgery.
The way doctors treat us “commoners” as peasants and talk at us and not with us. How Hunter seemed to die in my arms after his PLEX treatment and the neuros did NOTHING and said it was a parenting issue, though we couldn’t wake him up. That was my last experience at this hospital. It isn’t a good one. I am alone, again, in an impossible situation.
I don’t have to take the shit of doctors. I pay their bills and I am Hunter’s leading expert on his condition, not them. I can stand up for myself. I can take up space. I can use my voice. I can advocate. I can and I will.
That brings up emotions and feelings that not many people understand. I know, logically, B has to stay home for the other kids. He has to work. This surgery is “minor” and the only thing that SHOULD be difficult is him waking from being put to sleep. Then, once cleared, we can go home. Supper will be cooked and we can wash away the shitty beginning of the day and relax that evening.
Wednesday is bloodwork, Thursday is keeping my granddaughter and horse therapy, friday is I don’t know what. Sprinkle in daily basketball and 2 games and work schedules for 2 boys. It becomes impossibly busy and chaotic.
While I was swirling in this anxiety tornado, we stood in the bathroom. Skin to skin while swaying. I cried, I rationalized, I explained away, and he just swayed with me. He listened. Understood. Told me to stand on my “f*ck you” to anyone that doesn’t like me or doesn’t want to tolerate me or treat me less than.
Stand out with your purple hair, pretty dress, and bare feet. Speak my truth. I don’t answer to anyone and the people that love me want me to be me. He loves me. He chooses me. I’m not crazy. I am a good mom. A devoted advocate to our son.
I felt better within 10 minutes. He would still be swaying with me if I needed him too. He understood how hard it was for me to open up to him and to say the things I needed to say. He let me have the space to feel, process, and understand my emotions. He gave me permission to cry and show emotion without fear.
Geez, this feels so freaking good. Now, I’m on a high of how good this feels. I wish I had allowed him to love me so completely years ago. That would have saved us so much in pain and misunderstanding.
Lest We Forget
This week, December 11th, is the day that 10 years ago, we were reunited with our son. It was such a painful time in our lives. Not the adoption in 2010 but the aftermath of the day we got home from adopting him until the day we could BRING him home. That was 15 mths later when it should have been 6 weeks.
All sorts of emotions.
Things to Do
Feel your feelings.
Give yourself space to grieve, have fear, be anxious.
Capture those thoughts and what grounds you. Swaying, skin to skin, grounded me.
Allow someone to walk with you and love you.
It is so worth it.