It’s The Little Things

Here’s the thing. I was just going to steer clear of this place for a while. I hate that every time I end up writing something, it seems that I’m negative Nelly, bitching and whining about one thing or another. The fact of the matter is I write what I know and the last week has been hella tough. From sick kids, lots of puke, very minimal sleep, tears of exhaustion, toys thrown through walls,  expensive shit breaking down and raping me of my tax return that would have been better served buying an iPad or commercial sized packages of toilet paper from Costco, I’m just feeling really overwhelmed and painfully inadequate lately.

These are usually the times where I just sit back, keep quiet, isolate myself, and hold my breath until things get better. I hate to be the person that is always playing the woe is me card. I’ll admit, holding my tongue, and drowning in my sadness is not good for me, but if I share it, I inevitably feel like I’m the ‘bringing everyone down’ burden that isn’t grateful for what she has. When it really couldn’t be further from the truth.

My perfectly healthy baby has decided to stop sleeping at night. My Rasta Dog had to be shaved and is protesting the cold air and refusing to go outside. Each time I go to tend to the baby in the middle of the night, the dog protests in the form of a puddle of pee directly in the hallway walk path from leaving the baby’s room. Which leads to scrubbing down the hallway floors, showering and doing laundry, just in time for the baby to wake up again. These are First World problems, I get it, but they are problems that wear me down, nonetheless.

Today, I had every intention of wallowing in my self pity. Stumbling through the day with my less than an hour of sleep. Hearing my daughter’s judgmental harsh words reverberating in my head all day, “this must be some kind of record that my loser mom has made me late to school three days this week because she sleeps in.” (IRONIC because I apparently don’t sleep at all anymore!) Plunging the toilet  in my hazy fog. Arguing with the cable company about my inflated bill and waiting for it to be late enough for it to be an acceptable hour to have a strong drink. These were all things that I would hold in, keep to myself and let weigh me down.

I was afraid to say anything. Afraid to alienate everyone and be “that” person. That person that takes over the conversation with “look how tough I have it”.  God, how I fear being “that” person.

Then I received a message from someone thanking me for sharing my struggles publicly. He said it has helped him understand his wife better. I needed that. I needed it badly. That little message helped get me through the day. It gave me the boost I needed to open up and admit I was having a hard time and that I probably wasn’t alone.

And then, I decided not to hold it in today. I shared.  It was a shitty day and I was able to get it off my chest. My snotty nasty cries dried up and things started seeming less bleak.

Sometimes, it’s just good to be heard. It helps to get reassurance that what you’re going through is tough. That other people have gone through what you’re going through and that you’re not alone. And surprisingly, if your circle of friends don’t run away rolling their eyes, they may just  be able to lighten your mood, put a smile on your face and make you forget, if even just for a few minutes, that you have a bathroom to disinfect and a hole in the wall to patch.

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