Tuesday, January 18, 2011
A Load Off
I just wanted to say what a relief it is when you lay your worries at the feet of Our Lord and He picks them up and carries them for you. That feeling of weight being lifted off your shoulders is truly heavenly. Decisions that had previously seemed impossible to make are suddenly easy, and the stress that has been removed from your life as a result of those decisions being made and paths being made clear, leaves you feeling like a new person. Well, not completely new, but definitely a more peaceful version of yourself. No chocolate required...for now. ;-)
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Perhaps it s time to come clean...
In all honesty, I am terrified. Living with a degenerative, neuro-muscular illness has me frightened that the day may come when I cannot take care of my children and eventually not even myself. This winter has been particularly harsh for me, and I pray that once summer comes my symptoms will relax a little. These last couple of weeks in particular have been some of the worst, if not the worst I have ever had with my Fibromyalgia. My flare-ups and attacks have been occurring with more frequency, severity, and duration, and seem to be triggered by less than they used to be. The worst of it all, though, is self-inflicted mental misery.
Being the middle of seven children, one lesson I learned in my youth was to not let myself compare my accomplishments to those of my siblings. To this day, when I look sideways instead of inwards I hear a little voice in my head telling me not to...the voice sounds oddly like my father, though it should probably sound as much like my mother as it does him. When learning this lesson, though, it involved not thinking others had done better things or were in a better position. Now, it is more the opposite viewing that is plaguing me. I have a hard time not looking at those worse off and berating myself for feeling poorly or for wanting help with simple things when so-and-so *clearly* has more need than I do. For example, my sister also has Fibromyalgia, and she literally has three times the number of children that I have, with another on the way. How dare I feel bad when she has so much more to deal with than I do? There is that other voice in my head saying I need to just offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory (the more polite, Catholic version of "suck it up") and this voice definitely sounds like my mom!
Remember Christ saying not to worry about the sins of others when we ourselves have sin? This also ties in, in that I *know* I should not be comparing myself to others, good or bad. Then there is the story of the man who asked Christ to take away his cross, for he felt he could not handle it any more. Christ did, but told the man he would have to choose a new cross to bear to replace the old. Christ led the man to a room where there were countless crosses to choose from, but they all seemed so enormous! Finally, after searching the room, the man spies a small cross hidden in the corner. He gladly picks it up and told the Lord that that was the one he wanted. Christ smiled and told the man that he had chosen to take back the cross he only moments before had wanted to shed. "For we know not the burdens that others must bear." Each of us has unique gifts and graces that help us to carry our crosses, and none of us could bear another's burdens.
I have always been a "glass is half full" type of person, but sometimes that, too, can be burdensome. Those of you who also fall into that category know that part of why we are like that is to counter-balance all the negativity out there, even when we are feeling a little negative ourselves, sometimes we put on a good face for the sake of the world. I think we also do this because we don't want to hear all the "half empty" types saying "I told you so!". That, and no one wants to listen to a whiner. I don't like hearing my kids whine and complain, and I am pretty sure no one else needs or wants to hear me feeling down about my illness. So what happens? It gets bottled up, and eventually that bottle bursts.
My bottle burst last night, after developing a small leak. I was so tired of not voicing my fears and concerns because I felt guilty in doing so. What about me??? Am I not allowed to worry about myself? Am I not allowed to be afraid? Mike was working last night, but thanks to modern technology, I sent him a nice, long, text; finally revealing to him some of what I was feeling. The tears started flowing, and wouldn't stop. I thought about calling my mommy, but decided against it since her local time was only 4am at that point. A friend popped into my head, and I wrote her a message via Facebook. A virtual, long-distance cry on the should of a friend can be nearly as good as doing it in person. While this made me feel better because I know she is a prayer warrior and will fight for the good of my soul, I still felt that something was incomplete in my purging of negativity. I sat there sobbing, in my bed, and begged Jesus and His Blessed Mother to help me deal with this, because I just felt like I couldn't handle it any more. Seriously, within moments of laying it all at Jesus' feet, I felt a calm come over me. I decided to say a Rosary, focusing on the Glorious Mysteries. How appropriate it felt, to think about rebirth after horrible pain and torture; about Christ heading to Heaven to wait for us there; about God granting us the aid of the Holy Spirit in all our endeavors; about being welcomed home to Heaven after life-time of work; and finally, upon arrival, being rewarded with our own crown in Heaven.
Through all of this, I decided that I needed to share this with others; if for nothing else so as not to poison my own thoughts by keeping it all bottled up. Besides the risk of having the bottle break, when you keep everything in there and don't let it air out, it becomes toxic. I wasn't sure I would actually go through with it, though, because there have been so many times when I thought something was a good idea when I was contemplating it at night and by morning it did *not* sound like a good idea any more, but I decided it would be therapeutic for me. I do not intend to administer my own therapy too often; like I said, no one wants to listen to a whiner, but I figure that every once in a while, I may need to pour a little out of the bottle so it doesn't explode again.
Being the middle of seven children, one lesson I learned in my youth was to not let myself compare my accomplishments to those of my siblings. To this day, when I look sideways instead of inwards I hear a little voice in my head telling me not to...the voice sounds oddly like my father, though it should probably sound as much like my mother as it does him. When learning this lesson, though, it involved not thinking others had done better things or were in a better position. Now, it is more the opposite viewing that is plaguing me. I have a hard time not looking at those worse off and berating myself for feeling poorly or for wanting help with simple things when so-and-so *clearly* has more need than I do. For example, my sister also has Fibromyalgia, and she literally has three times the number of children that I have, with another on the way. How dare I feel bad when she has so much more to deal with than I do? There is that other voice in my head saying I need to just offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory (the more polite, Catholic version of "suck it up") and this voice definitely sounds like my mom!
Remember Christ saying not to worry about the sins of others when we ourselves have sin? This also ties in, in that I *know* I should not be comparing myself to others, good or bad. Then there is the story of the man who asked Christ to take away his cross, for he felt he could not handle it any more. Christ did, but told the man he would have to choose a new cross to bear to replace the old. Christ led the man to a room where there were countless crosses to choose from, but they all seemed so enormous! Finally, after searching the room, the man spies a small cross hidden in the corner. He gladly picks it up and told the Lord that that was the one he wanted. Christ smiled and told the man that he had chosen to take back the cross he only moments before had wanted to shed. "For we know not the burdens that others must bear." Each of us has unique gifts and graces that help us to carry our crosses, and none of us could bear another's burdens.
I have always been a "glass is half full" type of person, but sometimes that, too, can be burdensome. Those of you who also fall into that category know that part of why we are like that is to counter-balance all the negativity out there, even when we are feeling a little negative ourselves, sometimes we put on a good face for the sake of the world. I think we also do this because we don't want to hear all the "half empty" types saying "I told you so!". That, and no one wants to listen to a whiner. I don't like hearing my kids whine and complain, and I am pretty sure no one else needs or wants to hear me feeling down about my illness. So what happens? It gets bottled up, and eventually that bottle bursts.
My bottle burst last night, after developing a small leak. I was so tired of not voicing my fears and concerns because I felt guilty in doing so. What about me??? Am I not allowed to worry about myself? Am I not allowed to be afraid? Mike was working last night, but thanks to modern technology, I sent him a nice, long, text; finally revealing to him some of what I was feeling. The tears started flowing, and wouldn't stop. I thought about calling my mommy, but decided against it since her local time was only 4am at that point. A friend popped into my head, and I wrote her a message via Facebook. A virtual, long-distance cry on the should of a friend can be nearly as good as doing it in person. While this made me feel better because I know she is a prayer warrior and will fight for the good of my soul, I still felt that something was incomplete in my purging of negativity. I sat there sobbing, in my bed, and begged Jesus and His Blessed Mother to help me deal with this, because I just felt like I couldn't handle it any more. Seriously, within moments of laying it all at Jesus' feet, I felt a calm come over me. I decided to say a Rosary, focusing on the Glorious Mysteries. How appropriate it felt, to think about rebirth after horrible pain and torture; about Christ heading to Heaven to wait for us there; about God granting us the aid of the Holy Spirit in all our endeavors; about being welcomed home to Heaven after life-time of work; and finally, upon arrival, being rewarded with our own crown in Heaven.
Through all of this, I decided that I needed to share this with others; if for nothing else so as not to poison my own thoughts by keeping it all bottled up. Besides the risk of having the bottle break, when you keep everything in there and don't let it air out, it becomes toxic. I wasn't sure I would actually go through with it, though, because there have been so many times when I thought something was a good idea when I was contemplating it at night and by morning it did *not* sound like a good idea any more, but I decided it would be therapeutic for me. I do not intend to administer my own therapy too often; like I said, no one wants to listen to a whiner, but I figure that every once in a while, I may need to pour a little out of the bottle so it doesn't explode again.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
If it looks like a teen and acts like a teen, it probably is one.
Officially speaking, I will have two teenagers on June 1st of 2011. Unofficially, I have two now, and I think I will go forward with that idea. Tommy, or "Tom" as he is known to his fellow Boy Scouts, started shaving a few months before he turned 12 this summer. He is taller than his elder sister, he has hairier legs that I would if I didn't shave them for a good six months or more, his voice is on the descent, and he eats...and eats...and eats. He is the go-to guy for jars that are stuck, and he is my lawn-maintenance-man in training. He has yet to give me regular attitude issues, but since I would rather do without those anyway, I think that it is fair for me to call him a teenager. I am glad that he waited this long to make the transition.
Catie, unfortunately, followed in my footsteps by entering that hideous stage of life known as "puberty" on the early side of average. (Lord help us all if Monica does the same!) The physical changes have been here for a while, but it is only recently that I think she has stepped into the role, so often assigned to teenagers, of starting to think her parents don't know everything. The world is beginning to come into it's orbit around her; though for now it still often includes us. I am going to do my best to remind the universe that it's proper rotation is *not* around my 14 year-old daughter, and see if I cannot get it to resume it's course in the heavens.
I am certain she would scoff at my saying she thinks she is the center of the universe, and by comparison to many, she is still very level-headed, and I am grateful. However, it seems as though reminders that "tone of voice" and "physical attitude towards others" are both very important manners, have been needed more and more often. Your sister is your room-mate, you cannot keep her out of your room; just because your sister is being cheerful when you are not, does not mean that you have the right to snap at her for making any noise; when you say "sorry", say it like you mean it. Grumble under your breath at me all you want, God knows I did the same to my mother; but don't let me hear it or see it.
It feels wrong of me to even write these things down, since Catie is my right arm and saving grace. Living with fibromyalgia is no treat, but I hate to think how things would be if I didn't have her help. She understands that there are times when I just don't function, and she steps in and takes over as needed. She makes dinner more often than I do, gets lunch for Joey and helps Monica if she needs it when she makes her lunch, and will run a million little errands for me; often things like getting me more water when I am worn out and plopped on the couch. Tommy does help with a lot of these things, too, but Catie will often do things without even being asked, and she just seems to "get" it, which is a comfort to me. I am sure that a lot of girls her age and position in the family would be very resentful at having a mother who is often "broken", but Catie handles it all with a grace that I am not sure I possessed at so young an age. Maybe it has more to do with her being the eldest than I had thought.
She has her teenage moments, but she also possesses a strong maturity regarding so many things. If I factored all of that in, I am not sure she would still count as a teen at all; which would put me back to just one teen. Who eats...and eats...and eats.
Catie, unfortunately, followed in my footsteps by entering that hideous stage of life known as "puberty" on the early side of average. (Lord help us all if Monica does the same!) The physical changes have been here for a while, but it is only recently that I think she has stepped into the role, so often assigned to teenagers, of starting to think her parents don't know everything. The world is beginning to come into it's orbit around her; though for now it still often includes us. I am going to do my best to remind the universe that it's proper rotation is *not* around my 14 year-old daughter, and see if I cannot get it to resume it's course in the heavens.
I am certain she would scoff at my saying she thinks she is the center of the universe, and by comparison to many, she is still very level-headed, and I am grateful. However, it seems as though reminders that "tone of voice" and "physical attitude towards others" are both very important manners, have been needed more and more often. Your sister is your room-mate, you cannot keep her out of your room; just because your sister is being cheerful when you are not, does not mean that you have the right to snap at her for making any noise; when you say "sorry", say it like you mean it. Grumble under your breath at me all you want, God knows I did the same to my mother; but don't let me hear it or see it.
It feels wrong of me to even write these things down, since Catie is my right arm and saving grace. Living with fibromyalgia is no treat, but I hate to think how things would be if I didn't have her help. She understands that there are times when I just don't function, and she steps in and takes over as needed. She makes dinner more often than I do, gets lunch for Joey and helps Monica if she needs it when she makes her lunch, and will run a million little errands for me; often things like getting me more water when I am worn out and plopped on the couch. Tommy does help with a lot of these things, too, but Catie will often do things without even being asked, and she just seems to "get" it, which is a comfort to me. I am sure that a lot of girls her age and position in the family would be very resentful at having a mother who is often "broken", but Catie handles it all with a grace that I am not sure I possessed at so young an age. Maybe it has more to do with her being the eldest than I had thought.
She has her teenage moments, but she also possesses a strong maturity regarding so many things. If I factored all of that in, I am not sure she would still count as a teen at all; which would put me back to just one teen. Who eats...and eats...and eats.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Learning to relax
Last night I allowed Joey, who will be 4 at the end of January, to use the kid scissors, paper and some glue. He kept himself so entertained (and out of trouble) that I told him he could "do it again tomorrow". This was the only way he would agree to get ready for bed, since he was having so much fun. As soon as he saw me this morning, he went right over to my desk where we set aside his supplies, and started jumping up and down asking for them. He has now been sitting at the dining table for nearly an hour, happy as a clam as he expresses his creativity.
I cannot help but wonder at the amount of creative stifling that has gone on due to my hesitancy (and that of other mothers, I am sure) to allow my children freer reign with creative outlets. Perhaps I squashed the next Michelangelo when I didn't let my older kids play with Play-dough because I didn't want to deal with the mess? Well, *that* one I am not as sorry about, although I have been thinking that I should get some of the malleable goo for them to experience. It is better than the modeling clay that came with our homeschooling supplies. That stuff makes a horrible mess!
All of this falls under one of my favorite sayings: Don't sweat the petty things, and don't pet the sweaty things. I *very* firmly believe the second half of that statement to be of utmost importance. Yes, I would deal with my children when they are sweaty and dirty, especially if the are hurt, but that does not mean I would sit snuggle with them when they are perfectly able to go take a shower first. This also goes for my hubby.
The second part of that statement is actually the more important. Not worrying about the little things that go wrong or are outside our plans is the part that I know I have struggled with over the years. Part of that, I am sure, is due to being mildly OCD, part also due to battling depression as I have for years, and maybe even partly due to the fact that I am the middle of seven children and had the good fortune of having my own room most of my childhood and therefore became used to having my immediate surroundings arranged to my own specifications. I cannot tell you how many times I rearranged my bedroom furniture when I felt I needed to change something or was feeling frustrated with my life. (I was a rather emotional teen.) The irony of me learning to relax with child number four is that the first three are often wound way too tight with him. "MOM!!! Did you say Joey could use GLUE?!?" "Yes, I did. Leave him be." "Mom! Joey isn't using small dots of glue, they are HUGE!" "Joey, I said little dots, remember?" "OK, Mommy." "But...Mom! He made a mess!" "He can clean it up with a baby wipe." "But..." They always seem so frustrated that I am not freaking out when they are themselves.
As if on cue, emotions are once again flaring, including the youngest, so it is time to go calm nerves and soothe feelings. Perhaps I will fix another cup of tea...
I cannot help but wonder at the amount of creative stifling that has gone on due to my hesitancy (and that of other mothers, I am sure) to allow my children freer reign with creative outlets. Perhaps I squashed the next Michelangelo when I didn't let my older kids play with Play-dough because I didn't want to deal with the mess? Well, *that* one I am not as sorry about, although I have been thinking that I should get some of the malleable goo for them to experience. It is better than the modeling clay that came with our homeschooling supplies. That stuff makes a horrible mess!
All of this falls under one of my favorite sayings: Don't sweat the petty things, and don't pet the sweaty things. I *very* firmly believe the second half of that statement to be of utmost importance. Yes, I would deal with my children when they are sweaty and dirty, especially if the are hurt, but that does not mean I would sit snuggle with them when they are perfectly able to go take a shower first. This also goes for my hubby.
The second part of that statement is actually the more important. Not worrying about the little things that go wrong or are outside our plans is the part that I know I have struggled with over the years. Part of that, I am sure, is due to being mildly OCD, part also due to battling depression as I have for years, and maybe even partly due to the fact that I am the middle of seven children and had the good fortune of having my own room most of my childhood and therefore became used to having my immediate surroundings arranged to my own specifications. I cannot tell you how many times I rearranged my bedroom furniture when I felt I needed to change something or was feeling frustrated with my life. (I was a rather emotional teen.) The irony of me learning to relax with child number four is that the first three are often wound way too tight with him. "MOM!!! Did you say Joey could use GLUE?!?" "Yes, I did. Leave him be." "Mom! Joey isn't using small dots of glue, they are HUGE!" "Joey, I said little dots, remember?" "OK, Mommy." "But...Mom! He made a mess!" "He can clean it up with a baby wipe." "But..." They always seem so frustrated that I am not freaking out when they are themselves.
As if on cue, emotions are once again flaring, including the youngest, so it is time to go calm nerves and soothe feelings. Perhaps I will fix another cup of tea...
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Fire One!
I have been thinking about starting a blog for some time, so that I would have a place to write down random thoughts and musings that come and go through my head. I cannot tell you how many times I have had "deep thoughts" while waiting to fall asleep, or wished to have a place to discuss my feelings on issues that I really don't feel like posting on Facebook. I figure this will also give me something to focus on during the day while waiting out those occasional lulls in our homeschooling day. I don't intend this to necessarily be a place of deep inspiration, and I certainly am not expecting a world class following. I figure my dear husband, Mike, might read it now and then, and that will be good enough for me. I will be working on a biography to add to the page, as well.
Until my next post, be well!
Until my next post, be well!
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