Pity Party, party of one.
Why does it seem that being a wife and mother of yesteryear was so much easier than it is today? The ironic part is we live in the day and age of technology simplifying everything. Writing this right now is both a blessing and a curse; the ability to vent about things that concern me helps to relieve the endless racing thoughts that bombard my mind 24/7, but at the same time; you’re criticized for being an oversharer and judged for not handling your dirty laundry privately. Gone are the days of SAHM gathering at one neighbors house, playing cards and sipping Gin, while the kids play outside and you vent your frustrations. Now it’s writing and sharing posts on the internet and having either people commenting in agreement or you’re made to feel worse when people judge you and reply with shit they wouldn’t have the confidence to tell a person in person.
In my 32 years of living, I’ve learned there really is no “safe place” to share anything; everyone is always judging you. And when you come to the realization that there is no safe place; you’re left with all your stressors stuck deep inside you and you either contemplate life being better off without you or you find some way to cope. Sometimes those coping mechanisms are healthy and other times they’re not. Some turn to drugs; either prescribed anti-depressants or they smoke a joint or they slowly kill themselves with heroin. Or they become functioning alcoholics, or they save the alcohol for a rare one night out and they take it too far with binging. I smoke and drink far too much coffee. Others comfort themselves with food. Or punish themselves with the lack of food.
So, what does one do when there is no safe place to talk about the hard shit? I’ve been in therapy since I was 10 years old; clearly that hasn’t helped. I can’t find a good cocktail of psychiatric medications, nor does anyone have the patience to deal with my issues when I tell them the meds aren’t working. I’ve tried support groups, and as much as the venting part helps, I feel no better after attending. I have no close friends, and honestly I don’t blame people for not wanting to be friends with me; I have a lot of fucking issues. I am not close with family at all due to trust issues, abuse and honestly, I just don’t really want anything to do with any of them. I am not close to my siblings at all, not even a little. They have a totally different view point of our family life while growing up and that’s okay, I can’t make them perceive my reality, just like they can’t convince me of theirs, they’re wildly different. I have a weird relationship with my mother; she’s narcissistic and refuses to get help, but LOVES to play the victim any chance she gets.
I’m even noticing the dynamics of marriage changing. It feels like the happiness we portrays is nothing more than a facade. Whether he means it or not, Derrick has been pushing me away and talks to me differently. It’s to the point where I don’t even wanna try anymore. I’m tired of being the only one trying to work on and improve things. I’m tired of being the one fighting for therapy. I’m tired of being the one to schedule things. I’m tired being the only one reading and researching how to improve every aspect of this family; from the kids to our marriage. I’m reading countless books and blogs and watching videos, trying new things, offering ideas and trying to make plans–but I’m the only one doing it. I find things to do as a family, but then I’m met with resistance when it comes to actually doing anything. I came up with the idea of us scheduling time to write in journals, private journals, as a family daily, to vent our frustrations via written word and I’m made to feel like that’s a stupid idea because journals cost money, there’s no time to fit that in, no one wants to be forced to write at home when they do it at school and with homework.
It’s gotten to a point within the last year, that I now know my husband is not my support person. And I’m half okay with that and half not. We’ve been arguing about my issues so much lately. I can honestly say I do not feel safe talking to him. I know I overwhelm him, I know I do, because I’m overwhelmed and when I tell him how I’m overwhelmed, it’s usually in an overwhelming manner and that just overwhelms things and him. I get that. He’s annoyed when I talk to him, which feels fucking AMAZING. Sometimes when I really want to vent to him, I literally fucking convince myself that maybe self-harming would just be easier because as fucked up as it sounds, at least I don’t feel worse afterward. Like this morning, rather than him asking me what was wrong, he told me to stop acting mad and go lay down because it was annoying him. I kept my mouth shut and fucking punched the wall as I walked to the bedroom. I’m finding I wanna spend less and less time with him. Conversations feel forced. Intimacy is nonexistent. We don’t have fun. And we definitely don’t date.
I don’t want to settle, but I’ve been corned into it. I want things to be better. But it’s like I’m supporting someone else’s dreams and goals and foregoing mine. All the time. It’s fucking exhausting pleasing everyone else and always telling yourself no. Something is gunna give some though, I can feel it. I can’t keep doing just this. This isn’t the life I was meant to live. But it’s all I know. My childhood was spent making things just so for my mother and now I’m doing this with Derrick. I have dreams, but they’ll remain dreams, mostly because my opportunity to achieve them have already passed. I’ll support Derrick in everything he wants to do, but the support for me isn’t there, I’m met with resistance or guilt. And man, the fight we got into after I decided to enroll in college, that right there set the tone for me choosing to do anything with my life. So here I am, a SAHM of 5, with just a diploma under my belt and if I ever did get the courage to make some big changes in my life, I don’t know how I’d be able to afford to do so.
And then it goes back to not even knowing what the fuck I want to do with my life. I’ve never really had the opportunity to even think about it. When I was a kid and that question was asked, before I had a chance to reply anything, I was cut off by some other adult saying I should be a lawyer, a doctor, a judge, some bullshit like that. One teacher did encourage me to be a writer because I had a talent with words, but even that doesn’t feel like a “real” career that anyone would be proud of. And unless I was on top of the New Yorker’s Best Seller List, it wouldn’t fricken matter because writing isn’t a real job. I make a lot of excuses when it comes to things changing, and it’s mostly fear because I feel like no matter what I do, it won’t be good enough. Plus the lash back I’d get, I’m anxious now even thinking about it. Fathers can go to work, be workaholics, but because they’re the family providers, they’re met with admiration and applauded. With moms we get shit no matter what we do; because we’re women, we’re mothers and we’re expected to get it all done AND have an amazing size 2 body and ALWAYS be in the mood for your husband, otherwise it’s all your fault if your husband cheats and your family falls apart.
I don’t wanna feel like I settled…but I feel like I settled.
I’m trying so hard to make things better. Make myself better. And it just feels like an infinite fucking loop of trying and nothing changing. As simple as it seems; the easiest fix right now would be for me to get DECENT FUCKING SLEEP. For my body. For my fucking mind. So much of my issues loop back to inadequate sleep. I’m so fucking tired. I’m beyond exhausted. I’m tired of trying. So tired.
It’s just so exhausting “trying”. Trying to be a good wife, trying to be a good mother, trying to be a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend, a good neighbor, a good person–because you get so lost in other peoples expectations of HOW you should be good and you lose yourself. I’ve lost myself. You ask me to describe myself and my answer would simply be “Derrick’s wife and the kids’ mother”. I am known for what I do, my role. A wife and a mom. That’s it.
Who the hell am I?