I’m a control freak. The thought or actuality of losing control is often what triggers my panic attacks and general anxiety. And while I have gained an arsenal of ways to combat this, it’s still a problem that I struggle with. When it really only affected me, I felt like it was manageable to some extent. Or maybe I just figured that this was something that I would have to suck up and deal with. As a mom, I am becoming more and more aware of my need to control my environment, and now my daughter’s…
I know that a full belly + plenty of sleep + lots of love + perfect health + fun = a happy Liana. But how many of those things are really up to me? I can’t stop her from getting sick. What about when I’m not there? Who will make sure that her naps start at the right time and last long enough for her to not be a cranky mess when she wakes up? These thoughts seem so stupid when I’m not in it, but they certainly don’t in those moments.
Most holidays me, my husband, and daughter travel to see family and we stay at our parents’ house. I always start out hoping that Liana will eat square meals at her normal times, take an early afternoon nap, and be in bed early so that she gets plenty of sleep. Guess how often this actually happens…never. Between Liana protesting and the grandparents not wanting to spend a moment away from her, times always shift. I used to make a fuss about these things with the grandparents, turning down activities because of naps or fear of Liana having a meltdown. But she loves visiting her grandparents and they love playing with her and watching her be the rambunctious talkative 3-year-old that she is when she’s happy.
She’s happy. She is HAPPY. I’ve started to let that sink in more and more. If I can focus on that through her threenage, preteenage, and teenage years, then I think we’ll be alright. And I can find myself in a happy place too. Girl, just let that ish go!
For my previous job I usually relied on public transit into Boston, but every once in awhile I would drive instead. By far my least favorite part was getting through the rotaries/round-abouts/circles of misery. Lanes don’t exist and there are no rules. I had my first real Masshole experience in a rotary and it may have traumatized me. After that I actually had multiple occasions of missing my exit and going around a couple times out of fear of annoying or hitting someone.
Those times and every other time, I had to really commit to getting out of that damn rotary. Because there’s no such thing as passively exiting. It’s a good analogy for life.
I know that I get into cycles of doubt and self-sabotage because of my anxiety. Something big is approaching and I start worrying about whether I can get things done. Am I capable? Will I fail? The more I doubt myself the less productive I become and the spiral begins. There is something comfortable about staying in these anxious cycles. It’s familiar and I know how they’ll end. I never meet my full potential because I get in my own way.
I can see all of this clearly now only because it happens less often. When I don’t get stuck it’s because I’ve accepted that I have to be uncomfortable to succeed. It takes a conscious effort and decisiveness. I can’t get out of my own head if if I’m wishy washy and hemming and hawing at every challenge.
Deep breath. Check for danger. And make the move! I get where I’m going much faster, and with a little more confidence each time.
Today I chose to go to yoga rather than pick up my daughter from school. Her favorite sitter is picking her up and they’re having a blast. And my anxious brain has been telling me what a terrible mom I am. That only bad parents choose self care over childcare. Quite frankly, anxious brain, you can take all the seats. This chick needs self care to be the amazing momma that I am. Prayer and care are your worst enemy, so pardon me while I indulge. NAMASTE.