anXiety, pen and ink on graph paper, doodle © 2008 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
I want to write about anxiety. Not panic attacks, since I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those, but rather, the general sense of dread that covers me at times like a veil.
I want to write about anxiety, but not in a medical way. I want to write about the days I feel like I can’t possibly smile, can’t possibly let myself get into a good mood, so shellacked into place is my heart that if I allow myself to feel it pulsing in my chest I might just burst open.
I catch myself increasingly more in this predicament, anxious and paralyzed and becoming the impatient, often enraged woman I knew as…my mother.
Yes, my mother! She suffered anxiety for many years, and there is indication that, like brown hair or Diabetes, anxiety runs in families. As one article put it, “More often than not, anxious women grew up in anxious households.”
Mom must have been in a near constant state of anxiety. There was a 13-year spread between me—the youngest—and my oldest sibling, which means Mom was living and breathing children from the moment Patty was born until I moved out at age 18. That was 31 years of dealing with kids through every stage, and it doesn’t include my niece, who was six years younger than me and who Mom eventually brought into the fold.
I tell the story of being five years old and walking into my house one day after having spent a few hours across the street with my best friend at her grandmother’s trailer. My eyes were lined in black; we’d gotten into Suzanne’s grandma’s make-up bag. I came in through the back door just as Mom was getting up from a nap. Usually she made me take naps with her but this day I got to play with Suzanne instead.
I can see Mom now, making her way to the kitchen to find her cigarettes and maybe a glass of iced tea. I am happy and proud; it’s the first time I’ve put on make-up, the domain of grown-up women. Mom crosses the living room, I’m coming up through the den. She sees me and I am smiling, about to open my mouth and tell her “Look what we did!” but before I can get out the words she raises her arm. WHACK! In a throaty voice she screams, “COCHINA!” “PIG!”
Later on, when I started school and life became more intense for Mom, it was hard to separate her meanness from her Meniere’s Disease. When I think of her during those times I see her in bed or on the bathroom floor or the couch, a wet washrag on her forehead and a glass of water by her side.
I remember one summer we drove to Juárez, pulled into the parking lot of the Camino Rael Hotel. Its pink stucco and turquoise swimming pool shimmered like a mirage just beyond the asphalt, and there went Mom, puking into a brown paper sack. The long road trip with three of us fighting in the back of the Caprice, plus the heat, set off an attack.
Always sick, always throwing out certain expressions: “I can’t stand you!” “You kids are driving me crazy!” “I’m a nervous wreck!” There were good memories, too, a flood of goodness, and I don’t want to make my mother sound like a monster. She wasn’t by any means. I’m just trying to understand the cycles of anxiety, what they transform us into, and how I might break the pattern.
Which reminds me, my youngest jokingly calls me Momster. Am I?
If not, I suspect I am on the road to becoming one. Like it did for Mom, my life seems to be getting out of hand. At times my emotions, even my physical being, are hijacked by anxiety.
I sometimes find myself driving in my car and thinking, I shouldn’t have become a mother, I shouldn’t have become a mother, and then I retract it all, convinced that God will punish me by taking away my daughters. This is anxiety talking, taunting in its urgent whisper, That’ll show you.
My friend Deborah calls it “middle-aged rage,” and maybe she’s talking about something different but I tend to think it’s just anxiety in its angry incarnation. Deborah says it stems from the pressure to be good – good mother, good employee, good partner. She also says it’s the mountain of responsibility that piles up daily – bills to pay, deadlines to meet, cans and bottles and paper to recycle.
“Passions unmet,” I chime in, giving away that for me the crux of the matter is almost always this balance between being the solid matriarch of my family and being myself. Artist, writer, and individual.
I do agree that middle-aged rage is a symptom of our inflated expectations. Disappointments taken to the nth degree. The bald realization that we’re not perfect. We’re smart women. We may or may not hold down well-paying jobs. We might be great gardeners, mostly solid friends. Our parents need us more than ever and we’re struggling to meet those needs, never mind looking and feeling good and meeting the pressures of being decent role models.
For me it’s gotten worse in the past year. It’s the perfect storm. Daughter in mid-school with those funky dynamics, another in elementary (and I can always find something to worry about in her life – too skinny, too sickly, too talky). Aging parents, stressful career, big house, new dog. You name it, I got it.
Anxiety becomes worse as women take the long walk toward menopause, and I seem to have been stuck on that trail for years now. Given the physical changes in my body (temperature changes, night sweats, weight) I think I’m heading deeper into the forest, but I wish this body of mine would just squeeze through the eye of the needle and emerge, with all the apparent downsides, into the desert of post-menopause. I will give up any day the last of my so-called youth for that long moment of calm.
I tell Deborah that we were stupid to wait until our mid-to-late 30s (her, early 40s) to have children, but she reminds me we would have simply had longer periods of rage and be less equipped to cope. I suppose she’s right.
I feel fortunate that she’s opened up this conversation. Over this past year I’ve felt the anxiety growing like yeast in my belly, yet I’ve kept a lid on it. But once I get something out in the open, exposed to air and light, there’s no hiding from it. I will talk, write, treat it to its pretty death. My submission will lead to its submission.
My annual check-up is coming up this fall, none too soon to get the medical help I need to get my calm back. Mean time, I’m exercising, cutting out the crap I’ve been eating, setting boundaries, and holding on tightly to daily practice and prayer.
The girls still tell me I’m a nice mom. But I tell you, it’s a thin thread that holds me to that reality versus being Momster 24/7.
As the first to comment (never happened before!) – let me say I am blown away – by the stories you tell – and by the great painting of the beaky Bird with his eye on you – wow! – and your entire composition graphically carries the word — anXiety— brrrrrr…gives me a chill, and it’s hot right now.
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First, beautiful illustration! I love the colors and subtle shaping.
Next: I don’t think that anxiety is always a result of being raised in a house full of anxiety. My mom seems to actually be catching it from me, at this point; but I had it as a child, and she’s always been pretty damned confident, to put it mildly. We’re blaming my bio-parents, wherever they may be.
And last, things that help: Glucuronolactone. Found in some energy drinks, and it’s absolutely fantastic for my anxiety. I wish I could remember the verses from the Tao Te Ching that relate to how pressure to be “good” actually has the opposite effect, because wrapping your brain around that, a bit, is helpful, too.
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Ah, anxiety. A well-known companion, ybonesy.
First, no one gets to be perfect in this life, so if you can put down that struggle, it gets easier. It’s good to strive to be your best, but I’m learning – soooo slowly – to put everything down at the end of the day. Start fresh, first thing every morning.
And a key for me is “me-time.” If I don’t take care of myself first, I can’t take care of anything or anyone else. The “oxygen mask on the airplane” theory. Put the oxygen mask on yourself first so you have enough breath to then pass the oxygen masks out to others.
So I take time out first for meditation. Lots of me saying “hush!” to all those gremlins talking in my head. Lots of deep breathing and then writing, and often finding time to surround myself in nature. I lose a lot of that anxiety shawl when I walk in the woods and concentrate on the flash of a bird or a wildflower in an open space or the shadows flirting with the sunlight. And if I’m caught urban, then leaning against a tree trunk or watching clouds slide across the sky seems to help.
I find I do best of all if I really stay away from the past and away from the future, and concentrate on the present. And how hard is that?…really hard.
Be easy on yourself, ybonesy. Easy does it. I’m thinking once you squeeze through that eye, it will be easier. I spent years trying to get to the other side, too, and I kind of like the warm desert. 🙂
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thanks so much for writing this and sharing this. i’ve had a long battle with anxiety and can really relate to a lot of this. i think you’re taking a lot of the right steps with all the things you mentioned that you were going to do. deep breathing and practicing mindfulness meditation has helped me a lot.
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ybonesy,
I read the description of your mother with uncomfortable recognition. My Dad’s issue wasn’t anxiety, but a free-floating unhappiness and rage that controlled our home. It wasn’t all bad, either, but the outbursts made it difficult to enjoy the good times. The bomb was always ticking.
And then, after spending years trying to undo his voice in my brain, he is elderly. He needs help. And I resent it. He has taken up so much space in my life. And now he needs more.
BTW, anyone willing to ask herself if she is a Momster probably is doing okay by her kids.
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Bo,
I loved what you had to say, sage words. Thank-you.
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First of all, I enjoy all of your doodles, but I think this is now my favorite of all. anXiety, ahh, a condition that I have dealing with the since the 2 years it took to obtain a divorce from my first husband. He refused to sign my divorce papers, moved out of our house & then after a year called to tell me he was moving back because he could not afford to live by himself. He was a cocaine addict & I could take it no longer. He & his lawyer fought with me tooth & nail constantly. And then my ex began stalking me & writing threatening notes & leaving them behind my windshield wipers or calling me constantly at my job. It was a nightmare & I had high anxiety. Needless to say I packed up my personal belongings & took a few family heirlooms & moved out before his return. I loved the Mel Brooks movie High Anxiety & wished for shots of morphine! But the stage was already set. Like you, my Mother also has bouts of anxiety, though she is one of the most caring & giving women I know.
Right now I am experiencing very high anxiety. With J at home I feel like I must act like Super Woman. R3 has told me I need to delegate more things to people who want to help. R3 is such a wise man & has helped me & J so much.
We have had tons of help with so many things & I am grateful. J is irritated & angry at himself for not being able to do more. He snaps at me & I snap back. I am short with our sons & even snapped at R3 today. He gave it right back to me & I felt awful about it, but appreciated his come back. We have kissed & it is history now.
J & I discussed the issues today & we had a great talk. We have never before been like this with each other before.
I could totally connect with your story, which was so well told by you.
Just call me the “high anxiety babbling brook”! I rely on a nerve pill prescribed by my Dr. for the occasional bouts. I can’t handle it without one. D
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First: turn off the TV cause that would creep anyone out…
Next: Pack those beautiful girls, their wonderful Dad and the 2 four legged friends into the car…even if it’s just for a short trip to the ice cream store.
Then: take off your shoes, socks, those stinky nylons (if your crazy enough to wear them). Heck, just strip down to your underwear! That’s really best.
Lastly: Find your most favorite song…put it on…LOUD…and dance to it like there’s no tomorrow…and I mean…hands reaching…gasping for breath…jumping around like your 10…going for it! I like to use “Midnight Rambler” by the Stones or “Jump Around” by House of Pain because they’re both long enough and the tempo really gets going but you’ll know your own.
Ain’t nothing like it. Just let it go yb. Life’s too short and too precious.
BTW…the drawing is killer ( a good thing 😉
H
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courage and wisdom are also two traits you have
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Thanks, lil. So glad that you took the plunge and commented first. (That can sometimes be hard to do.) I’ve been wanting to do a post with an illustration about anxiety for some time, but getting away to the cabin and being able to finish the doodle — well, it’s kind of ironic that I had such a relaxing time working on anXiety. 8)
sam, I sometimes wonder if I had childhood anxiety. You know how we grow up hearing certain things, and I always heard about myself that I was a worrier. I remember sitting by the window of my room waiting for my parents to get home from Fri night bowling, so sure I was that they were going to get into a car crash. That just dawned on me as I was about to ask you what childhood anxiety is like, it seemed like such a strange concept. Also, here’s a link to Tao Te Ching’s words, translated (LINK). Perhaps the one about not comparing oneself?
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Bo, such soothing words to read. I really appreciate that. I think I’m going to like the desert, too. I already live in the mountain desert, so in some ways I’m acclimated. 8)
The setting boundaries has been something new for me, which relates to taking time for myself. I not only shush out the gremlins in my head but I have to shoosh out the kids who follow me into my little writing room sanctuary. It’s a strange phenomenon, the way everyone gravitates to me. My sister called her children “glue babies,” and I know exactly what she means. And then I have those conversations with myself, “But they’re only going to want to stick by you for so long…” So, you see, I can even talk myself out of setting boundaries. But I work on it every day!
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Thank you, lissa. I’m always surprised to find out how many people suffer from or have in the past suffered from anxiety. Well, 19.1 million Americans have some form of the disorder. A lot.
Sinclair, I’m so afraid my girls are going to remember my outbursts more than the good times. My dad was even-keeled; I’m hard-pressed to remember the few times he blew. I think I can remember about three or four only, and all were in response to bad behavior on others’ parts. Anyhow, best of luck with the rough road ahead in terms of your dad’s aging and needs. That will be a transformative journey, I would think, maybe for both of you.
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diddy, wow, what a nightmare! How could you not have anxiety when someone was stalking you?! I take it that your ex-husband has finally left you be?
Also, being a caregiver is so very hard. I know many people who do it well, and even when they are built for the task (emotionally, physically, mentally), it is tough. R3 is wise, and his advice is right on. Pull in your community and ask. Thanks for sharing your stories, too.
Heather, stinky hose? Me? Nah, I’m a jeans girl. But yeah, cutting loose on the living room floor, singing and dancing my heart out, sounds like a perfect nightly therapy!! 8) I forget what show we were watching recently, but my youngest, who’s 9, got up and started jumping about to imitate the dancers on TV. So, acting like I’m 10 — I know exactly what to aim for. 8)
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Thanks, Scot. Very kind.
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yb — the doodle is great, but it is your honesty that shimmers off the screen in this post. It takes real courage to tell this kind of raw truth. But, the truth, I think, will indeed set you free.
I had my children at 26 and 30. I’m grateful for that now. I would definitely have struggled mixing motherhood with the volatility of menopause. Somedays it’s a struggle mixing ANYTHING with it.
I have worked with a Chinese acupuncturist and herbalist to deal with the worst symptoms of menopause. It has been most helpful. Recently, to deal with sleeplessness and emotional volatility, she recommended a dietary supplement: 5-HTP. You can pick it up at a health food store.
The label advertises it as “The Serotonin Link” and explains on the back that, “5-HTP is the precursor for serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is a neuro-nutrient that keeps you calm and relaxed. Serotonin helps you sleep more soundly and have a positive attitude.”
It helps me.
Your regular doc will likely have other suggestions. Your meditation and prayer practice has likely helped you to be able to see how things are shifting. These hormonal shifts are so regular (as in: all women travel the path) but, feel seismic and unpredictable to me … one who prefers a predictable path.
Your awareness will indeed help guide you through it all. Keep writing. Then, you will also leave a legacy to guide others, should you choose.
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ybonesy – so much about this post that I relate to and appreciate. I’ve been an anxious person all my life, a fearful child who hid behind my mother’s legs when strangers were around, a gawky teenager without a clue how to manage feelings. As a young woman, I fluctuated between bravado and wanting to spend the day curled up under my bed in a little ball. As a single mom I was preoccupied with all the dangers lurking out in the world, about to pounce on my daughter. I’ve done so much work to cage the anxiety dragons. Hypnosis, therapy of many sorts, herbs, exercise, meditation. I’ve had some wonderful guides in this process. But let me say that two most effective things have been being in a loving long marriage (marriage #2) and menopause. Yes. Menopause. Maybe having my 3 kids grow up and leave home has helped, too, although I miss them terribly sometimes. But, that menopausal desert you talk about? For me, it’s been a blessing. No more mood swings. I am as even as the farmfields in Wisconsin, where I live. My joy is deep and intense, the anxious times very rare now.
So look forward to it. The crossing-over can be bumpy but, for me at least, living here on the other side has been peaceful and rich.
An elderly friend once told me that the big secret about menopause was that afterwards, your life gets bigger and better. pmz= post-menopausal-zest
2 more things, quickly:
1- I loved loved loved your anxiety picture. I know that beaky bird; he’s been in my house, too.
and 2- I think the main thing our kids need from us is that we be good enough. Just enough. Not always and not completely. With luck, our flawed humanness provides them opportunities to grow stronger, to stand apart from us and have their own separate minds-and to realize they, too, will grow up to be good enough, not perfect. Maybe seeing you move through all kinds of feelings, anxiety anger happiness love, shows them that they, too, can ride the waves and make a life that works, even though sometimes things get rocky and rough.
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Thanks for the tip on 5-HTP, breathepeace. I will look into that. Both you and Jude have given such graceful comments, and I am soothed by your words. Jude, I am much looking forward to pmz (not pms — ha!).
I have a good friend who has said that it’s OK to let your kids see you struggle, that we don’t have to put on false faces for their sake. Your feedback reminds me of her words. Very wise.
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i also suffer from anxiety, yb, much the same way you do as i don’t necessarily have attacks but will have an overwhelming sense of foreboding at times. sometimes it’s merely unsettling, other times it is all-encompassing. i think i may have gone through an agoraphobic stage in my very early 20’s.
my problems is that i am, of all things, a worrier. i have a horrible time making decisions, convinced whichever i make will ultimately prove to be the wrong one.
i want to go out and do things, but fear that i will change my mind mid-way through and have no escape. i want to be there for people, and help them if i can, but am afraid of being in the way by offering my services or my ear. i’ve never been afraid to speak my mind, yet i can be fearful of being too friendly–and both qualities can be viewed as ‘creepy’. i am fiercely protective of my loved ones, no matter who the adversary, and yet feel i would roll in a ball and stay in a ball if were confronted alone.
i will have also episodes, like little bursts of freedom from being stuck inside my own head, that i feel i can do anything, be anything, try anything, and i take advantage of these moments. soon enough though, the smaller me comes back–the worrisome, over-analytical, procrastinating-perfectionist–comes back and stops me in my tracks.
i feel like i am everything and nothing all at once, and it runs through my head over and over like a tape, like the proverbial broken record.
this is why i write.
thank you for sharing.
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If you really were a monster mom, your kids would not have given you such a sweet nickname.
And if they did give you a nickname, other than that sweet one, they would never tell you…
🙂
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Amazing anxious art!
MEME EXPRESS – daily blog prompts
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Thank *you* for sharing, Scaramastra. You did a great job of describing the spectrum of feeling, and the way that anxiety might come in bursts and be woven in with feelings of calm or confidence.
I talked to my sister today; she has suffered from anxiety for a long time, although not to the extent that it’s at all debilitating. She told me her mother-in-law used to commend her on how calm she was her kids, when inside my sister was feeling all the emotions that anxiety creates.
I was telling someone today that nothing for me has changed, really. I’ve been feeling this come on for the past year, and during that time I’m still the same person I’ve always been. But I’m recognizing the changes. I live with all of me, inside and out, and I know something’s going on, has been going on, and needs to be listened to.
I loved this statement of yours: i feel like i am everything and nothing all at once, and it runs through my head over and over like a tape, like the proverbial broken record.
this is why i write.
Me, too.
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Ha, leslie, such the optimist! But how will I ever know if they have other nicknames in secret, like “the witch,” or “the bitty”?
Thanks for stopping in, Mane. (I take it you like hair?)
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you’re quite welcome, yb, and i’m very flattered.
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yb,
First of all, as for the stalking by my ex-husband, it lasted well over a year. Prior to that for about 3 years he was very verbally absusive of me. I finally realized, with the help from true & honest friends that it was his feeling of insecurity & not me. I put on a pretty good face for a long time & in that time is when my anxiety first began. Believe it or not he lives about a 10 minute drive from my house & very close to where Amelia (Mom) lives. I have only run into him once, shortly our divorce was final. It was in a grocery store. We were both checking out at the same time but in different aisles. I hid behind the gum & candy display until he left the store.Panic attack, just when I thought I was ok again.
Like Scaramastra, I too am a worrier. So is my Mother. I love Scaramastra very much & I “see” many of the things she wrote about herself. She is a wonderful person, full of fun & a caring person. Her insecurities & perfectionist aspects don’t allow her to see what a truly wonderful person that she is. I tell her many times that she doesn’t give herself enough credit. But then, who am I to talk? I share many of the same feelings about my self.
Luckily, Jack was there through all my tough times & what was a friendship developed into true love. Scaramastra is just as lucky. Her man is someone I also love dearly. A fine young man, if I might say so.And he is lucky to have her.
As for writing about my personal issues, it sure felt great to get a lot of it out on this post. Thank-you so much. D
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Anxiety is internalized fear, isn’t it? There is just so much to fear, out there, that we take it in, hold it close and smother our higher self.
I know that the years of choking back words, suppressing rising terror, dealing with disappointment, has left us with a kind of parental PTSD. It is beginning to abate, but a little thing can still set it off.
The important thing here is you write about this and bring it into light. It’s true we are showing our best external selves all day, then we think it is just a fake. It’s not, we are human, and we are awfully hard on ourselves to expect perfection.
All you can do is love your kids, you are not going to be able to control them. Everything changes in time.
The only thing that won’t change is “too talky” – lol, that never goes away.
yb, here’s Buzz’s haiku:
Anxiety stalks
like restless cat breathing night
rests heavy on chest
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Perfect haiku, lil. Captures it exactly. I was talking to a friend yesterday who told me about having a choking feeling, like tightness in the chest, for the past few weeks. They ruled out heart attack and were now focusing on gastro-intenstinal. I asked if they’d looked into anxiety (I’m sure I’ll now diagnosis everyone I know with anxiety ; – ). So, maybe the cat on her chest is anxiety.
We were also talking about how Chicanos/Hispanics don’t generally buy into anything stress-disorder related. So, yeah, it’s not easy for me to accept that this might be the problem, much less write about it and bring it into light.
We have a lot to worry about as parents, although we seem to worry proportionately more than there is more stuff to worry about, if that makes sense. And then there’s the whole anger part. And as my walking partner said yesterday when I told her I’d used her “Middle-aged Rage” anecdote, there’s also resentment mixed in there. At least we got a good laugh out of all our issues.
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diddy, amazing that you and your ex- have only run into one another once. That’s some good luck, I’d say, that it hasn’t been more.
You know QM’s and my philosophy about sharing stories on red Ravine — it’s here for you, so write on!
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((( ybonesy )))
We’re close to the same age, aren’t we? (I think I remember you writing that your hubbie and I are the same age – 51). Anyway, so much of this thoughtfully written piece had me nodding my head in understanding and empathy.
Anxiety can come from so many sources. Menopause has definitely been a source for me and that can be helped with herbs. My mom is the Queen of Worry Warts – and seems to get anxious at the drop of a hat.
And then there’s the whole collective consciousness thing. MULTITUDES of people are feeling this free floating anxiety these days…similar to Future Shock.
The ONE thing that has worked for me time and time again, is to pull my awareness back into the present moment. I release the past with the thought that we’ve ALL done the best we could, with what we had at the time (mothers, our own mothering, etc.), and that the Future is God’s business. Why borrow trouble from something that doesn’t even exist yet? 🙂
I remember one time someone saying to me, Grace – if you really WERE a bad mom, you wouldn’t even been having these thoughts/concerns…..
Here’s to you finding your PIECE of PEACE real soon! xoxox
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Boy, this really hit home. I spend days hating myself for being an overanxious mother which makes me a little controlling at times…..see I’m controlling that sentence right there, can’t bear the ugly truth. And since I started writing, I get so frustrated when I’m interrupted and ugh, I hate myself. I don’t remember any bad things about my mother, but then I was a quiet, easy child, I shudder to think what my kids will remember me as, absorbed, distracted, controlling, (I know they sort of contradict eacht other, but it’s possible)…….I’m depressed now, going to bed…..no-one’s perfect, at least they go to bed knowing how loved they are each night. For sure, though, I’m a MUCH better mother when they’re in school and not under my feet for nine weeks…….I’d assess myself differently then.
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Sorry, how rude I am, that was a total driveby hijack. This was a great post, and I applaud you for your honesty and your ability to communicate difficult things.
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Thank you, Grace. I love love that virtual hug.
I remember one time someone saying to me, Grace – if you really WERE a bad mom, you wouldn’t even been having these thoughts/concerns…..
This is great feedback! Whoever said it to you was wise, and I appreciate your words of wisdom now.
Yes, I do believe we are about the same age. I’ll definitely explore the herbal treatments. And meditation. I’ve gotten a bit better at working practice — sitting, walking, writing — into every morning. It takes discipline to just make it happen no matter what. Guard that space and time and energy. Back to setting boundaries. Again, thanks.
Jo, not rude at all. I’m so glad it struck a chord, and it does my soul good to know how much solidarity there is in the blogosphere re: this same thing. Ditto on the school thing. I always seem to find that school starts just at the nick of time for me. And it’s just around the corner here. We end and start early. Yeah!!
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yb,
Up late reading your anxious words.
You, too?
How brave you are to put it out there, here.
Your wordstory says it all in big small letters.
I’m coming off an anxiety med after seven years.
It has helped with ptsd hugely.
But I’ve learned to breathe deeper and listen to
monster mind less and less.
I’m hopeful. It’s been two weeks…
Menopause needs its own call and response story don’t you think?
I entered the land early ( age 39) and involuntarily.
It’s livable but a whole other place to make peace with.
Less equipment is a real plus.
Your daughters will treasure you (almost) always. I’m sure of it.
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Laura, yes, me too. Thanks for your comment. It’s so gentle and kind.
Two weeks. Keep me posted. I will be eager to hear about your experience.
Got my book, btw. Am starting it tonight. Thanks a million.
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You write so eloquently about your feelings, diving into the past, and surfacing in the present. After reading your descriptions, I would say that your intuition is right– growing up with an anxious mom, whose condition probably went untreated, your responsibilities, and your desire to focus on your art, all melding together. Just noticing you feel this way will help.
You could try pranayama too. Or meditation. Jon Cabot Zinn recommends 40 minutes of meditation a day to help ease anxiety and depression. I know that for me, though, and my case was very bad, I needed to get the panic/anxiety under control with meds before I could begin to meditate again. But now with the help of yoga, I’m going off the meds, very slowly. (and I’m not advocating medication at all, just teling my experience).
( I remember coming home from work, closing a door, and telling my sons to stay out, mom’s going to do yoga now, and then when they entered, as children do, screaming at them!)
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Who has time to meditate 40 minutes a day?
Men do, that’s who.
Working mothers don’t have that kind of uninterrupted time.
I totally relate to asking the kids nicely to leave you alone, then getting into a peaceful state, and having it ripped out from under you by fights, trauma, tears and damage.
I have two poems on my blog, they have been posted here before, but just to mention they are all about the anxiety of motherhood – The Woman Singing (http://chickenlil.blogspot.com/2007/09/woman-singing-thrilling-to-audience-of.html )
and Kicking Out My Son
( http://chickenlil.blogspot.com/2008/06/kicking-out-my-son-1-having-kids-is-so.html ).
Writing poetry is the most effective anxiety-release mechanism I have come up with yet.
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Writing is for me, too. It is practice, meditation. At least when I do it as Writing Practice (timed, keep hand moving, no crossing out, no stopping).
It hadn’t hit me, lil, that those poems are about the anxiety of motherhood, but yes, I see that they are. Once you wrote them, was it like releasing the anxiety out into the world and out of your heart? Writing this piece was sort of like that for me. Not that it doesn’t and won’t plague me further, but that moment, what I felt that came out in my pen, it literally came out.
Writing is almost like blood-letting. Emotion-letting. A good friend–a therapist who does Writing Practice–says it’s like therapy.
Christine, thanks also for sharing your experiences. Your piece about summer, the heat and thickness of summer, and how that reminded you of post-partum depression and anxiety — it made me realize that there are triggers. Summer is one of them for me. We talked about it in comments — the way routines (and the back-to-school routine) help keep things in check.
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