Tired Musings on My Life, Disorganized Thoughts, and Random Journaling

I was just reading back over some things that I wrote 4 years ago and I am both amazed by how much has changed… and how much hasn’t.

Be prepared for a somewhat complain-y and rant-ish post to follow, if you choose to continue reading… I’m pretty much just journaling my thoughts out in a stream right now. I just felt like blogging instead of writing it out on paper.

Anyways, in many ways, compared to 2014 me, I am in a totally 100% improved place in my life.

Thomas is amazing. Our relationship still continues to awe me with how open and natural and safe it feels. I didn’t know a marriage could be like this and no matter what complaints I may have about other things in my life, I wouldn’t trade what we have together for anything.

As far as employment is concerned, I’m working with children on a daily basis, which is something I wanted for so very long. It’s exhausting, to be sure, but also in many ways, what I love to do.

I’ve made a good friend here, which has been a huge blessing to me. We’ve found a church, even though I’ve been much less faithful in attendance than I feel like I should be.

I’m so much more at ease with myself than I used to be, now that I’m not constantly in a state of fear or anxiety. Being physically removed from several very toxic people that were in my life then has done wonders for my self confidence and self image.

I’ve nearly completed getting my CDA, which in it’s own right is an accomplishment, but also represents another thing, which is pursuing further education in regards to teaching and children. That has long been a desire of mine.

In other ways, I’m in the same or a very similar state to where I was years ago, however. I still find myself longing, almost obsessively, to be a mother and wondering if I ever will be. I still feel decades older than I am and I’m still scared by the passing of time, probably now more than ever. I still struggle with depression, though not in the same way and definitely not for all the same reasons.

And in yet other ways, there are new struggles that I face now.

Loneliness is very present here. I miss my church family back home and my multitude of friends and the comfort of knowing most people and places around me. I still haven’t adapted since the move almost two years ago, which admittedly, is my own fault and due mostly to lack of effort on my part.

I’ve gained enough weight to be officially classed as obese, something that’s never been an issue to that extent previously. I mean, I’ve been chubby, but not like this. I know I need to make some drastic changes, but I haven’t been able to stick with anything so far.

Even though I love my job and many aspects of living here, the counter-balance is how very tired I am all the time and how often I get sick, not to mention how much I loath the heat. As a far northerner, born and raised, I literally have zero tolerance for the combination of humidity and temperature that the south exists under, especially during the summer months.

So yeah, that’s… what I’ve been thinking about. I just looked at the time and realized that it’s really late and I have to work tomorrow and the long holiday weekend is over, so I’d better sign off for now.

I’m going to try and get back into creative writing more. We’ll see how that goes!

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Not-A-Mother’s Day

A deep desire has possessed me to write of late, and yet, I’ve been fighting it. I’m not entirely sure why, but it is almost as if I’m afraid to unleash the torrent of thoughts and feelings swirling within the depths of my heart into actual words. So, that said, please forgive the word vomit that is about to come out of my fingers.

Mother’s Day is still probably the hardest day of the year for me. I hate that it is. I don’t want to feel like this annually. I despise my own weakness every time that the sorrow and melancholy takes hold of me.

I sobbed last night, like I haven’t in a long time. Grieving for the child that I never got to hold, who would be six years old now. Glimpses flit through my mind of the little one I never met. My fingers long to brush tangled hair back from my offspring’s sleeping face, to hear the breathy little sounds of contented sleep.

I move on and find myself mourning for the self-imposed loss of my own mother, due to estrangement. Remembering her in the good times, the sane times, the happy times. Wishing for a moment that I could reach out to her, but reminding myself why I had to establish such strong boundaries to begin with. Flashes of memories I wish I could forget, things I’ve tried to bury deep in my mind.

And then come the waves of terror that I’ll never experience motherhood myself and that somehow it is just punishment for some unknown horrible thing that I must be. Am I like my own mother? Am I worse?

Then, I’m flooded with regret for focusing on myself. So many others have it so much worse than I do. How they have suffered makes my own hurt seem insignificant and petty. I know I’m being terribly selfish. I know I should be bigger than this. But I’m not. I’m here, raw and naked and broken inside.

This particular Mother’s Day, my sweet husband and best friend, along with her impishly awesome toddler, did their very best to cheer me up for the whole first part of the day. They were sunshine and wonderful.

But now, I’m here alone, my body gripped by the remains of a nasty stomach bug. It’s quiet, the only sounds in the house being the hum of the fan and A/C, the rustling of my cat and the ominous music of a paused video game in the background. The twists and stabs in my abdomen seem almost appropriate to how my heart feels.

And again, I can’t help feeling ashamed of myself.

My life isn’t that bad. In fact, there are many, many good things happening right now. But on this day, in this moment, it all seems faint and far away. Like the warmth of a fire you can see through a window, when you are outside in the snow… I know it’s real and bright and beautiful, but in this fractured bit of time, I am numb to it.

 

Choices and Random Thoughts

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I really want to do with my life. I’ve known for a long time that my heart’s desire is to work with children, especially young children, and I’m doing that right now.

I work 41 hours a week in a daycare as the sole responsible adult for 5 babies, ranging from 11 months to 15 months of age, plus an assortment of slightly older children in the late afternoon.

It is the most exhausting and possibly the most rewarding thing I have ever done so far.

Seeing the babies grow and develop, helping them to meet milestones and watching them learn to do so many things for the very first time is just amazing.

There ARE times when my days can be utterly frusterating and draining, like when a child is crying and despite my best efforts, I cannot seem to comfort them or when they keep purposefully hurting other children for seemingly no reason, heedless to my attempts at demonstrating using “gentle hands” (aka don’t pinch, hit, pull hair, yank smaller children to the ground, etc.) and explaining that “OW! Biting hurts!” . I have literally left work so completely emotionally depleted that I ended up sobbing in the car, feeling like I can’t possibly face another day of 3 hours straight listening to a child shriek and wail endlessly as I try to sooth them and simultaneously provide care and love for 5-7 other infants.

But there are many other times when I can’t help but wonder over the absolute miracle that each little one brings to this world. I love each of them and I try to pour as much of that love into them as I can, even– well, actually– especially when it is hardest to do so.

The beautiful sound of their laughter, the effort they put into learning how to walk, their delight in tiny, simple things, the joy of watching them learn to communicate with their first words and seeing them begin to build the emotional foundation stones that will lead towards towards empathy, compassion, and love as they mature… There are no words to describe how incredible it is to be a part of that.

It is also a huge and very sobering responsibility. The fact is, that we (the daycare teachers) are with these children more than their own parents are. Five days a week, they are in daycare for an average of 10 hours. When you figure that most of them sleep for 10 hours a night, that leaves only 4 hours a day with mom and dad, plus possibly weekends! These parents are entrusting their child’s most influential years into our hands. Even though the babies will not remember us, we are molding how they will react to life, on the most basic of instinctual levels and also how prepared they will be for the next stages of development and learning.

That said, looking at the future, I’m not sure if this is my chosen career path forever. I am faced with the decision of whether or not to get my CDA (Childhood Development Assosiate Credential), which would have many benefits for me in this field, but would also be ANOTHER thing that I will need to accomplish, on top of  the weekly “Conscious Discipline” classes (positive reinforcement childcare theory)  and online Teaching Strategies courses (state childhood development standards) that I’m supposed  to be starting, my normal workload, and everyday life with my still fairly “new” husband of about 7 months.

I also still greatly desire to be a mother (hopefully soon!) and if daycare work has taught me anything, it is that I really don’t want my children to be in daycare. (Ironic, right?) Don’t get me wrong, the daycare center I work at is really quite fabulous and my coworkers are lovely people who pour their all into these kids… But I don’t want someone else to be the most influential person in my baby’s life. I don’t want to miss the wonder of seeing all the little things or miss out on seeing them develop into the person they will become.

I guess that is part of what I have realized lately. Time is so, so precious, especially when it comes to children, because a year is nothing really. It flies by so quickly!

Adelaide, Brave Ballerina… A MicroStory!

By popular demand, I am writing MicroStories to go with Adelaide, my paperdoll! I will try to write a MicroStory for each outfit set. (More outfits coming soon! I have to color them still.)

So, without further adieu, here is the MicroStory for Adelaide, Brave Ballerina!

Adelaide, Brave Balleria MicroStory

Wild Adelaide… A MicroStory!

By popular demand, I am writing MicroStories to go with Adelaide, my paperdoll! I will try to write a MicroStory for each outfit set. (More outfits coming soon! I have to color them still.)

 

So, without further adieu, here is the MicroStory for Wild Adelaide!

Wild Adelaide MicroStory PDF