Once More Into the Breach

I told Rich that I needed to write my intro post for LJ Idol*, my confirmation of "I'm in."

"Are you insane?" his face asked.  His mouth was much more politic.  He pointed out that writing for LJ Idol has fed into my insecurities in the past.  That I've always felt bad when I've had to back out, I've always worried that my writing sucked and no one would tell me the truth.  I doubted and questioned and worked myself up.

"I need to write," I told him.

"You don't need Idol to write."

"Yeah, but I want to."

And, as with everything else, he shrugged his shoulders and sat behind me in quiet support, knowing that he may be in for tears, fears and my need for beers (ok, that one was a stretch).  But it was something I needed to do, something I wanted to do.  And he would be my cheerleader through it all.

I expect insecurities after I've put a piece of myself out in the wider world.  I expect conviction that, each week, I'll be booted.  But I'll also know that every year, I've gotten further than I expected I would.  Every year, prompts have made me find a new aspect of myself I didn't know I had.  Every year, I've gained more than I've lost.

I haven't participated in several years.  Part of it was that I drifted away from LJ, connecting with more of my friends on Facebook.  Most of my friends had done the same.  Part of it was all of the things going on with me - dealing with the boys in school, trying to keep up with the house, trying to write 3 blogs (of which this is one), navigating the unexpected waters of having a special needs child - all conspired to make it difficult for me to make deadlines.  Too many other thoughts were crowding my head to allow inspiration to strike. And I was setting myself up to fail.  So I stepped back.

This year, though, I feel different.  Yes, I've still got a lot of things stressing and depressing me, but I'm not the same version of myself as I was then.  I'm finding that I'm spending far too much time on my phone, playing app games, instead of being creative.  And I want that to change.  So I'm going to take time to write instead. Here.  And now.

I hope that, over the next several months, you have a chance to get to know me better.  Most of my writing is non-fiction, from the heart stuff.  But you may, once in awhile, find a piece of fiction or a poem floating among my entries.  I write where the mood strikes.

Thanks for stopping by and checking out one more contestant for LJ Idol Season 11, Homecoming.

Should I Be a Mom? - Pour Your Heart Out

Should I have ever had the boys?  Do I really have what it takes to be a mom?

These questions have been going through my mind since... well, honestly, since the day I found out I was pregnant with Teddy.  But for some reason, they've been circling my brain more than usual lately.  And I want it to stop.

I love my boys.  I truly do.  When Teddy comes up to me at night and says, "Mama, I want to snuggle!", my heart expands with love.  When Pete practically jumps in my arms and says, "You're the best mommy in the whole world!", I know that there is no love in the world like what I feel for these little ones. And those are the times that I'm so grateful for what I have.

But then there are the times I sit back and look at my behavior and am convinced that I should just walk out the door because it would be better for Rich and the boys in the long run.  Times when I see my anger, my depression, my spending, my procrastination as insurmountable problems rather than something that I'll find a way through.  There are times when I see the same personality struggle between me and Teddy that my mom and I had, and it scares me.  Because, for all that I love my mother, we would anger lock each other and have the hardest time breaking out of it.  My mom said things when she was angry that hurt me for a long, long time, eating away at my psyche until I started talk therapy and was able to deal with it a bit more.

Those times, the times I get anger locked, are the ones that scare me the most.  Because I'll hear myself say such hurtful things to whichever of the boys is pissing me off at the moment and, at the moment I say it, I mean it.  Or rather, the anger means it.  When I tell them I want to give them away or that I should never have had them.  When I tell them that they're not stupid, so why do they have to act like it all the time.  Or when I swear uncontrollably at the top of my voice.

When I was a kid, after one of these soul-scaring arguments with my mom, I swore that I would never treat my kids the way I was treated.  I would never say hurtful things. I would never let my anger get the better of me.  I was going to be an understanding mom, a calm mom.  I wasn't going to fight with my kids the way my mom and I fought.  And yet here I am, screaming at the top of my lungs, physically holding back a hand that wants to fly out and smack them hard (at least I have enough strength of mind to not hit them even when I want to), saying more hateful things than my mother ever said to me.

I don't know how to fix it.  And that scares me.  I take medication to help with my depression and anxiety, but they don't always seem to work. I need to get in to talk therapy again, but I have such a difficult time making that initial call.  Rich has talked about getting a durable medical power of attorney so he can make these calls for me, but we haven't done it yet.  

I've tried to find a stress-outlet, since I know that it's a big part of what makes me shorter tempered, but I haven't found one that I can do regularly enough. For awhile, I went to Starbucks to read a book and sip a drink while Rich watched the boys, but then money got tight.  I've tried taking a bath with a book and a glass of wine, but I always have the kids wanting to come in and talk to me.  I've tried journaling, but like so many things I get gung-ho about, it ends up falling by the wayside within a couple of weeks.

This, of course, feeds into my depression.  Maybe I don't want to change?  Maybe there's a part of me that likes being a bullying bitch to my kids, hurting them when I'm hurting inside myself because I've got to share the pain?  Maybe I should never have had them in the first place and then they wouldn't have to worry about having a psycho mommy?

All I know is that I've got to do something.  Because I do love these boys more than I love myself and I hate what I'm doing to them by getting into this cycle of self-hate.  They need a strong mommy, one who loves them and treats them right.  One that doesn't show them when she gets angry.  One that doesn't need to apologize when she gets angry because she doesn't get angry.

In my heart, I know that I'm the best mom for these boys.  There are still far more times of hugs and fun and silliness than there are times of anger and hurt.  There are still many times when I control my anger and talk things through with them.  I know their quirks and foibles, what makes them laugh and how to comfort them when they are sad.  And I love them so much that it hurts.  But I want... no, I need to be a better mommy before it's too late.  Even when they get on my last nerve, destroying a living room in 10 minutes that I worked for four hours to get immaculate or being demanding and contrary, my heart can't hold any more love for them than I do now.  And I want them to always remember me as a loving mommy.  They need that touchstone, and I need to leave that legacy.

*edited to add: I just took a first step.  I called and made an appointment with a talk therapist.  They can't get me in until the end of November, but it's an appointment made.  Now it's just finding ways to cope between now and then.

It's Not as Easy as You Think - PYHO

"You know this is a supposed to be a social event.  You need to play with other people."
"Why don't you just call the school?"
"You should contact your school board member.  That's what they're there for."
Three phrases I've heard this week.  Three phrases from well-meaning people that don't understand how difficult social anxiety can be.
I've always been a shy person, afraid of confrontation and worried about what people think.  When I was a kid, I was teased for being smart, for being overweight, for being poor.  There were many times when I opened up to someone, sure that they were going to be a real friend, that they would be someone I could talk to and trust, only to find out later that they were making fun of me behind my back.  I still remember overhearing one boy say to another, "Amber likes you?  You'd better run!"  And my heart broke and I cried.  Which, of course, let me in for more teasing.  And this was a regular thing for me in my tiny K-12 school until I moved to Florida and attended a much larger school.
But by then, the damage was done.  Yes, in my new school I had more friends.  I was accepted for who and what I was.  I was able to reinvent myself a little without having to live down the embarrassing moments from my youth.  But the seeds of doubt were firmly in my mind, the conviction that things weren't what they seemed.
As I got older, it became more and more difficult for me to handle any kind of confrontation.  Oh, I could go into a store and shop.  I could handle being a call center employee where 90% of the calls coming in to me were ones where I got to help rather than ones where I was yelled at.  I could handle calling a select few friends and family members.  
But not all of them.  If there was a new friend, or someone that I hadn't talked to in awhile, I had a difficult time picking up the phone.  What if they are in the middle of something?  What if their "call me" wasn't sincerely meant?  What if what if what if?  And if I needed to talk to someone about something that was wrong, like calling about Teddy's busing situation, I freeze up.  What if they aren't the ones that are wrong, but I am?  Will they make me feel even worse about myself than I do on my darkest days?  Even knowing what I do from working customer service doesn't make it any easier.  The negative thoughts keep circling.
People think it's easy to just join in the fun.  After all, everyone around you is having fun.  They're there to talk, to play a game, to participate in the fun that they are their to have.  And that's, supposedly, why I came too.  And it is.  And I want to.  But what most people don't realize is the fact that I'm even there is a big step for me.  Going out of my house and joining in a new situation where I don't know the people, don't know the rules, don't know how things usually happen, is almost paralyzing to me.  Large groups, like Nashville's Celebration of Cultures isn't a problem because I can hide among the large number of people.  I don't have to be social.  But smaller groups, like our local Pokemon League, are a different animal.
With the Pokemon League, we've been going for about 9 months, almost a year.  At first, I let Rich take Teddy and I'd stay home with Pete.  I didn't know the people and I didn't know the game.  Then Rich started taking Pete to give me a bit of alone time.  Then, for a reason I still don't understand, I started joining them.  First, it was things like Pre-release tournaments.  Then I started coming on Sundays.  Most of the time, I kept an eye on Pete, read or played on my Kindle and kept to myself.  Slowly, I started getting to know a few of the PokeMoms-and-Dads.  We'd talk about little things, things that weren't terribly important, sharing things we had in common like various geekisms or what it was like to be a parent.  But even now, I generally stake out a table and sit by myself in the corner, saying hi as people walk by rather than come up and sit with someone that's already there or invite others to sit with me.
Pokemon is, in a lot of ways, Teddy's life.  He plays the DS game, plays the card game, reads Pokemon books, plays pretend Pokemon with Pete, compares things to Pokemon.  It's his current obsession and, as obsessions go, he could have worse.  Pete's getting to be very much the same way.  And Rich also plays at League and in tournaments.  And for the longest time, Teddy's been wanting me to play as well.  So I asked Rich to make me a deck.  And, without realizing why, I asked Rich to play a round with me at League the other week.  I signed up for a POP ID and started playing.  But only with Rich and Teddy.
I know a lot of the people that play, both the kids and the adults.  They know me.  I can call them by name, ask them about things in their life.  But I can't, without serious fear, ask them to play a game with me.  I don't know the rules well.  I make a lot of mistakes when I play because I forget things.  My deck isn't very good so they won't be getting a good amount of play out of me.  And if I make a mistake, I'm sure I'll cry from embarrassment  which will just embarrass me more.  (As a matter of fact, thinking about it is bringing tears to my eyes as I type this.)
All these thoughts go through my head, keep me from enjoying something that I know I do enjoy, keep me from putting myself out there where I can learn more.  And it makes me want to jump back into my hole, not play, not try to push myself out there because of the fear of rejection.  And people just don't understand it.
It's so easy for someone to suggest that I do something that they, themselves would find easy.  It's easy to look at me from the outside and suggest how to handle a situation.  And it's easy for them to be in the situation.  But for them to be me, just for a day when the pressures of facing my fears is overwhelming... they can't do it.  Because they aren't made the way that I am.  And the worst of it is, I can't even tell them when the situation comes up, because that feeds into my fears as well.
I'm trying.  I really am.  Sunday, I'm planning on asking the head of the League to play a round with me.  Monday, I called the school system again to complain about the bus situation.  I was forceful about what my worries and concerns and what I had a problem with.  I gave them the information they needed without resorting to screaming, swearing or breaking into tears.  I was told they'd call me back with answers to my questions regarding why they can't get my son home at close to the same time every day.  And so far, I've heard from no one.  But I can't take the step to make another call yet.  Because it's too hard of a step to take right now.
I just want people to understand that it's not as easy to be inside my head as they think it is.