Too Tired to Think Straight

I’ve had several nights in a row like this.  As a result of a crazy, heavily scheduled week, accompanied by some changes in my life, by the time 10 pm rolls around, my eyes are burning and begging for sleep.  I can hear what you are all thinking.  Just go to bed, right?  Oh, I wish it were that simple. 

I have some obligations to fulfill before I can turn in.  I had to write my Examiner article (thank you to those who read them!). I felt compelled to write a blog, since I haven’t done so in a week.  Also, I had already scheduled myself to tutor and it was too late to cancel the hour.  I also picked up some part time work for my old firm, doing some accounting work for them.  Thank goodness it’s Friday, because I know if I tried to do some work on that now I would be transposing numbers like crazy. (Fun little fact about me, my eyes work independently, at times causing me some grief when I read or deal with numbers.  Being tired greatly exaggerates the issues I have with this).

Beyond that, even if I went to bed straight this minute, with my eyes burning and my body crying for the mattress, I would lie there awake.  Don’t ask me why.  I don’t know.  I have had sleep disturbance issues for as long as I can remember.  Two nights ago, I was really tired, eyes burning, achy, etc., and turned in relatively early.  I fell asleep ok, but then woke every hour.  I don’t know why that happens, but it is terribly frustrating.

Last night, feeling all the similar symptoms after a long (and HOT) day, I did turn in at 10.  At midnight, I was still awake.  I got up and took an over the counter sleep aid, praying it would kick in quickly and that I would be able to wake up at a decent hour the next morning. (Fun fact #2, I am extremely sensitive to sleep aids.  Even if I take half a dose, they have been known to knock me out for 12-15 hours.  Waking me up if I’ve taken one is like trying to wake a dead person. Seriously.)

So, I don’t know what to do.  I have tried just about every OTC sleep aid, and have been prescribed a few.  Bottom line, unless I know that Jeff is available to hear and care for Quinn during the night and when she wakes up, I won’t take them.

Occasionally, getting up and taking a really hot bath will work.  Or, going to the kitchen to get something small to drink sometimes works.  Anything to change from lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.  Like every other woman, my body can be screaming for the need to rest, but my brain refuses to shut down.  At those times, it’s best to just get up and make the list or tend to whatever I’m thinking about.  An hour out of bed doing chores is better than 3 hours of tossing and turning.

So, now you know why I’m writing, instead of sleeping. Tell me friends, what works for you when you can’t sleep?

Editorial note: You should have seen the errors in this sucker before I posted.  Even then, I wouldn't be surprised if I missed some!

Competition, Fear, and Motherhood

I promised myself that I would never be “that” mom.  I would never compare my child to another.  I would only evaluate her on her own merits.  That lasted for about 2 seconds.  From cutting teeth to pulling up to first words, I’ve been asking other moms when their kids hit milestones and secretly worried when Q wasn’t doing things as fast.

I have the awareness to know that this is completely ridiculous and has no bearing on her intelligence or development.  Yet, I still can’t seem to put to rest my own worries.  I know this has nothing to do with Q, but is a reflection of my own insecurities as a mother.  I never thought I was capable of such love until Q came along.  With that love also came a crazy fear and endless worry.

I have no illusions of being a perfect mom.  It’s not possible, so why drive myself crazy with it?  I do, however, want to be the absolute best mom I am capable of being.  God gave me an awesome responsibility when He blessed me with Q.  For years I had prayed that God not give me children unless it was His will and until He felt I was able to care for them and raise them according to His will.  I had resigned myself to not having children, if it meant that I could better love and protect them by leaving them unborn.  Having worked through some pretty hefty issues in my life, I did not want to pass those issues on to my children, or worse yet, be so blinded by those issues that it would materially affect my children and leave them damaged and scarred.  Thus, I hit my knees every day and prayed that God not bless me with children until I was truly capable of raising them.

Q was a wonderful surprise for us.  She has been a blessing in so many ways.  God, through my sweet Q, has taught me what selfless love really means, as well as patience, kindness, and forgiveness.  I am not a perfect mom.  I mess up on a daily basis and, sometimes, I take it hard.  I am still looking for the balance between firm and dictator.  No one tells you how hard it is to determine if your child is acting willfully when they can’t speak!  I want to be permissive when I can be and always loving.  I want to raise Q to be a strong Christian woman. 

I still hit my knees every day, thanking God for entrusting me with the care and guidance of this precious soul, and begging for the wisdom, knowledge, and patience to do the job right.  I ask for forgiveness when I mess up, from both God and Q.  She may not have the capacity yet to understand it, but she will someday.  It will be, I hope, a blessing to her.  I want her to know that while I love her without measure, I will mess up and, more importantly, I will own it.

I’ve said it before; prayer is the most important tool we have.  Use it often.  Pray for yourselves, other parents, and if you have a moment, pray for me.  As always, thanks for reading.  J

Maybe the Gypsies Got it Right

As much as I hate to admit it, I have become a fan of reality TV.  I’ve recently started watching a show on TLC called “My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.”  It’s a fascinating look inside an under the radar culture.  After just a few episodes, it is crystal clear that there are precisely defined gender roles within a Gypsy marriage.  The men make the money, the women are exclusively housewives. 

While I’m not naïve enough to imagine that every Gypsy marriage is a happy one, the ones that are shown have love, respect, and longevity, even if the values seem old-fashioned.  Gypsy girls are married in their late teens.  Their entire life they are brought up with the idea that they are to be a wife, mother, and homemaker; their husbands make the decisions and are exclusively responsible for providing for the family.  The women have enough fire in them that I doubt the men make decisions without consulting their wives.  I’m torn about the premise of this lifestyle.  I can clearly see both the rigid restraints, and the freedom behind such an upbringing. 

I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunities that have been afforded to me.  I am an attorney, even though I am currently a homemaker.  Should something catastrophic happen to my husband, I will not be at the mercy of family, welfare, minimum wage jobs, or feel the need to immediately remarry so that I can take care of myself and my children;  I can simply go back to practicing law.  I also have no doubts that my education and training help to establish a balance of power in my relationship.  I have seen many marriages where the women were virtually at the mercy of their husbands because they had no education or training and could not provide for themselves or their children outside of the marriage.  Most of those that I have seen are not happy.  The man treats his wife like an indentured servant, and often devalues her. Luckily, this is not the case for me.  Jeff is the biggest sweetheart I have ever met.

But the Gypsy girls are groomed for motherhood and homemaking.  There is freedom in that as well.  If your biggest aspiration is to be someone’s wife, have children, and take care of a home, then a lot of pressures are erased.  They don’t feel they “should” be financially contributing to the family.  Their role and their work are clearly defined.  While I believe every girl has the right to be whatever she wants to be, including a homemaker, I can acknowledge that an awful lot of guilt seems to weigh on the former working woman who decides to stay at home.  There’s the feeling that you just aren’t doing enough.  There’s the guilt of knowing how much you could be contributing financially, but aren’t.  There’s also the feeling that you need to explain your choice, as if electing to be a stay at home mom isn’t a worthy aspiration.  Seemingly, the more skilled and educated you are, the more this choice is called into question.

I believe every woman needs to have the capability to provide for herself and her children.  I also believe that the opportunity to stay at home, raise your children, and care for your husband and house is a blessing.  I just wish I knew how to combine the two and erase the confusion, doubt, and guilt.  Maybe the Gypsies have it right, maybe not.  But, you have to respect a culture where the women are proud to be wives and mothers and the men provide without question. 

What do you think?

The Life Unexamined

I wrote an article tonight for the examiner regarding the benefits of therapy.  If I had my way, everyone would have a few sessions.  I remember blundering through my 20’s, engaging in behavior that was self-sabotaging and did nothing but bring me misery.  I can’t count the number of times I would ask myself, “Why do I do this??”  I had the awareness to know that something was terribly wrong, but didn’t yet have the tools I needed to recognize how to change those.

I grew up in a secretive family.  You didn’t discuss your problems, you didn’t ask for help.  You plastered a smile on your face and pretended everything was terrific, even if your world was falling apart around you.  I would experience crying jags that would last hours.  I could never predict what would set them off or even articulate what was wrong, I just knew that I was terribly unhappy and felt alone, isolated.

My entire life, I have craved close, emotional relationships with other women.  I wanted so desperately to have a friend who knew all my secrets, and loved me anyway.  I wanted someone whom I could trust completely, and who trusted me.  But while I desired these relationships, I also feared them and kept women with whom I could have had this type of relationship at arm’s length.  That kind of trust and closeness was scary.  I couldn’t truly believe that if someone know me, the real me, they’d stick around. So, I largely surrounded myself with narcissists who required nothing from me but attention.  It’s easy to be the friend of a narcissist.  All you have to do is keep your mouth shut.  No worries about them knowing the real me, they weren’t interested in anyone but themselves.

As the years progressed, I found my periods of depression becoming less intermittent and more pervasive.  It eventually blossomed into a full blown, deep depressive disorder.  My faith in God and my fear of Hell are the only things that kept me from taking my life. 

God knows our every need.  He put me on a path that I would have never contemplated, where I ended up making one of the best friends I have ever had.  She knew all my secrets, and loves me still.  She could see when I was about to crash and burn, and treated me gently, with love and compassion.  She calmly suggested a great therapist to me over and over again, even though I declined so many times.  Finally, I realized that normal people don’t go to bed hoping to not wake up the next morning.  I called the therapist and have been in counseling ever since.

My life has improved a million fold.  I will forever be grateful to Melanie for her friendship, her love, her care, and her concern.  She is the angel God sent to me in my time of need.

If you didn’t know it before reading this post, I am pretty open about being in therapy.  I don’t feel it’s anything to be ashamed of, nor is it anything to hide.  If I can help one person, just one person, the way Melanie helped me, then it will have all been worth it.

My family still keeps secrets.  I think it embarrasses some of them that I am so outspoken about being in therapy.  I’m sorry they feel that way.  Therapy is a tool, nothing more and nothing less.  Secrets are poison and I’m no longer interested in keeping them.  My life is an open book.  Maybe that’s why my name is Paige.  J