Spoiled Only Child

Onward

Man, 2009 sucked. The economy was awful. The Bush era ended, but all our hopes for change and renewal seemed to evaporate in a cloud of tea parties and town hall meetings. I feared for my job all year, and almost had a nervous breakdown as many of my coworkers were shown the door. I worried about every penny I spent. I continued looking for, and failing to find, another job. I continued to feel that I need a fresh start, yet be unable to find it. I still have no idea where my career is headed. My insomnia kept up its tricks. I experienced depression for the first time. My father-in-law died, leaving us with sole responsibility for my 89-year-old mother-in-law, a job with long hours and very few rewards. 

Wow, was I lucky in 2009. I kept my job and my house when so many others lost theirs. My crazy plan to quit my job was derailed at the last minute, saving me from what would likely have been a financially disastrous move. My family was healthy and, for the most part, happy. We got to eat good food and live in a nice house, take bike rides and hikes, watch Mia learn to swim, visit museums, read books, go to parades and plays and puppet shows. We had a wonderful vacation at the beach, a trip to New York and several camping and sailing trips. We made some really good friends who have become a big part of our lives. My teenage step-sons revealed themselves to be remarkable people. My daughter transformed from a raging 3-year-old beast to a truly charming and affectionate 4-year-old. I was not forced to deny her anything, and she gave me more love and happiness than I can say. 

What an incredible journey I made in 2009. The spiritual kind, I mean. I stayed with my meditation practice for a whole year.  I learned that I cannot control anything, that everything is changing and slipping away, that I cannot hold on no matter how hard I try. That scared the hell out of me. But I also learned that, no matter how hard life gets, I can turn toward it, look it in the eye, accept it for what it is--rather than trying to resist it, raging that it should be some other way, thinking that I deserve something else. In this life, there is no "supposed to," there is only this moment and and the acceptance of it, exactly as it is. I learned that, at the center of everything, there is peace and stillness, and, with enough practice, I can sit in that space rather than becoming wrapped up in the drama and fear and stress. I learned that I don't have to do anything, or be anything, or figure anything out. It is enough to just be here, right now, feeling my feet on the ground and the air on my skin. Really, learning that was what 2009 was all about for me.

Now, bring it on 2010. I have a feeling you're going to try to kick my ass. Whatever happens, I promise to face it with open eyes and an open heart.

Jesus loves me

Christmas! I think I finally figured out what this holiday is all about. (No, I'm not going to talk about Jesus' birthday.) It's about being so busy and crazed and stressed that, when it's finally over, regular life feels like a vacation. Oh, I am so glad it's over. The holiday was lovely and just what it was supposed to be. Our family was together and cheerful, the food was abundant and delicious, everyone gave and received lovely and thoughtful presents, Mia was elated, photos were taken. But my god were we tired.

In the days leading up, there were just so many dishes and errands and presents to wrap and times I couldn't find the scissors and times Mr. SOC and I had to wait impatiently for the tape dispenser to become available so we could just finish wrapping the goddamned presents and go to bed, for Christ's sake. There was Mr. SOC's Christmas eve migraine. And then there was my crazy brain, which became hyper-focused on the to-do list to the point where it felt like there was a cyclone in my head. And then there was the 5 a.m. telephone call on Christmas morning from the mother-in-law (don't ask), and of course neither of us could get back to sleep. Then there was the epic journey to Pennsylvania with Mia on Christmas evening, involving a plane that arrived at its destination three hours late and was delayed in every way possible. We waited (hours) to get on, then we waited to take off, then we waited to land--circling and circling and circling for eternity until I began to believe we were trapped in some kind of vortex and were never going to see the earth again. Somewhere in there Mia and I had Christmas dinner at the airport Popeye's. We split the chicken tenders meal. Eight packets of ketchup were involved.

But, but, but...I am not complaining. Really, I'm not. Because I made it through to this place of sweet, sweet relief. I have arrived in a land with free beer and no dishes to do. A place where Mia is an angel who plays happily all day, charms everyone she meets and asks absolutely nothing of me. A place I could not possibly have appreciated this much without all the stress of the past week. This evening, I hung out in the hot tub with Mia and then went to see Avatar in blissful solitude, a bottle of beer tucked in my jacket pocket to sip in the darkness. I am so grateful to have made it to the other side of Christmas. Thank you, baby Jesus.

Dear Mia,

I just went back and read some of my old letters, and wow, have things gotten easier. No wonder I sometimes feel a bit lost in the vast of the expanse of the weekends these days, wondering what I'm supposed to be doing with myself. I think it's because I spent more than three years dealing with your constant needs and, now, all of a sudden, you seem to know how to do everything by yourself. Gone are the days when you refused to do things for yourself. Now, you insist on it. You would sooner drag a 50-pound chair down the stairs, so you can stand on it to reach the light switch, than have me turn on the light for you. If I did flip the switch, you would demand that I turn it off immediately so you could do it yourself. 

Now, I park the car and, seconds later, you have taken off your own seatbelt, opened the door and jumped out. After all those years of leaning over to unstrap you, it feels like a miracle. You clear your own dishes from the table and wash your hands without help and deal with your own potty needs. And you dress yourself with no intervention from me. You are adamant about choosing your own clothes. In fact, anything I might suggest you wear is rejected on principle. You have very strict wardrobe requirements. Stretch pants only. Anything even the slightest bit scratchy or tight is rejected. Turtlenecks are out of the question. You have not yet come to understand the concept of matching, so you make some interesting fashion statements. Some days, I wish I could pin a sign on you that reads, "She picked this outfit, not me."

These days, you seem to need me most as a social director. Ever since our beach vacation, when you spent the week happily playing with other children, you have made constant requests for playmates. "Can I go to XXXX's house?" you ask, hopefully. You don't understand the dynamics of invitations and childcare trades. So I spend my weekends trying to navigate those trades. It is a lot of pressure, but I manage to find a playmate for you almost every weekend. This is probably one of my least favorite things about parenting right now, but I do it because I love you. And because if I don't, you will hound me all weekend to watch movies.

So much for my dreams of a child who prefers spinach salad to candy, who doesn't know who the Disney princesses are. You have become a glutton for dessert and movies. You pick at your dinner and then devour huge bowls of ice cream. If I would let you, you would sit and watch movies all day long. But, despite it all, you seem to be turning out OK.  You are joyful and adventuresome and affectionate. You love to play games and dance with me in the living room. You love to laugh. You love camping and hiking and sailing and swimming and being outside. You are game for just about anything. And you can find fun absolutely anywhere. A few weeks ago we took you to a party, and when we arrived, we realized you were the only kid. A bunch of adults were standing around talking and sipping drinks, and my heart sank, thinking you would be miserable and we would have to make a quick exit. But before long, you disappeared. I realized you had introduced yourself to a group of people sitting on the deck. You were telling them stories about our vacations. You served cookies to most of the guests, shoving them into their hands whether they wanted them or not. You danced to the music. When we told you it was time to go, you begged to stay longer--and I am sure that many of the guests were sad to see you go. 

In a world that often feels scary and hard, you are my shining light of happiness. 

Love,

Mommy

Regrouping

So, 35, it's not going well so far. Yesterday was my birthday, a day of slate gray skies, unrelenting rain and an ominous feeling of perpetual evening. I was tired from a night of poor sleep. Yes, of course, I couldn't sleep. The night before Thanksgiving, the night before my birthday, any day that I would really like to have fun on, the sleep gremlin comes and smacks me down, teaches me a lesson about anticipation and the silliness of our mortal plans. I had the day off from work, and I had that feeling of being uncomfortable, not sure what to do with myself, wondering what better thing I might have been doing. Food didn't taste good. The sore throat lingered, edging closer and closer to the cold. My parents had arrived in town to find a broken heater in their condo, the very heater that they spent their entire last visit (and their savings account) having fixed. In the afternoon, I was driving up an exit ramp and had to slam on the brakes as someone was coming down it in the wrong direction. We just avoided a head-on collision. And then my parents got a call. Their brother in law had died suddenly. Heart attack. Fell right out of his deer stand in the woods, dead.

I went to bed unsure if or when they were leaving for the funeral, cutting short this long-anticipated visit with Mia and forcing us to cancel our child-free weekend in Charleston. We had already paid a one-night deposit on our hotel, and it seemed unlikely that we would get it back. Plus, I have six days off from work, and instead of spending them visiting with my parents and drinking martinis in Charleston, it appeared that I would spend it at home with a cold and a panicky feeling in my chest. And can you guess what happened when I tried to go to sleep last night? I spent much of the night fighting off panic. Something about that day came together to make me feel absolutely terrified. It felt like a message from the universe that, no, life is not fun. Life is unforeseen tragedies and dashed expectations. It is a hopeless game of trying to veer out of the way of disaster. A game that, in the end, we all lose. My usual meditation couldn't calm my sweating body. I had been so tired all day, and yet sleep would not come. And then the visions of another exhausted day reared up, adding to the misery.

Now here I am. The sun is shining again and the panic has receded. This morning, it was officially decided that my parents are leaving, and we canceled our Charleston reservations for a $50 fee. Yes, I'm still a bit sad about the week I had planned. But at least nothing is up in the air. That feels immensely better. And, actually, I am relieved not to have to go on a romantic getaway with a cold and a killer case of insomnia. I think I'll take this time to regroup, get my worldview back in order. Lately, it feels like there is so much fear in me. A fear that, until recently, I never even knew existed. And I am fighting it, fearing the fear, rather than simply looking at it with an open heart. No, nothing turns out how we plan, everything is out of our control, death can snatch us at any moment. But in between all that, there is joy. There is love and beauty and laughter. There are mountaintops and sparkling lakes and crisp fall afternoons at the park with an ebullient 4-year-old. All of it together, it is life, and I want to open myself to it all. Because trying to fight off the bad parts? That is one battle I am sure to lose.

You don't have to read this. Really.

I have nothing to say. But I have to write something or I might fade away altogether. Already I am just a grayish spot sitting in front of a computer screen, empty of ideas or inspiration. I am not depressed, exactly, just blah. I can't think of anything at all interesting to write about or talk about or, really, even to think about. OK, racking my brain ... I'm going to make a spinach omelet for dinner tonight. Must stop by the store for eggs, cheese and a nice baguette. Oh, and I think we're out of beer. Should really get to the grocery store before the 5 p.m. rush. But I probably won't. Yep, that was about all that was rattling around in there. 

Oh, here's something. I have a sore throat. It's really getting on my nerves. I've had it for about two weeks, and it is toying with me. It gets worse and I am sure I'm about to be smacked with a cold. Then it gets better again. Yesterday, it got worse again, leaving me sure that I would be sick for my birthday (tomorrow?! WTF??) and for our trip to Charleston on Friday. But nothing yet. Just sitting here with a sore throat and a headache, waiting for the hammer to fall. Fascinating, huh?

After today, I have six days off from work. And today I need to accomplish something that requires about two hours work. After that, I can leave and start my vacation. I arrived at the office at 9:20 a.m. It is now 2:25 p.m., and I have done about 15 minutes worth of that work. What in holy fuck am I doing? Reading a bunch of boring crap on the internet, that's what. Eating a Subway sandwich at my desk. Fading, fading to a tiny speck. Maybe I will just float away into the atmosphere, never to be heard from again. Would be easier than trying to write this post.

These things, I want to remember

I have been really angry with my mother-in-law. Really, really angry. I won't go into the reasons here, but trust me when I say that, if you are a sane and rational person with some sense of fair-play, you would be angry too. But there are a few things I need to remember. For days, my head has been so clouded by my rage that I have been unable to see them. But right now, there is a small break in the clouds, just the smallest hint of sunshine, and I don't want to forget these thoughts that have broken through.

1. My anger gives her power. The more I let it take me over, the more she screws up my life. The only person that hurts is me.
2. My husband is a good person, who is trying his best in a really terrible situation, and my anger is only making things harder for him. He has a right to grieve for his father, without that grief being all mixed up in bitter feelings created by me.
3. Good things come to those who wait. It is a cliche, but I need to trust that things will be made right in the fullness of time. No, they are not right now. But that is how life works. We trust that we can survive each trial and, in time, we learn that it has made us stronger.
4. I have made my point, and I can let it rest now. I tend to worry that my husband doesn't understand how strongly I feel about this, that he will let his instincts to please his mother take over, that he loves her more than he loves me and our daughter and the values that we hold. But he has made it clear to me where his heart lies, and that he understands my feelings, and I need to let it rest. I need to trust him.

I want to end this list with some kind sentiment aimed at my mother-in-law, but I am just not there yet. Maybe I can work toward recognizing her humanity, despite her flaws. Maybe I can remember my belief that this is not under our control, that we are living out the story that has been written for us, and that no matter how much we hate it and rail against it, it is still our story. I will try to remember.

Now I can't give up on this

I haven't written about my insomnia in ages. I guess it has receded into the background buzz of life. I'm used to it now. But I also haven't written about it because I kind of gave up on the idea of getting off sleeping pills. About six months ago, I just felt I couldn't deal with worrying every night whether I would sleep. I didn't really make a decision, I just took it every night, always thinking, "Just this one more night, and then I'll start cutting back again." I took the more expensive kind when I had free samples, and the cheaper kind when I didn't. And even with the sleeping pills, there were still occasional nights when I couldn't sleep. So I would take more. And then, for my big beach vacation, I was really nervous because it was my big vacation last year when this whole insomnia thing started. So I took some of both, together, and boy did that do the job. I loved that feeling of being completely overtaken by it, of falling into a heavy and uninterrupted sleep. And then I came home, and I realized, if I just take some of both, I really won't have to worry at all. Temptation. And then one night a few weeks ago, even my miracle mixture didn't work. I think that should have been a sign, although I don't know that I heeded it, that taking more and more drugs to get to sleep might not be a good long-term plan.

Around the beginning of this month, I started to feel depressed. Like, checklist of all the symptoms of depression you find on the internet kind of depressed. I didn't enjoy my normal pursuits, not even cooking or eating. (Extremely abnormal for me.) I felt a kind of generalized sadness and anxiety all the time. Communication with others became a misery. I felt uncomfortable, restless, trapped in a world that no longer looked the same. I actually had to run out of a grocery store one day because I felt like I was freaking out. It was scary. I couldn't write about it. I couldn't describe it. I just found a draft post I wrote during that time, and I couldn't publish it. And then something said to me, "It might be those sleeping pills." And I looked them up and, sure enough, both of them listed depression and anxiety as possible side effects. Now, who knows, maybe mixing them together triggered something. Or maybe they had nothing to do with it. But, suddenly, I saw the insanity of taking this cocktail of drugs to sleep every night for months or years on end. Who knows what this stuff could do to me.

So I am newly resolved to get off sleeping pills. And somehow it feels different this time. I don't relish the idea of not sleeping, but I don't feel the panic about it that I used to feel. Maybe I've had time to come to terms with the fact that this is part of my life now. I'm never going to snap back to being the person before insomnia. This is not something that I'm going to "conquer" or "leave behind." It's something I have to live with. I also think it's something that has prompted me to live more skillfully. It inspired me to start meditating, a practice that has given me mental discipline. I no longer lie down with an anxious cycle of thoughts running through my head. (It used to go something like, What should I think about? How can I distract myself? What if I don't fall asleep? No! Don't think about that. Don't! Oh shit. It's happening again. FUCK!!! MY LIFE IS RUINED!!!) I know how to feel my breath and defuse unproductive, fearful thoughts. I know how to focus on what is here and now and say to myself, "I'm aware of the fear. I smile to the fear." I am stunned at how calming that is, to just sit quietly and feel the weight in my chest, acknowledge it, defuse its power.

This is not to say I have it all figured out. I still haven't slept a night without sleeping pills. I've quit taking the expensive stuff, and I am down to half a tablet of the cheap stuff. As soon as I can work up the courage, I'm going to go down to a quarter. Maybe tonight? I am still afraid, but I think the consequences of not doing this could be greater than I am willing to bear.

Death, etc.

Whoosh! That was the sound of me returning from another dimension. Things have been out-of-control crazy over here. On Tuesday night, my father-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack. He was 90 years old, and had lived an active and independent life until the very last day, but still... Losing a parent is hard. Really hard. And it's even harder when the remaining parent is also 90 years old and difficult, and they had absolutely no plans for their deaths, and they have no money and every bit of the responsibility falls on you. So Mr. SOC has had a tough go of it. And in addition to dealing with the viewing and the cremation and the memorial service and the military honors and writing the obituary and giving the eulogy, there have been family feuds and fights over money and reunions with long-lost siblings. And during all of this, Mia was sent home from school with a fever, so I've been pretty much out-of-commission taking care of her. Mix all that with Mr. SOC's childhood memories of his father (From his eulogy: "I remember the feel of his woolen overcoat that smelled of New York and smoke-filled train cars." Sob.) and wine-soaked ruminations on death. (It's inconceivable really, that you can be here one day shopping at Walmart and mooching the free coffee at the bank, and—BANG!—the next day you're a pile of ashes in a box on the mantle. For those of us left behind, death is the most incredible disappearing act. How can you be here, so solidly here, and then just... not be?) So anyway, we've been living in some kind of alternate universe for the past five days.

Then today, I thought Mr. SOC might finally get a day to relax, take a breath. But instead, he went to his parents' house and cleaned his dead father's filthy bathroom. And now he's at the emergency room with his son, who appears to have a bat bite on his arm. And we really don't want him to get rabies. But he got this bite a week ago, and hadn't mentioned it, so I hope to hell it's not too late to start the rabies treatment. It's all a bit surreal.

But the one benefit of all this is that, until Tuesday night, I was having a little personal breakdown, complete with feelings of hopelessness, etc. But this seems to have rocked me out of it. It was like a volcanic eruption that shifted my perceptions and forced me out of my self-centered downward spiral. So now, even though we are stressed and saddened and have a long road ahead of us figuring out how to deal with my mother-in-law, I somehow feel better than I did before it all started. I am not depressed anymore. I think maybe part of my problem has been this expectation that life is supposed to be fun. Every day is supposed to be fun, and anything that happens that is not fun causes me to panic, because I am losing out on the fun life I deserve. But sometimes, life is just hard, it's just putting one foot in front of the other, doing what you have to do and making it through. And it is so freeing to just let it be that.

Words from my dark place

Maybe if I can just slap some words over all this dread and fear, it would help. So even though I feel like I can't do it, I'm going to try.

Things I am afraid of:

• That working here is going to drive me crazy. I feel crazy right now, I really do.
• That I'm going to be laid off.
• That I'm never going to find another job. 
• That I am absolutely, positively, unemployable outside of this place.
• That, without my income, we will have to sell our house.
• That I live in a world that no longer has any use for people like me.
• That I am lost, and I will never find my way.
• That our country, our economy, our world are broken beyond repair.
• That I'm not going to sleep tonight.
• That I am depressed.
• That I am headed for some kind of mental breakdown.
• That I am ruining other people's lives with my anxiety and depression and insomnia.

Things I need to remember:

• That, unlike many of the people on this sinking ship of a company, my husband has a good job that will allow us to live a good, middle-class life even if I lose my job. (No, we probably can't afford our house without some kind of income from me, but we won't starve or have to move to the projects.)
• That the economy will get better one day.
• That this situation is temporary. Someday, somehow, I will find my way out of this stuck place.
• That I am valuable.
• That my situation is only intolerable inside my own head. In every rational respect, I am perfectly OK.

Last night, I hardly slept. I'm working the fucking night-shift this week--I now have to do it one out of every nine weeks--and it's got my very delicate sleep schedule out of whack. And I lay there in the dark feeling like my chest was squeezing, crumpling. And I kept thinking, I'm stuck in a work situation that is intolerable. I can't stand it anymore. And there's no way out. None of the masses of people that our company has laid off this year have found full-time work in this area. Not a single one. So I am trapped working at this place that is making me crazy. I'm not emotionally capable of continuing to work there, but I have no choice. I felt like I was going to die or go nuts or I don't even know what.

Today, I came to work and our boss told us that it's looking like we're going to have to make lots more severe cuts next year. He told us all to start getting prepared. The tone of his voice and the look in his eye said, "We are fucked. We are hanging on by a thread. There is no hope." I'm not sure what preparations I'm supposed to be making. I feel overwhelmed, powerless, lost, adrift in an endless ocean. I know that someday I will look back and see how close I was to shore, how everything really was OK. That I had my family and my health and my (relative) youth and all the things that really mattered. But right now I can't see it. I can't see the horizon from here, and I am scared.

I need to focus on what's right here and now. Telling myself stories about a better future is not going to help. Right now, I have air to breathe and food to eat. Right now, I have a steady income. Right now, I have a beautiful, happy daughter. Right now, I have a husband who loves me. Right now, I have lots of vacation time. Right now, I get to go home every night to my family. Right now, I am healthy. Right now, there is a beer in the refrigerator waiting for me. Right now, I am going to leave work and go home and try to breathe.

Zen list

One night this week, I was doing my usual nightly routine of lying in bed stressing about the millions of things I want to get done but will never have time for. And I turned and asked Mr. SOC, "Do you worry about all the things you need to get done?" And do you know what he said? His answer was absolutely stunning. He said, NO! To me, worrying about the things I need to get done is such a huge and integral part of my life. I can't even imagine what I would do with all that spare brain space. If I could remove that worry from my head, 75 percent of my life would be the mental equivalent of sitting in deep meditation beside a serene mountain lake. This is revolutionary, the idea that there are people who actually don't have an unending to-do list cycling through their brain at all times. Can I ever be one of them? That is the real question.

I am clearly not there yet. But one thing that might be constructive is to lay out my priorities for my limited time. Because as it is, I think I spend a lot of time doing things, or mostly one thing, that is not a good, or even enjoyable, use of my time. (I'm looking at you, MacBook.) And if I could do less of those things, I might be able to do more of the stuff that I want to do. So I'm going to make a little mini-list. Somehow I doubt that zen masters make such lists. In fact, Mr. SOC has never made anything more than a grocery list, and even those tend to be woefully incomplete. But I'm choosing to believe that this list is better than my usual lists, and so it represents progress.

Things I want to spend less time on:

• Aimlessly surfing the internet until my eyes blur and my mind fogs, reading crap that rots my brain
• Worrying about what I need to do
• Being angry

Things I want to continue to spend time on:

• Being present with my family
• Cooking
• Writing
• Reading novels
• Exercise
• Learning new things (Spanish? Really should get back to that.)
• Meditation

Things I want to spend more time on:

• Music
• Kind acts
• Romance
• Keeping my house neat and uncluttered (I never want to be one of those people who spends all their spare time making their home perfect. But maybe 10 minutes a day trying to keep the clutter monster at bay?)
• Getting out of the office (Stop eating lunch at desk while surfing the internet. It's just not good.)
• Personal grooming (I know, this is sad.)