In the words of Sheryl Crow, I can’t cry anymore. 

At least, not for now. Please. I’m exhausted. Crying is draining, although it feels strangely good at the same time. Some of it has to do with “being a girl,” but more of it has to do with other stuff – medication stuff – which I hope gets resolved quickly, as I went to the doctor today and left equipped with a new game plan.

Right now I’m just tired…yet I can’t sleep. My brain, as usual, isn’t cooperating. Too many fleeting thoughts run through my mind and prevent the deep slumber I so desperately long for. So I gave up on the possibility of a nap for today and hope I can sleep tonight. Fingers crossed.

In other news, I am unemployed once again, and aside from money woes, I think it’ll do me some good to take some time off and try to spend it with the kids…that’s a whole other issue, though, at least for me. I don’t know if it’s because of the disorder, or just general mommy guilt, but I constantly feel that I don’t measure up – to whom, I’m not sure…Donna Reed? The other moms in town? I don’t know. I just always find myself wrestling with this nagging feeling that I should be doing more, playing more, loving more…enjoying each and every precious moment and really living in it, instead of dwelling on perceived failures in the past. 

Easier said than done. 

When this guilt begins to set in, it can be a long, winding road to Nowhere Good until I talk to a friend about it and realize I’m no more “messed up” than any other mom – at least, the ones I talk to and the ones who open up to me. It’s hard when I feel like I should be spending every waking second coloring or reading or painting tiny nails, when some days all I really want to or feel like I can do is nothing. Sometimes just making it through the day feels like a victory. Sure, I try to make up for the days we don’t do much by flying kites with the girls, or playing with finger paint, or going to the park…but then every day that we don’t cram full of fun activities I question my mothering. Am I good enough? Do they know how much I love them? I should be doing more. This should fulfill me! Right?
Talking to other moms who can “get real” with me always makes me feel better…but when too much time has lapsed between those exchanges and I am left to my own mental devices, the guilt sets in again. But like I said, for now, I can’t cry anymore. So I can’t go down that road to Insecurity, or pass through Self-Doubt along the way, and end up, ultimately, in Tears.

So for now, we tackle some Play-Doh – and there’s no crying in Play-Doh.