But I Hate Wearing Hats

When I was a baby girl, my mother used to LOVE to put me in little hats. Bonnets, bows, bands, etc. You name it. She loved it. I'm not sure why she loved it so much because I quite vividly remember hating it. I hated the itchiness of the hats. Furthermore, I hated how darn many hats she put on me.


Yesterday, I reached a wee bit of a breaking point. I've been teetering on the edge of it for a little while, but last night, I had the joy of (while my kids were at their sports clinic) going upstairs, sitting down on my bed (and being lovingly followed by our puppy), and weeping. I just wept. I'm tired. I'm really, really tired. I've been tired for a long time.


When motherhood overtook my life, I rejoiced - and not just because breastfeeding left me thin for the first. time. ever. I enjoyed losing myself in the minutia of motherhood and wifey-hood because I was never too pleased with "me." I did spend my childhood constantly morphing and mutating into these failed interpretations of what other people wanted me to be, so I basically had no idea who I was until ... the past few years, I guess. Wow! Sad! But I digress.


When I had my kids, I was a stay at home mom. I would do things to try to keep my brain from turning to total mush (you know, when you ask grownups if they have to "go potty") like tutoring, hosting language classes, etc. I had a stint as an ESL teacher (which was awesome) and then, in lieu of heading back to school full time (a story for another time) I wound up with a part-time job at my kids' new school. I got them discounted tuition so they could enjoy full day pre-school and kindergarten because they are totally little smarty pants overachievers. During all of this, I didn't like to ask for help. The concept of "me time" was encompassed in getting up at 5:35am to go distance running on a treadmill in the basement while watching episodes of "24" (to the point where I actually dreamed about it) before the kids got up. Shopping, cooking, cleaning, childcare, child feeding (milk machine over here), laundry, planning, transport, bills, paperwork, medical/health stuff, etc., was on me, and then I did my best to "freshen up" for my man at 4pm so I could give him that devotee-worship time that I believed men needed.


None of this really changed when I got this job. My kids are a little older and able to care for themselves a lot, but kids are work and moms are moms. I would come home from work, sign the girls' stuff, talk to them about their day while preparing dinner and lunches, take out the trash, check on the laundry, do more laundry, put away laundry, take care of the guinea pigs, take the dog out, etc., so that my husband could enjoy a bath after his workout, or perhaps play "Crossy Road" with my kids. A video game. And then ask me why I was stressed out. I mean, I did put on a couple of pounds. That doesn't help. Working out 30-45 minutes a day is NOT the hours and hours of cardio and weights that I used to do. We're going to the beach and I'm fighting body shame pretty hard, but I can't do this. I can't handle all of this. I am exhausted.


All this sounds like whining, I know. I wanted to be able to get it all covered. I can't do it. I can't wear that many hats. I hate hats. I've always hated hats. When I was a child, a little adorable toddler, I couldn't even imagine how one would say, "Mommy, I don't like hats, this is uncomfortable, I'm miserable, can we please stop this."


Given I just typed that out, it's clear that I now know how to express myself. I just have to figure out how.


See, sometimes, my husband does some grocery shopping on his way home from work. Boom - that's supposed to make me swoon, right? Nope, the reason he does the shopping is because he decided he wanted to change his diet and he likes to be the one to shop for his spinach, salad meat, dressings, fruit, nuts and raisins. It was convenient. I seldom ask for anything more than ginger ale and yogurt, but he feels pretty good about himself. That's great. But I only ask because it's already convenient for you. You're still going to have time to play Crossy Road.


My boss expressed to my colleagues and to me the best piece of marriage advice given to his wife upon their nuptials thirteen years ago. I guess it was HIS mother that told his wife-to-be, "Don't do anything in the first six months of marriage that you're not going to want to do for the rest of your life."


Woah. Think about it. It's true.


"The Honeymoon Phase" often involves women trying on their June Cleaver hats - with a little bit of Mae West action thrown in there. Total wifey sex kitten business going on there. I was certainly not fixated on sharing MYSELF with my new husband, I was fixated on doing everything perfectly and being exactly who I thought he wanted me to be. This gets especially complicated given we didn't know each other that well. But it led me to want to do everything without asking for help. When kids came in the mix, it got harder and hard. I got temporary relief from saying (after birth of my second) that I didn't want any more kids. So many details. So many little ends to cover. So many thoughts racing over and over in my head, day and night, waking me from slumber at 1 am or 2am and refusing to let me get back to sleep, now married in with concern for if the puppy is whining, if I'm going to wake him, etc.


Only now that it has been so long... he has no idea what I'm thinking or that it matters.


The kids are so helpful. The fact that they can bathe themselves and go to the bathroom by themselves seems like magic to me. Honestly, it does. They help with the dog. They help fold laundry sometimes. They do their homework. They make honor role. They rock my world.


They don't really care for hats, though. And my husband? He won't carry my purse for me. He won't even hold it. So what are the odds that he'd wear these hats?

Starting, restarting, and starting again.

I cannot tell you how many times I have started a blog. I have no idea what is out there, what I've said over the years, or how I've begun attempting to wade through the mess of my mind in a blog. I think, however, now's the time. I want to start a blog and I want to work with it until I'm finished. I don't want to chicken out of expressing myself or finding my voice again. I don't want to write something FOR the audience, because, honestly... I don't expect to have one. I do think this might be a good way for me to get comfortable speaking from the real me, my actual center. We'll see. I'm not quite sure I've ever ACTUALLY done that before.


I am a thirty-something married mother of two. Boom. Started the whole family thing early. I spent many of my troubled teen years rebelling against ambition and intelligence and insisting that all I wanted was to get married and have children. Shortly after my junior year, I had an amazing study-abroad experience which made me think, "Oh man! Maybe I should really apply myself to this whole college thing and go do exciting, productive, lucrative and adventurous things with my degree!"


The day before Senior Week, I found out I was pregnant. Three months later, I was married. Five months after that, I became a mother.


I just skipped over a whole lot, but that's what my heart is telling me to do right now. There's a lot I'll revisit at a later time. I'll have to, if I'm going to work through my inner shenanigans.


I spent about six years (while, you know, raising my eldest, having another baby, trying to work through the whole "SURPRISE" marriage thing) resenting myself, my decisions, and of course feeling rather sorry for myself that life had handed me.... well, exactly what I'd been claiming to want. Complicated woman that I am, the grass was greener. WAY GREENER. And lush. And awesome. But all on the other side. My side had me wasting my twenties doing absolutely nothing with my brains, earning no money, climbing no career ladder. I was little Miss Whiny Pants.


SURELY, SURELY if I were to get a full time job ASAP it would fix absolutely everything and suddenly bestow upon me a feeling of self-worth. RIGHT?! RIGHT?! I mean, sure! Self esteem problems? Gone. Chip on my shoulder about having been a stay at home mom who started her family at age 22? TOTALLY GONE. All fixed with a full time job.


Then I got a full time job. An awesome job. Seriously love my job. I love my paycheck. I love my coworkers. It has made me realize how amazing my education was, that I actually had some potential. It has made me respect the work I put into my kids, and the work I put into my marriage. I can see now that what I did was important - staying home - however challenging. I love my kids. I love my husband. We have a puppy - I love our puppy.


But nothing was fixed. There was no happy button. There was no clicking. After realizing that, there was sadness. Much sadness. The question came again: "What is wrong with me?" "Why am I broken?"


Nothing is going to get fixed unless I fix it. I know, from experience, that if I set some sort of physical goal for me, it won't fix anything. The problem isn't my body. I've thought all along that it is - and I've done everything under the sun, messed with myself so many ways, hated myself for so long - but I realize that I've been 215 pounds and I've been 109 pounds, and I've felt equally awful about myself at both of those weights.


I'm writing this now because I want to fix me and I can only do that if I'm honest. If I'm in this mental prison - a life I love, a self I hate - maybe other people are, too. We have to fix it.


That's why I'm here. I'm STARTING. I want to finish this. I want to fix it.