I was having one of those days, no wait, weeks, scratch that… YEARS. Life was literally so chaotic I was loosing complete and total control. I am not talking busy here, I am talking complete lack of any semblance of order. There was so much driving, so many activities, so many lessons and no time for school. It was all about getting in the car and going here and going there, that slowly I lost touch with myself and the very reason why I do what I do.
There was a glimmer of hope in the future. One of my teens was about to get her driver’s lisence. That meant there might possibly be a day where I would be able to stay home. I am not over-exaggerating here, either. I literally had to go somewhere every single day. I started eating poorly, had no time for exercise, and no time with my youngest children. Strapping them into the car and taking them here and there was about as close to bonding as I could get.
Then throw in pregnancy, one that was again not quite expected, and you have a powder keg of mom guilt about to explode all over the not even remotely clean living room.
That is when he said it. In all innocence, he said those words that blew my powder keg sky high. “You are trying too hard.”
Oh man, was that the very wrong thing to say! Right after I was talking about how a wonderful mom I knew wasn’t on Facebook. You should take a moment here to pray for my dear husband, who really was only trying to help. I can look back now and see clearly that what he was saying to me was not in anyway a negative reflection but born out of true and pure concern for my well-being.
I took it his words and in my hormone-laden and over stressed brain and convoluted them. I turned them into: “You are pathetic.” In that over worked brain, that evil voice that we don‘t always recognize as the Devil, was on constant replay in my head. “Pathetic.” “Failure.” “You can’t do it.”
It was only the week before that I had gone to see Mom’s Night Out. If you have not seen this, do it. Do it now. I will watch your kids for you. GO! There was a moment in the movie, and I don’t want to ruin anything for you, but this moment hit me like a Mac truck. One of the characters asks our heroine who she is not good enough for. She says earnestly, everyone. Her kids, her husband… God. No, the other person says, “You aren’t good enough for you.”
Ok, God, thank you for that slap in the face. Oh what? I wasn’t listening hard enough? So I take something my husband says and throw it completely out of proportion and find myself on my knees weeping.
My husband thinks he is safer going to his mother’s house to help her with some handy man project since he knows nothing about my tears and only that look of pure wrath that I gave him. You know the one. The one that you give your kids times 100,000 and then your head detaches from your neck and does a complete revolution before settling back. Yeah, pray for the poor man again.
He came home a few hours later to find that I had deleted everything. My blogs, my Pinterest, my Instagram, Twitter, Google (which included my You Tube), GoodReads, people, I even searched myself on the internet and if I found something I could do something about, I deleted it. The only thing I kept was my Ravelry, but even then I left every group. I changed my name on things.
I flipped out.
Social Media Part 2