I struggled most of the summer. Emotionally. Was it the move across a couple states after living in an RV for a few months with rain and water pounding incessantly on the roof? The fussy, teething baby? The sleepless nights? The ‘never-a-moment-to-myself’ non-stop activity (which drains most introverts’ souls)? Unbalanced hormones? Depression? Anxiety?
I don’t know. But I cried a lot. Did a lot of deep breathing and telling myself it was temporary (and had a hard time believing that). I charted changes and shifts in my mood and noticed a pattern, maybe. Tried really hard to be happy and smiling even though I wanted to either crawl into a hole or smash something or both. Some days the fake job worked and others, not so much. The worst part was not being able to really, I mean REALLY, figure out what was wrong.
I just knew this wasn’t me, I wasn’t myself. Whatever person or entity or craziness and crawled inside me was NOT me. I wasn’t going to let this whack-job reside for much longer. I don’t like not feeling like myself. I was planning my counter-attack: get a physical to see if something was amiss, go to a counselor, go get my hair done… SOMETHING!
And then it all changed. Whack-Job left the building. The stark-raving lunatic that inhabited my body and mind packed her bags and moved out. How do I know she’s gone? Well, remember the post where I stepped in dog poop???
Yesterday I woke to BOTH our dogs having pooped (one had diarrhea) and peed downstairs in the house. And in the middle of cleaning it up, the baby woke up crying. So, I finished cleaning up after the dogs with the baby in the carrier, strapped to my back. After that, I took the kid out of the carrier only to discover the diaper had reached capacity and then some and we were both covered in baby pee-pee. So, up to the changing table we went. Got him cleaned and changed. Then went to get a shirt for myself only to find another pile of dog poop in my closet.
If that had happened several days ago, I would have sat down and cried or screamed at the dogs… or both. And then would have felt like a jerk after, of course. But none of that happened. I was ok. It was a just a thing to be dealt with and not the end of the world. And I was me. Again. Finally. And grateful.
The lesson: knowing myself informs me as to when I need to do something to feel better or get healthy… And it really was temporary.