03.18.07
You gotta believe, girl
Did you ever see the episode of the Simpsons where Bart and Lisa go to Military School and at the end they have to complete The Eliminator and Lisa thinks she will not make it and Bart says I thought you wanted a challenge? to which Lisa replies I wanted a challenge I could do!
I am thinking of taking another online class this summer. This course. But it scares me a little. I used to write creatively a lot. But it has been so long since I have written anything beyond what goes in here, that I am just not sure if it is there anymore, you know? I have tried keeping a handwritten journal a few times over the past seven years, but I always end up abandoning them. The thing is (and I am a little embarrassed to admit this), is that I am not a huge fan of challenges. I am a bad loser and when I do not win, often I just do not want to play anymore. So many people are so driven, and they face adversity and then excel. But me, I am just. . . mediocre at most things. And seriously? Most of the time I am ok with that. Part of me feels so damn pathetic writing that, and the other part of me feels that at least I am living realistically. Because I mean, we can talk about profound love and big accomplishments in life and parenthood and marriage, but at the end of the day, arent we all just one more ant in the colony? Following the same path to and from work, the same barbeques on Saturdays, the same walks, the same three beer on Friday night. Wow. That came out a lot more negative than I meant it to.
Leila had her nine month check up last week, I think I mentioned. And there was a student doctor with the regular doctor who did the check-up first before the regular doctor came in. And at one point, she asked me how I was doing, if I felt ok. And of course, immediately I said that I was doing fine, before I had actually given it any real thought. She asked me if I managed to get some time to myself and I told her that I did get some alone time, baby free time. And as the words were coming out of my mouth, I knew that I was lying and yet I was too . . . proud? to say otherwise.
Over the past nine months I have been told so many times (as an explanation to how I was feeling) that as women, we just feel guilty. Because we are women. We feel guilty about the laundry and about the babies and about the men and about being sad and about being happy. Because we are women. And that just seems so damn ridiculous to me. But, God, it is so true. I feel guilty when I want alone time, but then too guilty to take it. I feel guilty when I have not managed to clean the bathroom all week and then mad at Steve if he asks and then guilty for getting angry. Why do we do this to ourselves? What the hell is our problem? Is it societal?
I shouldnt complain (guilt!) and make it sound like Steve is not supportive, because he is the one that suggested I find an evening class to take once we are settled in Oromocto, to give me something to do for myself. And this is not about him or how much he supports my endeavors (which he tends to, one hundred percent), but I just feel stumped on this whole thing. She asked me if I was ok, and truth be told, I felt pretty crappy that day. But if I had been feeling sad for longer than that day, would I have been brave enough to say No. I am not ok. There have been moments in the past nine months when I was really afraid, really scared. When I thought dark thoughts about hurting myself, thoughts that flashed through my mind and then out again just as quickly about seriously hurting myself. There was one night that Leila would not stop crying, she was screaming and screaming and I did not want to get Steve out of bed because he had to work the next day (guilt!), and she just would not stop and nothing I could do was working and I put my hand over her mouth to just. Shut. Her. Up. Only for a second and then I pulled it away so damn fast and left the room. I sat on the couch and cried because I had scared myself. Steve came out and went to Leila, he calmed her in minutes and soon she was asleep and then he took me by the hand and led me back to bed. For days afterwards I thought What if I had been alone? What if I had hurt her?
It is a little scary to say these things out loud because it leaves me with a fear that not everyone feels that way, that I have only convinced myself that this is normal, but that there is actually something wrong with me.
But, ugh, this was not supposed to be this kind of entry (guilt!). So it is bath time.
wunderwuman at 7:25 p.m.