Change

from here

I don’t deal well with change, and dealing at all – let alone well – is far more difficult with family around. Mo and Hazel respond to disruptions to our normal routine with clinginess and crankiness and demands for connection. Alan seems to respond by tuning out. Given the choice, I’d respond with time alone and/or no sensory input (especially sound or touch) that I haven’t initiated.

The kids’ needs usually win. I find myself trying to be their everything, trying to cushion the blows for them, doing what I can to help them feel calm and settled, and ignoring my own need for attention and cushions and calm. It feels impossible, and yet I’ve watched myself doing it over the last month, both impressed and depressed by my ability to work miracles by offering anything at all to them from what feels like utter emptiness.

Despite the fact I’ve been saying it for years, I still find it hard to admit out loud that I find mothering and marriage difficult. I seem to have scored a bunch of characteristics that make these relationships particularly tough: I’m an introvert with sensory processing sensitivity, as well as depression and anxiety. I have an insatiable appetite for people-free time, sleep, control, and space (both mental and physical). I hate being jumped on by rowdy four-year-olds, yelled at by frustrated six-year-olds, and/or approached for hugs by affectionate husbands. I hate change.

I daydream about hermit life. I dream about focussing on my own needs and desires, living my life from a place of fullness rather than depletion. I dream about having a nook that’s entirely mine, free from children’s books and toys and odd socks and interruptions. I dream about writing and reflecting and listening to my body, giving myself the same time and presence I try (so. hard.) to offer daily to my children. I dream about being important. I dream about being mothered instead of being mother.

I wonder what it would be like to live without the guilt of these daydreams. I wonder if my children sense my wandering mind, and whether it damages them. I wonder if letting Alan go find someone more phlegmatic and easy would be the kindest thing to do.

I’m not doing well at the moment. (I wonder, can I blame this on wellness, or am I just awful?)