Yesterday, I cleaned the kitchen six times.
I thought about how dull and meaningless my life is now.
How I don’t measure up to all those other mothers.
How easy I have it and yet here I am, pathetic and miserable.
How I don’t soak in the moments enough.
The guilt, it’s always there. It’s just extra bad lately.
I smiled the same smile at the teachers during pick up yesterday. I’ll do it again today and tomorrow.
I got dressed at 3pm though and only because picking up my son in pajamas is faux-pas.
I don’t want anyone to know that I don’t have it together quite that well, lately.
Well, always it seems.
The phone didn’t ring at all.
I did get a text message from my husband, asking how my day was. I lied and said, “Fine.”
My friend texted me and asked how I was, so I deflected the conversation to some other topic. I don’t want to talk about how I feel right now.
I’m not really okay.
There’s a load of laundry in the washer that’s been there since yesterday.
The library books are two weeks past due. Mostly because one of the books was ruined by little hands, and I’m worried about returning it. What a silly thing to worry about.
The bathroom sink is covered in green toothpaste from the kids. I ignored it because it’ll be back later.
I vacuumed, but mostly so I could say I did something more than just play Candy Crush all day.
The dishes in the sink have been there too long, but I’ll get to it later.
I keep thinking about how I laughed at myself when I told someone I was a writer, quickly correcting that I’m a Stay at Home Mom.
Then I wonder what people really think of me. Of what I write.
And then I wonder why I’m such a narcissist. Why am I hungry for so much validation?
I don’t write enough. I don’t often feel good enough to write.
Because, what’s the point? With this dull, boring, meaningless existence that I live?
When no one even reads it.
Yesterday I wondered what would happen if I just kept driving.
I can never just keep driving. I have to be here, even when I feel trapped.
The calendar with our schedule taunts me with all the activities for everyone else.
There’s nothing for me.
My son’s anxiety is starting to climb again and while I’m worried, I’m dreading what the next month will bring.
That makes me feel awful. I should put him first. I should have more empathy.
Sometimes, I have too much empathy and it wears me out.
I want to be “on” all the time, but I just can’t.
My husband’s coworker made him late again. It made me irrationally angry because doesn’t he know he isn’t the only one with a family who needs him?
Doesn’t anyone know how much I need another person by the end of the day?
Someone to read the same book again with my son, because he only brings the same books home, rotating.
Another adult so I can just shut off.
Even though it feels like I’ve been “off” all day.
I couldn’t sleep last night.
So I tossed and turned.
I thought of all the ways I would have a better day.
How I would change my thinking.
How I would finally write more of that second draft.
How I would be grateful for the things I do have.
How I would stop being such a relentless asshole to myself.
And then I slept.
Today has been better.
I’m not okay.
I’m still asking all those questions.
But they aren’t crushing me with their enormity today.
I have to remember that I’m doing my best.
Even when I’m not my best.
I’ll be okay.