So. Week 1. Done.
Weaning off of the meds is going. Not really horrible, not amazingly easy. It’s just…going. I am proceeding slowly, so I don’t know if I feel what I’m feeling because I KNOW I’m not taking in as much, or if it really is a withdrawal symptom. I’m down to a half-dose every other day, and starting today I will be taking a half-dose every day until next week, where I’ll cut down to 1/4 dose every other day, slowly phasing out until I’m done. The first couple of days? Intense headaches that lasted all day. Those have gone away. Now what I’m left with is a tiny feeling of anxiety most of the time, like a little mouse is running on a wheel in my chest. And some sweaty nights. I’m über-irritable. I have snapped at just about every one in this house more than I should. I’m not proud.
Yet, it is time to suck it up and get a grip. I know I have it in me to do this, to be the kind of parent and person I want to be without having to rely on anti-depressants to get the job done. I just have to believe it and live it. The times when I’m with just one kid, I feel like my old self again. The Original Mommy. One on one, I am Spectacular Mom. Patient, playful, funny. With two? I’m Mommy Dearest. And that sucks. With two, I feel like I’m constantly in demand. And then I become resentful. Resentful of my darling husband that has the freedom to shower, take a shit, and get dressed, more often than not and more often than me, without interruption (knowing full well that this statement is a HUGE generalization, not always true, and that he works amazingly hard so that I can stay home with our kids and how dare I not feel grateful?). I feel exhasuted and taken for granted when I spend an hour after the kids go to bed cleaning up after just about everyone. And I find myself wanting to use that phrase I heard my mother say…”I’m not your maid.”
Even as I type that paragraph above, I feel like a brat. My husband does way more than most, more than me even. And my kids are good kids. Sure, they don’t pick up every toy. But they are decent listeners and they just love to take inventory of their fun stuff. Totally typical. And really? I shouldn’t take it so personally. They aren’t tossing their toys out of toy boxes just to get at me and make me angry. They’re doing it because they are 5 and 2 and that is their job.
See? Removed from the situation, I can be calm and reasonable. But in the thick of things, I let my emotions get the best of me. And that is not what I want my children to remember about me or their childhood. But that whole remembering to be mindful thing is just so hard.
Lately I’ve been feeling as though wearing something at all times might help. Something tangible, something I can see to remind myself to slow down my breathing, remember to be mindful. Like a bracelet. Is that why Buddhists where those beads? Or Kabbalah’s wear the red string? I don’t want to really purchase anything, so about a week ago I went rumaging through my jewerly box. I’m still searching for the right thing. The one bracelet I have been wearing this week is too bulky, and it’s difficult to type or write when wearing it. I’ve also gotten my hair stuck in it a few times. Ouch!
I do like how I can feel it. I’ve tried another little beaded bracelet, and it was so thin and lightweight that I hardly noticed it was around my wrist.
Anyone have any ideas? I’m open…
