It’s official.  I am off anti-depressants.  I haven’t had a dose in over a week.  Just in time for a friendly monthly visit from Mrs. Hormones.  But at least I can own up to that as a reason for feeling all over the place, instead of feeling out of control over what the evacuation of drugs is doing to my psyche.   My poor mother had to deal with my Wrath during her visit, as I was battling withdrawal and PMS, with a husband out of town.  It was not pretty.  Instead of telling her what was going on and asking for the help I needed, I turned in to a pouty, moody teenager again.  Why is this my default coping mechanism?

Therapy is going well, I think.  I’ve only had a few sessions, and I feel like we’re just scratching the surface.  It’s frustrating to feel as if it’s not going fast enough, that I’m just on the precipice of working on myself, and have no reliable means to get through my emotions.  The important one?  Anger.  It’s a doozie.   It’s so easy to get sucked in to the 2-5 year old mentality when the kids are fighting with each other and hitting and yelling.  I become one of them.  It’s almost like I need someone to come by, give me a good slap, and remind me that someone needs to be the adult.   I wish that, in those moments, I could remember to breathe.  To assess the situation for what it is, not what it might turn in to.  To remember to be present.  I think that’s why I liked the trapeze in Mexico…I know, that comes out of left field.  But let me explain…

Here’s the thing: getting on that trapeze and (successfully) doing tricks, catching Chucho’s hands, then turning around to grab the bar, doing a back flip as I came off…I felt like Superwoman.  Standing on that high platform, waiting for his “HUP!!” (which, by the way, is a great sound, and I’ve adopted it in to my daily routine to get the kids moving.  A swift and deep “HUP!” accompanied by hoisting out of a chair, or in to a car seat, works wonders!) all I had to think about was jumping.  In the midst of a trick, I felt more present and aware than I have for a very long time.  In that moment when my feet left the platform and my body was swinging through the air, I wasn’t thinking about my sick son and how I might have two to three days of sick kids instead of beach and sun ahead of me.  I wasn’t worried about the state of Jon’s job or how my aging body was tired of K’s work or what a nightmare unpacking might be when we get home.  I was solely focused on was the rush of adrenaline, the wind against my legs, the feeling of freedom and courage.  When I came down, all I wanted to do was go back up again and again.  It must be what a drug addict feels like. Except that I wasn’t looking for the next hit, I was looking for another trick I could master.  It felt good to be successful at something.  While I’m sure that it is their job to make guests feel this way, I felt like the circus guys encouraged me to keep coming back, and I took that as a sign that I was decent at this thing I just started for the first time.  It was a nice feeling.

So why can’t I bring that presence and awareness to my daily life?  Why does my mind constantly worry about what needs to be done, instead of enjoying every second with my family?   How can I transfer that “surrendering to the moment” feeling to my daily struggles?