Having a Day

 I woke up this morning feeling pretty good.  Not overly good, but decent.  I was in the bathroom, doing my makeup and Kacy walked in, took one look at me and asked me if I was okay.  At the time I answered that I was fine, that I just hadn't woken up yet.  That woman can read me way too well. 

The morning progressed and an all too familiar lump started to form in my throat along with the feeling of having a weight on my chest.  I answered emails, made a couple of phone calls and I got into the car to accompany Kacy to a blood test her doctor ordered it hit me.   

"Just so you know, I'm not doing well," I told Kacy.  She smiled at me and patted my leg.  

"I know," she responded softly.  Like I said, she can read me way too well.  She saw the anxiety increasing in my face before I even knew it was there.  

I don't know where it comes from, it just happens.  Some days are good, some days are not so good.  They haven't been bad in a while, but not-so-good does happen.  I call it not-so-good because I'm not where I was a year ago when there was a week somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas that I did not want to leave my bedroom.  I was in the thick of it with my Dad, him having moved in with us in October before his "casita" was finished and me worrying that I wouldn't get to have another holiday with him.  Now, I'm grateful for the fact that I have been able to celebrate another birthday with my Dad.  I'm grateful that he's doing well and while I know he's nowhere near as healthy as he was before this whole thing started and we're still only at like 20-25% heart function, I have to just step back and actually be grateful.  I can't stop him from doing what he wants to do and I don't necessarily want to.  The anxiety as far as my Dad is concerned kicks in typically when he doesn't listen to me about something or I find out he's done something that probably wasn't very wise for a now 83-year-old man with congestive heart failure should be doing. 

Me worrying about my Dad, however, is not what is tweaking my brain today.  I don't know what is tweaking my brain.  Today, I feel stuck in emotional doldrums.  My body overwhelmingly feels like it wants to cry or curl up into a ball but for some reason, I can't get the release that I feel like I need.  That's when the intellectual side kicks in and says "Well, Jess, you should just push through and do your thing."  Distract myself by diving into work.  

We came home after the blood draw (which actually didn't happen because the doctor failed to send the lab request to the lab) and my brain has just been stuck in a loop.  I answered some more emails, made a couple of phone calls, and now I'm finding myself stuck.   My brain simply does not want to move forward with anything productive.  The want to cry keeps getting more and more pronounced and I feel more and more tired as the minutes tick by. 

Yesterday in therapy I was talking to my doctor about how for the longest time I would feel guilty about feeling this way.  How I would ignore and push through whatever was bringing me down.  I would throw myself into some project or another, burying those feelings down deep inside of me.  Looking back at growing up, I realize that when I would have "tantrums" those were actually autistic meltdowns from feeling overstimulated.   My cousins, to this day, still tell me stories, laughing about how I would kick my feet and yell "I don't want to!" over and over.   I would feel ashamed and bad for having them and eventually, as I got older, I shoved everything down.  

My Mom would scream at me, tell me I was being selfish that I should be humble and grateful.  My Dad simply wouldn't talk about his feelings and even now if I bring up something to him about how I'm feeling...  When I was living with my Dad at the start of college (I was going to MCC where he taught), I was not adapting to the change of living in Kentucky very well.  I missed my friends, I missed the familiarity of Indiana, my best friend in Kentucky had a very different life and we just didn't jive like we used to.  It didn't help that the day I left for Kentucky I got into a huge fight with my Mom over a piece of fuzz she found on the carpet, deeming that I had not cleaned up the basement like I was supposed to (it was like a museum down there and she chose to pick a fight with me over a piece of fuzz and she did so in front of my friend Michelle and Kacy).  I, at the time, said fuck it and screamed at the top of my lungs that I was done and leaving for Kentucky early.  Michelle helped me pack up my car (Kacy had to work, I think?) and I was off.  

The first couple of weeks in Kentucky were okay.  I got registered, started classes and then everything just started falling apart.  I was having trouble making friends, something I'd never had trouble with before, and I just felt like I didn't fit in.  On top of that, I felt an enormous amount of pressure from my Dad.  I felt like I had to be the best at everything because if I didn't it would look badly on him and I eventually cracked.  

I didn't want to be there.  I didn't know what I wanted to do.  I was going through the motions at first, but then I just stopped going through the motions.  I was in a deep depression and my Dad had no idea how to handle me.  The day I finally cracked and had the biggest meltdown that I've ever had in my life, I was sent over the edge by my Dad offering me a bottle of my favorite root beer.   I was trying to communicate with him that I was not happy, I didn't have the skills to properly communicate that, and he came at me telling me to calm down and to here, have a root beer.  

Things were bad between me and my Dad for a very long time.  My Dad has always had issues communicating, playing things very close to the vest.  He doesn't talk about anything upsetting and if I start talking to him about something that he finds upsetting, he very quickly changes the subject.  "We don't need to talk about that."  And that's it; end of discussion.   

My Mom was effectively a prison warden.  I had very little freedom, felt like I had to hide everything I did from her and that stemmed from growing up with her making me justify anything I wanted to do.  If it didn't fit in with her particular view of what was proper for me to do, then she didn't want me to do it.  I would have to explain what it was I wanted to do, why I wanted to do it, how I was going to do it, when I was going to do it and I had to be very explicit.  If she didn't like it, I wasn't doing it.  No matter how much I wanted to.  

It doesn't matter that I am now a 46 year old adult with my own family, I still very much feel like I have to justify everything I do.  Which is why, when I have a day like today, that I have an overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame because I feel stuck.  I feel guilty because I know I'm not being productive. I feel shame because I think I'm letting my family down.  Intellectually, I know that I'm not.  Intellectually, I know that I'm doing my best and I should just stop - things that need to get done will eventually get done.  I'm an entrepreneur and make my own schedule which is helpful.  Yet, at the same time, I feel guilty because I feel like I should be doing more.  I am nowhere near the top of my game, let alone where I was two years ago.  I also know that the past two years have been exceptionally hard and that I put myself and my needs on the backburner and my world primarily circled around my Dad and his needs.   I am here because I didn't even consider my needs and I have been paying for that.  

I am mad at myself for not listening to my body and mind screaming at me to stop and take a break.  I'm mad at myself for not putting up boundaries and letting people walk all over me and take advantage of me.  I knew that I was pushing emotions down, ignoring my body and not coping with anything that the world had been throwing at me for what is now nearly 7 years of change and stress.  My mom having dementia and her passing.  Kacy coming out to me and me thinking our marriage was over.  Moving to Florida.  Rebuilding my business in Florida.  Covid.  Finding and buying a home in Florida.  Building the casita. My Dad's congestive heart failure and living away from my family for nearly 2 months.  

Everything took it's toll and throughout that I didn't listen to what my body was screaming at me- to slow the fuck down.  Now, I'm trying to listen to my body.  I'm trying.  I'm trying really hard.  Some days it's easier to listen than others.  And somedays are like today... just really hard.  I have to learn how to be okay with the hard days and just stop.  I tell myself that I'm no good to anyone if I can't be good to myself.  

So, I'm going to be good to myself.  I'm going to go change my clothes and sit down and just do what I feel like doing.    

I can do that, right?