Its been a while since I’ve bothered to blog. In fact, I’d pretty much given up completely.
My posts started to dwindle last spring, and by the summer they had stopped completely. Not coincidentally, I think, the timing coincides with my foray into solo parenting.
It’s been a rough go.
Often I’ve blogged about events or challenges and the writing has helped me come to a solution… or at lest a path where I can start to find my way. I think I have been consistently losing my way for months.
I’m not saying it’s been all bad. It hasn’t… but it hasn’t been easy either. I’ve had good weeks and bad weeks. Lately the bad have been out weighing the good.
This past week had been a downward spiral from bad to worse. After nearly eight months of deployment or Imposed Restriction or temporary duty, whatever the military chooses to call it, I was at the end of my rope. My house was chaos, Big Dude is so very angry about everything, my mother would have turned 70 this month and I’m missing her terribly, I was locking myself in my room too often to escape my children and my own battle with depression was intensifying. No matter what efforts I made at giving myself a break, nothing seem to reduce my stress levels. This morning was my breaking point.
I lost it… but then, amazingly, I found it. With help.
The surprising thing about hitting rock bottom is the people that are there to pick you up. All the cliches are really true. It is darkest before the dawn and all that crap.
In the midst of my Mummy tantrum my husband called in the troops and my sister dropped everything to join the battle (sorry for all the military metaphors, my creativity is a little rusty… that or I’ve been a military wife too long).
I now have beautiful flowers brightening my living room, I’ve unloaded a lot of mental baggage onto some tired but sympathetic ears and my house is reasonably clean (thanks to a heroic sibling who dropped everything to drive an hour and a half to clean fridges, bathrooms and most importantly shine up my very dusty sense of control over my own house).
All this doesn’t bring my husband home, it doesn’t even really given me the patience and stamina I so desperately need. It does, however, at least let me regain the illusion of control and a plan of action. I need help and I have to find it. Big Dude needs more from me that I can give him right now. He’s in counselling but I have to seek out other outlets for him. If I don’t have the mental energy to engage with him, I have to find someone who will. His best friend may have moved and no longer be available for regular play dates, but I’ll have to find friends that are.
Figuring out what I need to make it through the last busy months of this separation with at least a shred of sanity may be more of a challenge but I have to start somewhere. My MFRC will be getting a visit from me inthe morning where I will grudgingly shift from volunteer to client and ask for help.
I’ve never claimed to be super mummy and God knows I have been anything but in the last few months, however, after today I can honestly say I am surrounded by super mummies. The ones who will drop everything for a friend in need… even if she doesn’t know how to ask for help.
None of us can do this alone but even my fragile psyche can see the strength in community… now I just have to master the difficult skill of asking for help before I hit rock bottom.