Like standing on the shore watching the tsunami swell out at sea, fear and anxiety grip her and she is paralyzed. As if a scene from a horror movie played in slow motion, she watches the deadly wave rise and gain power as it edges closer. She begs her feet to move, wills her arms and legs to pump and get her away from the swell. She feels shame along with the growing fear. She feels like a failure, can't even run away right.
Day by day the sea rises and edges closer, finally towering above her. The sea looks hungry, anxious to slam down and pull her under.
As though the waters reach an invisible wall all around her, the wave breaks and rushes over her. She steadies herself and prays for life. She just wants freedom, she wants to be able to move. To do anything at all.
It rains down hard, washes over her, around and right through her. It pours under her, pulling the entire world out from her feet. She is sucked in and tossed hard, then just as suddenly dropped to the ground. Cold, hard, empty.
A few minutes pass and she cautiously looks around her. There is no shock and wonder, she's been waiting for the storm. The sea is calm, the waters receding. The land below her is steady. The world around her unchanged. And yet, she is changed.
She starts to move, relishing the regained ability to do so. She sees that the world did not end. She steps forward. And then she stops.
She is no longer frozen and feels the strength of the ocean surging through her veins. She is finally free of the fear and anxiety. But as she hesitantly steps forward, she understands that she does not know where to go. The paths are open, lying and waiting for her to move on. After so much time was lost, staring at the sea, waiting and wondering what would come, she is weary. Her soul is tired. She is free from the grip of fear but lost.
She's been disconnected from herself for so long. Spent hours agonizing over one small piece of the life puzzle. And now it is gone and she survived, as she always does. As she always will.
An emptiness fills the spaces of her mind that have been painfully overworked. And again... she's frozen. She is really free, she can chase her dreams again and live her life. She just needs to know where to start. And as she stands facing the roads that lead away from this dark place in her mind she begins to find guilt spilling into the empty places. Guilt, because she can't keep going, because she is still lost and unsure, another tide trying to pull her back into the sea.
Screaming voices in her head tell her to "Get off the beach! Just start going and things will fall into place." She knows the voices are her own... but she wants to retreat into the water. She feels the sand shift beneath her feet, she is sliding down again. Fighting her way up to the solid ground, desperately wishing she knew which way to go, she dives forward head first. The first step to freedom and happiness.
She accepts that she doesn't need to know where the road leads, she just jumps into one and starts running. Doors will open along the way and change her route. She is ready. She knows that sitting in the sand waiting for the darkness to pull her back down promises to keep all the doors closed. She wants more and she is going to find it.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Waiting For The Tide
Stress and frustration manifest themselves differently in her. Each day she wakes up, plants her feet on the floor and summons every ounce of energy she has left to push her way into the day. The days are often the same and life easily blurs into a mist of half-living. There is a strong difference between getting through the day and fully living life. She addresses and accepts her fears and tirelessly pushes her way through each of them. Some things are beyond her control. Those are the fears that feed her nightmares or leave her lying awake at night searching for a way to change it. Each day she takes a forceful step to break down another barrier within herself.
There is an unseen division between right and wrong. The haziness can make it hard to determine which side of it you are on. Fear is her response, initiated by trying to figure out where she stands. She may be fighting for the right reasons only to find that she is fighting for the wrong cause. The fight can not stop, that would be giving up and losing the right to a choice. So she fights. With all of her heart and soul she fights for life. She can never be sure if it is the right cause or not, she simply trusts her instincts to guide her. Sometimes she's wrong, but it is never a serious consequence for trying. Other times, she is right and the results are phenomenal. Those are the days she feels that she can conquer the world.
Those successes are the reserves in her soul that she draws upon when she feels weak.
When she feels stress or fear, it becomes a physical pain in an instant. Perhaps it is a subconscious reaction; if she feels ill she can not push the boundaries and, therefore, can not fail. A fight for what feels right can become an arduous task. There is no reprieve from the physical pain until the final result is achieved. Regardless of the steps taken, forward or back, the end is the only relief. Each hurdle that is jumped is momentarily celebrated and just as quickly replaced with fear and worry about the next step. It is her life, standing in the ocean waiting for the next wave to crash. Wondering if it will carry the current that finally sucks her under.
She wished once that she could be someone else. She prayed that she could deal with things the way others around her can. She wanted to be able to 'shake it off' as easily as closing a door or window would stop the wind. She knows that many of the worries that she carries are unsubstantiated, simply exaggerated versions of what is real to the rest of the world. Sometimes the worry results from things that simply should not matter.
Many times, she finds that focusing on someone elses worry could grant her a reprieve. She can push down her internal voices, block them out entirely, and pick up anothers burden. At some point, her own world will crash back down on her and remind her that she is not done. Her own life can not be avoided.
The fear and anxiety are the barriers that hold her back. The fear often brings nausea or headaches and almost always a sharp pain in her heart that sucks the air right out of her lungs. The only thing preventing her from an easy life is all within her own mind.
The fear is also what drives her forward. Obsessively searching for ways to control her life and her thoughts, no matter how much they race and tangle in her mind, she pushes forward. She hopes for peace one day, that one day the fight will be over.
As painful as it often feels, there is no end and she is aware. The burdens she carries are entirely her own. She knows that the fight to live, the fight to be free, can never be stopped. In order to be happy and comfortable, you have to chase your dreams. No matter how silly or small they seem to others. The fights she takes on are for her own peace of mind. As such, the line between right and wrong choices is essentially meaningless. She fights for the right reason, no matter the battle.
She will never stop believing in dreams.
There is an unseen division between right and wrong. The haziness can make it hard to determine which side of it you are on. Fear is her response, initiated by trying to figure out where she stands. She may be fighting for the right reasons only to find that she is fighting for the wrong cause. The fight can not stop, that would be giving up and losing the right to a choice. So she fights. With all of her heart and soul she fights for life. She can never be sure if it is the right cause or not, she simply trusts her instincts to guide her. Sometimes she's wrong, but it is never a serious consequence for trying. Other times, she is right and the results are phenomenal. Those are the days she feels that she can conquer the world.
Those successes are the reserves in her soul that she draws upon when she feels weak.
When she feels stress or fear, it becomes a physical pain in an instant. Perhaps it is a subconscious reaction; if she feels ill she can not push the boundaries and, therefore, can not fail. A fight for what feels right can become an arduous task. There is no reprieve from the physical pain until the final result is achieved. Regardless of the steps taken, forward or back, the end is the only relief. Each hurdle that is jumped is momentarily celebrated and just as quickly replaced with fear and worry about the next step. It is her life, standing in the ocean waiting for the next wave to crash. Wondering if it will carry the current that finally sucks her under.
She wished once that she could be someone else. She prayed that she could deal with things the way others around her can. She wanted to be able to 'shake it off' as easily as closing a door or window would stop the wind. She knows that many of the worries that she carries are unsubstantiated, simply exaggerated versions of what is real to the rest of the world. Sometimes the worry results from things that simply should not matter.
Many times, she finds that focusing on someone elses worry could grant her a reprieve. She can push down her internal voices, block them out entirely, and pick up anothers burden. At some point, her own world will crash back down on her and remind her that she is not done. Her own life can not be avoided.
The fear and anxiety are the barriers that hold her back. The fear often brings nausea or headaches and almost always a sharp pain in her heart that sucks the air right out of her lungs. The only thing preventing her from an easy life is all within her own mind.
The fear is also what drives her forward. Obsessively searching for ways to control her life and her thoughts, no matter how much they race and tangle in her mind, she pushes forward. She hopes for peace one day, that one day the fight will be over.
As painful as it often feels, there is no end and she is aware. The burdens she carries are entirely her own. She knows that the fight to live, the fight to be free, can never be stopped. In order to be happy and comfortable, you have to chase your dreams. No matter how silly or small they seem to others. The fights she takes on are for her own peace of mind. As such, the line between right and wrong choices is essentially meaningless. She fights for the right reason, no matter the battle.
She will never stop believing in dreams.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Raising Readers
Last night as the Trucker was falling asleep, listening to a bedtime story of his own by way of the baby monitor, I was reminded of the joys of reading.
Both of my boys are avid readers. They have always been ahead of the pack in their reading skills. Last night, I saw the spark in the Angel Baby's eyes as we read Green Eggs And Ham together. This was the first time she really sat and looked at every page with me. She sat and listened to the story, pointing out things in the pictures as I read about them. She didn't try to turn the pages hastily, she didn't take the book out of my hands. She truly enjoyed the book.
I've been lost in books over the last few months and sometimes I forget that I need to read out loud with them more often. I have taken that time for granted in a way, as the boys have grown older and less interested in my story telling. I have had many nights recently that ended at 3 a.m. simply because I could NOT put that book down. I am loving every second of it.
I have noticed a difference in my writing as well, I know that reading is a vital tool in developing good writing habits. I find my mind wandering and my creativity growing. I also find my happiness growing and my stress levels decreasing. Sometimes escape from the real world is a solution to the problems we face. Sometimes I just worry too much about things I can not control, reading makes the rushing thoughts stop.
Macboy is stuck a little between books, he's not sure what type of books he wants to read. I've gotten him an E-reader now and taught him how to download books from the library. He loves this, but still has a hard time choosing what he'd like.
Little Art - not so little anymore - is reading a lot lately too. He's just about caught up to all the books that Macboy has read and he's four years younger. I think he'll be reading the same things as I am, very soon. They have a leveled reading program at the school for all kids enrolled. Art is currently half way through next year's books.
The frustrating part of this leveled reading stems from the teachers not wanting the children to read beyond their capacity. They do not want the kids to get too far ahead and thus, hold them back on a lower level for much longer than they really need. Practice is practice, yes. But if there is no challenge in it, don't we all lose interest? This afternoon, I will be meeting with his teacher to discuss it. I know that the school would like to see him have a few books unread from the reading program next year, so I'm going to propose we read books of our own choosing for a while.
I know that Art's comprehension is beyond a grade 2 level by quite a bit. I know that if he is held back on anything, he will resist. We have read together through relatively large novels in the past, whether taking turns reading or jumping ahead on our own. I think he is capable and willing, and definitely ready.
What is your favorite book to read with your child?
Have you ever tried a novel together?
Can you recommend some titles that might be of interest to 8-12 year olds?
Monday, February 13, 2012
I'm Not Ready Yet.
12:30 p.m.
I'm sitting on the chair watching the day unfold around me. There is so much going on at this moment but I do not feel like I am a part of any of it. The long list of things I need to do today is rolling around in my mind but I cannot push myself to even begin. It is like time is frozen somewhere, although I know it is not.
I'm sitting on the chair watching the day unfold around me. There is so much going on at this moment but I do not feel like I am a part of any of it. The long list of things I need to do today is rolling around in my mind but I cannot push myself to even begin. It is like time is frozen somewhere, although I know it is not.
Each second that passes brings a heavy wave of guilt. I know I should be doing....
something.
I can't put my thoughts in order. I can't slow the cycle of worry or fear that seems to keep welling up inside me. My heart is somewhere else. With my child. A big day for us, for him, as he discovers a new world that is just waiting to open up for him.
I'm filled with pride at the way he just steps forward into the adventure, much like the first day of kindergarten several years ago. He is nervous, but he doesn't let it show. Maybe he knows I'm feeling it for both of us. Maybe there is a small part of him that knows I will be a mess for both of us. Like he can just peek into my eyes and transfer the fear into me.
It seems like nothing in so many ways. Every child every where eventually has to move up in the world. Take on new territory and face the unknown of a new school. It's not something we can avoid. But this boy, my first born, clutches a piece of my soul unlike my other children. We are connected in such a different way.
I'm filled with pride at the way he just steps forward into the adventure, much like the first day of kindergarten several years ago. He is nervous, but he doesn't let it show. Maybe he knows I'm feeling it for both of us. Maybe there is a small part of him that knows I will be a mess for both of us. Like he can just peek into my eyes and transfer the fear into me.
It seems like nothing in so many ways. Every child every where eventually has to move up in the world. Take on new territory and face the unknown of a new school. It's not something we can avoid. But this boy, my first born, clutches a piece of my soul unlike my other children. We are connected in such a different way.
Every year, a child moves on. Every day, a child grows up. Every single minute, another mother somewhere is facing this feeling of dread. That this one step into a new school, out of the world of elementary, is stealing a part of the child they are living to protect and guide. This is a giant step towards independence. Every day is a step towards letting our children go.
I'm proud of him.
I'm thrilled at the way he can keep pushing himself forward.
I wish that I could do the same. But I'm can't. I am stuck. I am consumed with worry and fear and hope. The phone rings suddenly, temporarily breaking the cycle in my mind. My heart stops, my breath freezes in my throat and I force myself to the display on the telephone. "Please, don't be the school" I pray feverishly. I press myself forward and look, feelings of relief washing over me when it's someone else,
anyone else.
Everything has always seemed so hard for this boy. Like he was born to always have the short end of the stick. There are always roadblocks, or at the very least speed-bumps in the the course of his life so far. I envy the way he just keeps going. I wish that I could close my mind and just move forward. If there is a defective toy in our house, it was his Christmas gift. His batteries die first. If someone is going to get hurt during something fun or exciting, it's going to be him and it's going to be bad. He's cautious and careful, but not consumed by fear. Somehow, no matter what goes wrong, he just keeps going. And it's always hard to watch.
Today, I can't be there. Today, I desperately want to be there. In the shadows of that big school, watching over him. Protecting him from anyone who might not understand. He's facing a whole new world full of people who don't know him, don't know his temperament or needs. They don't know he has Tourettes, or anything else. In their eyes, he's just another kid. And I'm obsessively thinking over all of the worst case scenarios.
Logic tells me he'll be fine. As I just wrote, he always keeps pushing. He always keeps going. I know that he'll be fine. But I'm terrified for him. I'm frozen in time, yet every second slowly pounds by. Someone did the dishes. Someone washed the floor. Someone played with Angel Baby after she had breakfast. But I'm quite sure it wasn't me. My body is barely in a functional place. I'm unable to do anything more than I have to. I just need to make it until 3... then I can breathe and life can resume.
3:00 p.m.
I arrive at the school with my loving trucker who was home early from work on the most appropriate day. We are early, so we sit in the truck a little longer and play with the Angel Baby. She is only a little confused to be picking up Macboy at 'the big school' but is happy to wait with us.
I brace myself and step out of the truck. I remind myself as I walk to the doors that having no phone calls means that nothing major went wrong. I have tears creeping into the corners of my eyes. So much concern for the reaction waiting inside for me. What if he hated it? What if it was horrible and long and boring and he regrets asking to go? What if he's upset, or crying already? How could I calm him? Maybe I should have waited before handing in our paperwork!
I am nearing the office where I'm supposed to meet him. Feeling like a child in so many ways, I try to shake off the worry that just doesn't matter. In seconds I will know the results of the day. I wipe my face, pull my head up high and paste the biggest smile I can on my face. Stepping around the corner, I can see my boy inside, facing away from me.
He's leaning on a railing, facing the teacher. His shoulders are slumped and he's already got his coat and backpack ready. He hears me coming and turns to me. I can't read the expression on his face as he greets me. "Cool. You're here. Let's go."
My heart drops. He's in a rush to leave. This can't be good.
As he walks to the door of the office, he starts telling me about baking cookies in Foods. I asked if he saved any for me and he says "Actually, YES." To which the teacher replies "Hey! I asked if you saved any and you said no!" Macboy starts grinning and walks back in. This is when the breath returns to my lungs and my heart starts beating at a normal pace. He's laughing and joking with the teacher, he's smiling wider than I've seen in a while and Much Bigger than I've seen on a MONDAY in ages!
9:00 p.m.
We've had some great discussions about the day. I've told him how proud I am that he just walked through a day that could have been very scary for some kids. He admits he was nervous at first and some parts were hard, but he is in love with this school. I am so happy that he's had this opportunity.
I'm slightly frustrated at my lack of ... well, anything... all day. But I knew my heart was in the right place. I can't be angry with myself for worrying, even if it was more than most people might do. I'm just not ready for this boy to grow up. We are connected. I know he feels my pains, my stresses and my joys. I feel all of his too, very intensely. So maybe, I just helped him carry the nervousness through the day. Maybe he knew he wasn't alone and maybe that makes it worth it.
Everything has always seemed so hard for this boy. Like he was born to always have the short end of the stick. There are always roadblocks, or at the very least speed-bumps in the the course of his life so far. I envy the way he just keeps going. I wish that I could close my mind and just move forward. If there is a defective toy in our house, it was his Christmas gift. His batteries die first. If someone is going to get hurt during something fun or exciting, it's going to be him and it's going to be bad. He's cautious and careful, but not consumed by fear. Somehow, no matter what goes wrong, he just keeps going. And it's always hard to watch.
Today, I can't be there. Today, I desperately want to be there. In the shadows of that big school, watching over him. Protecting him from anyone who might not understand. He's facing a whole new world full of people who don't know him, don't know his temperament or needs. They don't know he has Tourettes, or anything else. In their eyes, he's just another kid. And I'm obsessively thinking over all of the worst case scenarios.
Logic tells me he'll be fine. As I just wrote, he always keeps pushing. He always keeps going. I know that he'll be fine. But I'm terrified for him. I'm frozen in time, yet every second slowly pounds by. Someone did the dishes. Someone washed the floor. Someone played with Angel Baby after she had breakfast. But I'm quite sure it wasn't me. My body is barely in a functional place. I'm unable to do anything more than I have to. I just need to make it until 3... then I can breathe and life can resume.
3:00 p.m.
I arrive at the school with my loving trucker who was home early from work on the most appropriate day. We are early, so we sit in the truck a little longer and play with the Angel Baby. She is only a little confused to be picking up Macboy at 'the big school' but is happy to wait with us.
I brace myself and step out of the truck. I remind myself as I walk to the doors that having no phone calls means that nothing major went wrong. I have tears creeping into the corners of my eyes. So much concern for the reaction waiting inside for me. What if he hated it? What if it was horrible and long and boring and he regrets asking to go? What if he's upset, or crying already? How could I calm him? Maybe I should have waited before handing in our paperwork!
I am nearing the office where I'm supposed to meet him. Feeling like a child in so many ways, I try to shake off the worry that just doesn't matter. In seconds I will know the results of the day. I wipe my face, pull my head up high and paste the biggest smile I can on my face. Stepping around the corner, I can see my boy inside, facing away from me.
He's leaning on a railing, facing the teacher. His shoulders are slumped and he's already got his coat and backpack ready. He hears me coming and turns to me. I can't read the expression on his face as he greets me. "Cool. You're here. Let's go."
My heart drops. He's in a rush to leave. This can't be good.
As he walks to the door of the office, he starts telling me about baking cookies in Foods. I asked if he saved any for me and he says "Actually, YES." To which the teacher replies "Hey! I asked if you saved any and you said no!" Macboy starts grinning and walks back in. This is when the breath returns to my lungs and my heart starts beating at a normal pace. He's laughing and joking with the teacher, he's smiling wider than I've seen in a while and Much Bigger than I've seen on a MONDAY in ages!
9:00 p.m.
We've had some great discussions about the day. I've told him how proud I am that he just walked through a day that could have been very scary for some kids. He admits he was nervous at first and some parts were hard, but he is in love with this school. I am so happy that he's had this opportunity.
I'm slightly frustrated at my lack of ... well, anything... all day. But I knew my heart was in the right place. I can't be angry with myself for worrying, even if it was more than most people might do. I'm just not ready for this boy to grow up. We are connected. I know he feels my pains, my stresses and my joys. I feel all of his too, very intensely. So maybe, I just helped him carry the nervousness through the day. Maybe he knew he wasn't alone and maybe that makes it worth it.
Seeing him so happy made every second of my anguish worth it.
I will never stop worrying about any of my kids.
That's just my job.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Drowning In Paper!
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| The Never-Ending Inbox |
I've finally got my office set out the way that I want it and have started flushing the whole house for loose papers. It's amazing the number of places I can stash stuff. Catching up to my filing feels good though and I'm really happy to know where to look when I need something. I do find it easier having some things online, but I still need copies of some items too. Our school system has an online delivery system for newsletters and other papers, which reduces my paper intake quite a lot. The only item I tend to actually print is the monthly events calendars, so I can match it up easily to my other calendars.
Macboy will make the transition to Junior High next year and with him being such an exceptional kind of kid it has been fairly stressful already. Researching and contacting schools, meetings with teachers, taking notes, making notes, reviewing notes, notes, notes, notes!! I think that we've finally gotten things relatively settled now and good plans in place.
Then I start reviewing the registration process. While a portion is done online, there are so many papers that I have to look over and submit manually too. I'M NOT READY!! But, I have to be, so I guess I will set aside time this evening to review it all and get started.
I'm excited for him, this is a great opportunity. He's chosen a very different school for next year. The changes frighten me and our history with him worries me. But I see a spark of interest and I will fan that sucker whatever way I can. Being a child who grew up hating school, I will do what I can to encourage him if he finds an interest to chase. I didn't find anything special at school until the end of grade 10, if I hadn't stumbled in to that I'm sure I would not have graduated. And certainly never would have made it to any sort of college.
Wish us luck!!
We've been having an exceptionally warm winter so far and my family has been taking advantage of it when we can. Getting out sledding with the kids was so worth the effort of getting ready. We spent a full afternoon in our own back yard building a hill from the snow off the deck. Now that it's been so warm, our hill is slick with ice and the boys are loving it. Today was the kind of day that made for a nice walk in the sun to the school. Angel Baby didn't want to get in the van, so I just finally agreed. I really enjoyed the walk, and even more I enjoyed that no one complained about it!
I've been reading a ton lately and working on my writing skills. My dreams are feeling closer as I travel through stages of writing. I've read that "a real writer writes because they need to, not because they want to be published." I'm not sure I agree completely, but it does make sense. I write all the time, journals and stories and random observations. I won't stop if I never publish anything, but I do dream of seeing my name on the cover of a book one day.
Who knows, it might just end up being something I get printed in just one copy, for myself or my kids. A collection of "mom stories" and nothing more. The passion is to write. The dream is to be published. I suppose it stems from that part of my mind that constantly seeks approval. Being published means that someone agrees that I CAN write. Writing, by itself, just proves that I have way to many things in my mind. Hahaha...
I'd get farther if I could get better at turning off the internal editor that wants the perfect paragraph before I start the next one, and just get the ideas flowing OUT. I run into myself and get in my own way often and run right out of motivation sometimes. I'm still such a paper kind of girl. Knowing that if I write on paper, I will still eventually need to type it out can get a bit frustrating sometimes.
And of course...
it just means more paper work to deal with later.
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