Got Stress?

We all endure stress.  It's just part of life, from birth on.  Even just getting out of bed is stressful on some days.  Most of the time, I do okay with stress.  I consider myself to be pretty adaptable, and most of the time I roll with it.  But there's stress, and then there's STRESS.  And by stress, I mean my stress, Larry's stress, and Zane's stress.  It seems that my role of Mom means that I am stressed by everything that stresses my loved ones out, as well. I feel that I can never be "off", because someone is always depending on me to remember something, be somewhere, etc.  I can generally refrain from trying to fix everything for everyone, but that doesn't mean that I don't suffer their stress emotionally.  If they are upset, I am upset. So what we have here is a stinkin' pile of stress.  I'm not as spry with dodging obstacles like stressors as I used to be, so I'm starting to feel it.   Lately I'm having random panic attacks, with the shakiness, the sudden sense of impending doom, the butterflies in the stomach.  This is probably a sign that I've reached the end of whatever rope is out there, but I haven't been able to take a breather just yet.  These days, although I am probably catastrophizing(I'm pretty sure that is a word, and if it's not, let's just pretend, shall we?), I feel like I'm just one step away from a complete meltdown. 

This is exactly what I look like!  Except for my hair is not as neat. 

And by meltdown, I mean the kind that gets you a trip somewhere to "rest" for a couple of months.  It's probably not a good sign that the idea of a "rest" anywhere doesn't really seem all that bad.  Somewhere where it's quiet, where I don't get interrupted every 30 seconds, where I can concentrate on a task, where I don't get guilted for not paying attention to every single thing in the world.  A place where I am not expected to drop everything that I am doing to immediately gratify the needs of people who never bother to return the favor. A place where someone else does all the cleaning and cooking.  Where someone pampers me with massages and pedicures, and I can sleep late if I want.  Where the mountain comes to me, instead of my having to go to the mountain.   Where I can walk as far as I want to, without shouldering everyone else's burdens for a time.  Yes, I know--this place doesn't exist.  I need the fantasy for a little while.

This is what I want to look like when there's stress.

I would like to be able to close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and achieve a placid, balanced state. Like those people who practice meditation.  I am sure that it would be great for my health.  My blood pressure would be lower.  The butterflies in my stomach would just up and die.  I wouldn't be clenching my teeth all the time.  My eye would probably stop twitching.  The muscles in my neck would relax, and I might actually sleep well.  Unfortunately, I was never very good at the whole "let your thoughts go" thing. 

I do love my husband and son.  I love being a mom.  This isn't really about them--it's about me and recharging my currently depleted reserve of resiliency.  I don't want to stay at home because right now it's a big sorry mess. The piles just get away from me, and then I just stop trying.  If I thought it would help, I'd go do what my friend Jillsmo does, and go stay in a hotel for a couple of days, just to get back on a more even keel.  Or perhaps it would be better for my well-being to go hang out in a monastery or a convent, where everyone has taken a vow of silence. 

What do you guys do when you've reached the end?

Being The Weekend

By the time I gather my things together at the end of the day and pick up Larry, we are pretty exhausted from stress. Many days this year, in particular, I feel singularly beaten down. This discourages my attempts to adopt a more positive attitude in life, although I plan to keep trying. It also makes it more difficult to get up and go to work every day. Who would want to go to work feeling like they had a huge target on their back? By the time we arrive at the daycare, it is occasionally difficult just to get out of the car, we are so despondent. Thank God it's the weekend, Larry and I say to each other, but we are thinking of the same thing: the brilliant smile of our son.

But then I walk into that daycare and my son comes running to me, smiling, wanting to be picked up. And the stress begins to melt off my body like candle wax. His teacher shared with me yesterday that in the middle of a game, Zane stopped what he was doing. He had been participating in a game of musical chairs, was laughing, and seemed to be having fun, his teacher reported, but he stopped. Why stop?

Because he somehow knew that it was close to pickup time.

Because he wanted to sit where he could see the door.

Because he wanted to see his parents when they arrived.

Best. Stress. Relief. Ever.