All is well, and all will be well
February 28, 2012Everything is fine but I am having a hard time convincing my mind of that--my mind, where things that don't exist seem to matter.
My thoughts keep circling around a few choice incidents: like how, last week, we lost Henry in the park for a few terrifying minutes, minutes that seem to stretch on and on in my memory, even though it wasn't that long and of course he was found, completely fine, if scared. But for those few minutes, we screamed into the woods, and there was no answer. That's where my memory is stuck.
And then it fast-forwards to a few days later, when I crossed a busy street against the light (stupid, I know, so stupid) and Henry was behind me, with Scott, only he bolted after me, and there were no cars even near him, but he wasn't looking and he followed and that's my freeze-frame, the innocent following, the trusting, damn it, all my fault.
The culmination occurred only a few minutes later, I think--maybe a half-hour?--when the encroaching stomach-sick that was threatening me all day, struck--on the subway. Where you really don't want something like that to happen. And I don't know whether it was the nausea that gave me a panic attack, or the panic attack that's been almost overtaking me for days kicked the nausea into high gear, but either way, I had to get off the train. I was in a blind panic and I told Scott, I have to get off the train now, and we were nowhere near home, and then I was on the platform, retching (unproductively, painfully) behind a garbage can, and I had no feeling in my arms and I was bathed in cold sweat and between retches I informed Scott that he had to get an ambulance because there was no way. There was no way I could get home. I was going to die there. On the G platform. The G! The very worst train!
At any rate, Scott (fortunately) did not panic, and no one called an ambulance (although a very nice passerby did offer to help, which was so kind--I would keep my distance from a lady retching on the subway platform, personally) and Henry patted me on the back, and the crisis subsided, and we actually got back on the train, where I shivered and sweated and felt generally pathetic.
That was my Sunday. Yesterday I was sick, curled up on the couch all day. Today I am better. I had a burger that was off, or a flu, is all. But I feel like an open wound, and my mind keeps going back, to the park, staring into the woods, or to the street, Henry following me, to the mistakes I keep making--or that moment in the subway--I don't know. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Only that I feel alone with my thoughts and they won't let up and I am exhausted. I wish I could give myself a break but I am still not fully convinced that I deserve it.
Reader Comments (88)
This post struck a chord with me. Thank you for sharing your world so honestly. You capture so well the weight that we carry as mothers- it's powerful, all-consuming. And we're all meandering beings, (most of us) just doing the best we can, and yet at the same time thinking, wait! I can do better! I thought about not posting because there are 50 other similar comments on here. But then I thought, there's solidarity in numbers, and solidarity in shared experience. Thanks for that, and to all the other 50 commenters.
For what it's worth, I think you're ab fab and would give you a crisp dollar bill if I saw you in person. You deserve a break, a dollar bill and possibly a high-five or fist bump or other hand motion denoting a job well done. Every day is a challenge, and you're still standing. Counts as a win in my book.
Oh, well gosh. I am right there with you. First of all, I still wake up in a cold sweat over the time we lost our son at a large outdoor festival, and it was 10+ years ago and he's fine. He was right behind me, carrying two lemonades so he couldn't hold my hand. We only took about 8 steps from the lemonade stand to where my husband was waiting with our daughter in the stroller, but when I turned around, he was gone. Just gone. Just disappeared. That weird thing happened like in the movies where I couldn't hear anything but a murmur/roar in my ears and I was spinning around and all I saw was a solid wall of hundreds of people who weren't my son. We yelled and yelled, no answer. My husband started walking in an expanding spiral from where I was standing with the stroller. And then our son came walking up what felt like an hour but was probably only 90 seconds later, crying and scared but otherwise okay. And then I stapled him to my chest for the next 10 years.
He turns 16 next month, and so NOW I'm at that point where I'm telling myself, "Wow, I was terrible at that mom thing. Would it have killed me to take him to the zoo a few more times? Or put him in an art class or something?" Nevermind that he hates the zoo AND art, clearly I did not enrich him enough when he was younger and now it's too late, he'll be off to college in two years and I suck.
So yeah.
These things happen to every one. You are brave and strong, to keep on. It's one of those things we say we have to do - as mothers - but in fact we don't HAVE TO. Some choose not to. Every single time you choose again to be brave and strong, to carry on, in the face of WHATEVER, you are showing your son authentic vulnerability. These things happen. You are a good person. You are a good mother. You are doing your best, TODAY.
We all all all have stories like that. Don't beat yourself up. This is the world we live in and it's far from perfect.
I am a first-year teacher and it's bad enough when something scary happens to a student. I can't imagine if it were my own kid. It makes me worry that maybe I shouldn't have them.
Glad you're getting the help you need. I'm calling my therapist to set up an appt. myself. I haven't been since well before school started and...it's past time.
The most useful bit of advice I ever received was 'tell the f*** crazy b***h to shut up.'. As in, the internal voice that just goes around and around, panicking, always on the same track. I learned to shut her out and off. I don't travel those same-old same-old roads in my mind any more, and I am a new person. So simple! Yet life-changing.
I have those same thoughts. Tell that inner critic to shut the hell up! Your inner critic is not you, don't let it rule. You Alice, are wonderful.
There are so many things I value about this post, but maybe most of all is that you chose to write in response to your anxiety. I haven't figured out how to do that yet, even when I desperately want to do so. I hope that for you, this entry and the responses it's elicited have been a bit of a balm for your shaky soul. I, of course, like so many, have similar stories—a toddler who stepped out in the street when I wasn't looking, a five minute frantic search for a lost 7-year old—and when I dwell in the what ifs, I feel like I will never claw my way back to the light of normal living.
But your title immediately made me think of this song by Gabe Dixon. Apt lyrics for the topic at hand, and ones that give me hope: http://youtu.be/NXrnlzRL--Y
All will be well
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself
All will be well
You can ask me how but only time will tell
Peace to you Alice.
when my daughter was about 3, I pulled into a parking space next to an empty space. Before I could get around the back of the car, she had unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door and was getting ready to climb out. INTO THE PATH OF A FAST MOVING CAR pulling into the empty space. I SCREAMED, which made my daughter stop moving, and made the car stop moving. All turned out fine, but ... shitesnacks. And, still, 17 years later, that moment still makes me wake up in the middle of the night, panting and scared. So... I know how you feel, and I want someone to tell me when that fear will go away.
I'm just so sorry. You're such a bright woman.
I dropped my son on our icy driveway three years ago when he was four months old. Three years ago. I don't think about it every day now, or every week, but the moments that I do are just awful. I am instantly transported back to that agonizing awful two seconds - easily the longest two seconds of my entire life - between the time his head hit the pavement and when he started screaming and I cannot breath. I am so sorry you are stuck in this terrible loop. I have been there and it is debilitating. I so hope things start to feel better again soon.
Oh, Alice. Anxiety is a bitch. It's a horrible feeling to know your brain is being irrational and yet feeling powerless to stop it. What non-worriers don't understand is that "our" brains irrationally think the worry is somehow preventing bad from happening...as in...if I stop worrying or "what-if-ing" then something bad will happen, as if it's some sort of shield. And anxiety does nothing for our self-esteem. We are good, though, intentions and otherwise...we ARE good. Hugs to you and thank you for sharing.
Anxiety gives me the shits. That's something you can't do on the subway. Well, actually...
Anyway, I hope you're pulling out of this spiral. You're a great mom, even if your stomach doesn't know it.
Theres a song I listen to when my anxiety gets bigger than me:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0e10baH6cE&feature=youtube_gdata_player
"I'm so worried about everything that can go wrong
I'm so worried about whether people like this song
I'm so worried about this very next verse, it isn't the best that I've got
And I'm so worried about whether I should go on, or whether I should just stop"
Oh Alice, I have six children and I'm forever losing them.
It's all right.
Thanks for sharing. I've struggled with anxiety before and it's the worst feeling, the reliving horrible moments, the what-ifs, the things your mind can cause your body to feel. I wish you peace from those thoughts in your head that are bothering you and I hope you find what works for you to quiet those voices because you in no way deserve to feel like that. Please take care of yourself!
Dear Alice,
I'm there alongside Henry, patting you on the back. Hugs, affection.
After my own Henry was born, my girlfriend (who has two kids of her own) told me that after we become mothers, we wear our nerves on the outside of our skin, where they are always being rubbed raw by fear. The farther I get into this journey, the more I realize how right she was. I think this is a totally familiar feeling to every mama out there.
It's amazing how much I have had those feelings. Where you think you were not diligent enough or blameworthy. And it's amazing how those feelings can manifest themselves into physical ailments. I've had those horrible anxiety panic moments and it feels like you need to just fall on the floor and hold on tight. All will be well again. It was for me. Take care of yourself.
It happens. Every day it happens. And mostly very mostly - kiddos are okay. I know that doesn't help with the anxiety it brings up.
I've had anxiety in my life so bad that I didn't leave the house. A special name: agoraphobia. Fear of the open marketplace. Which could mean something else economically. But for me, it was the fear of not only the open, but what I'd do in the open, to expose myself...to what? I don't know. Ridicule, embarrassment...it's usually never as bad as the fear of the thing itself.
But fear of grief. That's a tough one. As if I play the horrible scene over and over in my mind, punishing myself without control, it will act as a talisman against real tragedy.
Of course, it doesn't work that way. But knowing this intellectually doesn't help the panic. It's hell. Panic and anxiety can be one of the worst hells on earth.
" I wish I could give myself a break but I am still not fully convinced that I deserve it."
You do. And we all give you permission.
I'm sure these comments have helped you see that you are not alone in your feelings of anxiety. Millions of us have been there, or are there right now. I have spent years studying meditation and mindfulness to deal with anxiety/insomnia. Can I tell you how I would try to handle these feelings (recognizing that this is often difficult when the fear is breathing down your neck)?
Do not fight the feelings of anxiety. Accept them, open to them, and recognize that they have something to teach you. Try to let go of the story line (ex: the specific situation with Henry and what could have happened) and instead just feel the energy of your anxiety. How does it feel in your body? How does your breath feel? Fully explore the physical sensation and allow yourself to just ride it out. No feeling lasts forever, so it will subside. Every time the "story" comes back, try to let it go. Do all of this with tenderness and understanding for yourself. Treat yourself as you would a friend. Say to yourself, "I'm sorry you are ashamed. I'm sorry you feel undeserving of forgiveness. I know this is hard."
Eventually you will learn to recognize these feelings of anxiety as a sort of old friend, one that you might not enjoy visiting with, but that you understand and know won't kill you. And once you stop being afraid of the feelings, they won't have so much power over you. I hope you don't mind my unsolicited advice. I give it in the spirit of genuinely wanting to help.
Sending you calming thoughts and a motherly hug. We have all been there and it sucks and you know our words don't make the pain and anxiety go away...but know that we are right beside you hoping for peace of mind.
I came here to tell you that I saw you yesterday--walking your dog in my neighborhood and got so excited! I didn't say hi so as not to appear stalkerish, but it has always been my secret non-creepy dream to run into you one day since I know we live in the same hood. Anyway, I'm so sorry to hear all this. From all that I've read you are an amazing mother with a really special relationship with Henry. It seems that no matter what there are going to be these earth shattering, heart stopping moments that have nothing to do with how "together" all your stuff is. You deserve a break, and a minute to process all of this. It's not easy and you're not alone!
I don't have much to say except I'm sorry you're feeling lousy, physically and emotionally. This is me all winter, and I'm getting to where I know that and tell myself to ride it out, but it's not easy in the midst. I'm not myself and I feel for my kids. I will find them a good therapist someday, this is my promise.