This is about to be a super real, raw, ugly, honest, extremely vulnerable experience for me. . .
Not that I attempt to hide the ugly truth, or lie in any way, but like most, I’ve customarily been delicate with how I’ve revealed certain aspects of my life in the past. Like any human in our social media society today, I’ve taken care to minimize the damage, accentuate the thrills, and saturate the entertainment value of my posts…
I’ve offered you all a slice of my life. A layer of the onion that is our marriage. Not manufactured, but presented at the optimal angle for acceptable selfies.
My usual writing routine, is to diagnose a difficult situation and then share that diagnosis and/or process with you all.
What I’m offering you tonight, at my darkest hour, in my most vulnerable position, after arguing with doctors/admin this morning, fighting with my husband this afternoon, followed by fighting with my infant all night, chased by two glasses of wine, and culminating with a conversation between me and my best friend….
(a state in which I should not be writing)
Is the most brutal, unedited, undiagnosed honesty I’ve ever offered the public. So, I hope you at least appreciate that.
In the past few weeks, mostly within the month of Feb, now being the 19th, I’ve found myself losing my firm, organized grip on my own human existence. Everything from my physical wellness (declining health due to chronic illness), to my emotional state (probably related), and psychological abilities have been running from low to empty.
The first real fight between my husband and I happened earlier this month, about two weeks ago. Nothing specific triggered it, just a building tension that he finally questioned me on, which popped a bubble of resentment that had been building for days/weeks, unbeknownst to him.
We scheduled a date-night asap and it seemed to be exactly the thing we needed to get back on track…
However, this week has seemed to push as many buttons as can be pushed in one week, for my husband as well as for me I suppose. He relays that he’s getting burdened at work as much as I’m getting burdened at home, drowning under the duties of being housekeeper, nanny, teacher, therapist, secretary, planner, cook, advisor, and on-call escort. All without having the privilege of being a woman.
Without having my attributes recognized, my talents and creativity, my knowledge and usefulness going unnoticed, unrecognized, unappreciated to say the least.
The exact details of independent disasters are too many to count, which cover the gamut between personal health, children’s health, and business endeavors, but the biggest, most present collapses this day are as dictated in a conversation had with a dear friend this night.
And that, unedited -at least on my part – personal conversation is what I offer to you now. . . .
It began with her sending me news of her latest blog. She felt the need to write, but lacks inspiration and so rushed out a few paragraphs of text and was feeling artistic guilt and self-criticism for not offering more…
At a place of utter, and absolute overwhelm, and a restless baby semi-attached at my breast, I attempted to console and advise her – which I probably shouldn’t have, because I currently lack the strength and the conversation quickly became my own cry for help:
” I tried reading your blog. my kid is having issues. my phone is on the fritz. I’m talking-to-text this now. I very much identified with the subject matter though, especially at this moment.
It’s bad enough breastfeeding my kid through a feeding tube, when he keeps ripping the tube out of his mouth 😧
…and every feeding takes 2 hours!”
” Aaaaand I just got samples back from the printer and my shirts are completely f#@%€&. Sooo… I’m gonna take a break from the world now.”
She replied with disorientation (regarding feeding tube situation), condolence, and sympathy.
*I sent a photo of my current state*
**photo below contains assisted natural feeding
(nursing my son in pain and complete overwhelm)
I later responded:
” I really, really need a break. A cleanse. A vacation. A change of scenery.
I am that “lazy-insecurity-for-fear-of-failure” poster child of which you wrote. And I did try this time. I tried my fullest. I aimed for perfection, and it shot me down. Hard. . . Hard.
I’m out of inspiration. I’m dried up, maybe for good. I’m very much at a low place of wallowing in self-pity. I think I’ll get a tricked out innertube and just float. One with a drink cozy and just get comfy here. Here in the dark, in the shadows, in the center of my inner critics bullseye. Where I can comfortably receive the shame and guilt and ridicule I am so accustom…”
She agreed that I needed a break and, like the great friend she truly is, and why I’ve kept her near and dear all these years, she immediately offered to come down (a 9hr drive) and care for me.
At which point, I honestly started to tear up a bit… Especially, because my husband was home (late) from work and I had finally found the words to ask him to care for me in my ailing condition, which went something like I described to her:
“I’m getting depressed again. I feel it coming. Too many things are falling apart at once. I’m having a ‘Devil’s Advocate’ experience with my husband. I’m Charlize Theron telling Keanu Reeves that I need him, that I’m lonely and losing it, and I need him to care for me, and he’s telling me how important his work is and considering his job first. . .
And THIS, this is adulting.
Now, he’s stressed out about the consideration of taking time off work and having me and baby to burden him. This is adulting. And I don’t want it. I want my youth and freedom back. I want independent travel and world experiencing and carefree carelessness.
I don’t want to be a burden. It is my biggest fear. My greatest motivator. My worst pride… And my inevitable consumption.”
I put down the phone and realize myself how dramatic I’m being. I chuckled softly a bit.
*By this point in the conversation, I had poured myself a glass of wine and decided to focus, solely, on that – abandoning the fact that I’ve gone off my Hashimoto’s thyroid replacement meds for almost a week now in some delusional attempt to regain control of own body/life*
She responded, from both her own current place of personal insecurity I imagine, as well as well-meaning distraction and encouragement, that my text was an example of good writing.
Still without mention of my act to self-medicate through replacement of chemical drugs, with raw, vegan, organic green diet, I added:
” Lol. *And then someone stage left yells ‘scene’. Then I pull myself together and it was just a scene.* And life imitating art. Wine! 🍷😛”
At which point it’s going on midnight, my husband is heading off to bed, and my friend reminds me (in the most loving, caring, and subtle way) that she is a busy, working, single-mom of two and is herself, responsibly on schedule to get a restful nights sleep in order to meet the demands of the last day of this work week.
I feel, somehow through text, that she feels guilty about leaving me in such a state of distress, but I honor and respect her choice for self-preservation, and bid her goodnight as I pour my second glass and slip off into my dark, quiet living room to begin this blog…
Thank you, to those of you who made it this far. I’m feeling extremely vulnerable and sharing this low point of life, love, and marriage has been difficult for me, but I intend to push “publish” as quickly as I can before changing my mind.
If you’ve found this at all, it means I stuck to my conviction come morning and let you all in.
And now that you’ve witnessed what a mess marriage can be, I hope you’ll stick with us and continue to read to see what happens next. . . .
In the meantime, please join us on Instagram if you have one:
kalani_rene and he’s jonchee808
THANKS FOR READING! ALOHA!