No, Fair Reader, your eyes are NOT deceiving you, I did change my layout! It wasn’t that the lovely and talented Admin’s design wasn’t awesome, it was just that I needed something that was widget ready.
Do let me know if you see something wonky and let me know which operating system you use, because I have a Mac, which should mean something to someone besides the guy on the Mac commercial.
Also, I added a feature called “threaded comments” which, means that I can now easily reply to your comments VIA EMAIL. So, rather than adding a pithy and no doubt insightful comment inside the comment box, I am now attempting to reply through email.
This means two things:
1) if you actually care to see what I have to say, check that you’ve left me a valid email address
b) don’t reply to the email directly because I think that it would go to email purgatory.
Back at the beginning of the summer, I went to see a shrink for exactly one visit before determining:
1) that I would never be the sort of person who would be comfortable sitting around discussing My Feelings without feeling like more of a narcissist than I already do (I blog, people. Come ON!)
b) My mental health benefit sucks balls.
But while I was there, I got to take this big fancy test, which thrilled me intensely, because I happen to adore taking tests. ESPECIALLY ones that have questions like, “I have flown across the ocean 45 times this week” because the answer is an obvious YES.
From this inventory, among other things, it was determined that I have incredible difficulties with Feelings. I don’t understand them. I don’t know how to express them. I don’t know what to do with them when I feel them. He suggested that I might need to go back and somehow relearn all about feelings.
Some of you are probably rolling your eyes right now because it sounds pretty far-fetched, but I think the dude and his 212 question inventory was probably on to something here.
While I have managed to escape my fucked up childhood relatively unscathed, I’m not sure that you can say to your husband, like I did on Sunday night conversationally, “Well, no matter what you do, I mean, don’t feel TOO bad, because you know, at least YOU didn’t cancel CHRISTMAS for me, heh-heh-heh. Sure, maybe you were late coming home this week, but you didn’t cancel Christmas.”
Did you catch that?
I made a joke about the time my mother canceled Christmas for me to make someone else feel better. Because it happened. She did. Everyone else had Christmas as usual. Except me. Other people got me stuff, just not her. I’d been “too bad that year.” And the kicker? If I brought it up, no one would remember it.
Now, that situation is a lot of things, but it’s not very funny. I don’t find it funny, I think it’s awful and it’s sad.
I do that a lot of the time when I shouldn’t: I discount the things that I’m going through. I’m sure there’s some jargon for it, but I’m not a psychologist and I wouldn’t know how to Google it if I could, so I won’t. So, here on Mommy Wants Vodka, we can call it the Other People Have No Legs Syndrome.
Or the Reverse Pain Olympics, if you prefer.
Because in the Pain Olympics, if you have a splinter in your finger, I have a stake though my arm and require immediate blood transfusions, sympathy cards, a parade in my honor and several crosses to get on.
But in the Other People Have No Legs Syndrome, rather than allowing yourself to feel badly for, oh I don’t know, maybe having a bad day just because you had a bad day, you’re stuck thinking “well, how can *I* be upset about being overtired when there are people in the world WITHOUT LEGS.”
So you don’t feel bad about your day, you move on. Eventually, though this builds up.
I’ve had a really hard year.
I don’t tend to blog about it anymore, because I’m kind of tired of how those kinds of posts bring out the leg-less, armless, fingerless masses. One might wonder how these people type, but, I’m fairly sure that even assholes can figure out how to make their point clear. Maybe they can type with their tongues, which must make them amazing at performing oral sex.
But somehow along the lines I’ve decided that’s how one is supposed to deal with these sorts of hard situations, you know, being a single parent during the week, having had a stressful childhood, day-to-day bad days: by just pretending that they just don’t exist.
As one of my wise commentors and friends pointed out, denial is a very powerful and often useful thing because it allows you to get through the hardest times without falling apart into a blubbering pile of goo.
But when that’s the only way that you can manage your problems, is by saying, “well, at least it’s not cancer!!” That takes away from the very real day to day problems that I do have and you know what?
That isn’t fair. So this is me, trying to give myself permission to have feelings and allow myself to feel them.
This isn’t an earth shattering revelation and probably to many it seems like it should be a “well, DUH” sort of moment, but even the very act of writing this down here, having to form coherent thoughts (shut UP) has really helped me. I feel like a weight that I didn’t know I’d been slogging around behind me has been lifted now.
And don’t worry, before all of you frantically claw your way to the “UNSUBSCRIBE” button, I don’t plan on turning this into a blog about my feelings. They’re still boring and trite and don’t make a whole lot of sense and while it may not seem this way, I do keep some amount of things to myself.
So this is me, Your Aunt Becky dipping a toe in the water here. I can’t ever picture myself as one of those people sculpting what “anger” looks like in clay form and I don’t think I’ll devote years of my life writing bad poetry about my sadness, but maybe I’ll learn something.
Maybe I won’t.
Progress, not perfection. Because if I were perfect, I totally have flown the around the world 45 times this week while curing cancer and baldness and world hunger.