This week has been brutal.
Stressful, fun, angst-ridden, uplifting, tiring, and everything in between.
Even though I still feel somewhat out of my depth, I’m loving the thrill of doing something new and having people think I’m doing a good job. Even better I’m thoroughly enjoying having someone challenge me to be more than I was and trusting me to succeed.
Do you know how long it’s been since someone thought I was worth challenging?
A long, long time, that’s how long.
In the middle of all this inspiring stress I’ve been running around going to blogger events and staff parties. And then coming home to deal with a crabby somewhat out of sorts toddler who thought that it would be a hoot to wake up four times between midnight and 5am last night.
The sum total of all this is that I’m ecstatic and exhausted. And my body is failing me. I’m losing my voice, my stress induced gum infection has flared up, and I’ve been battling a migraine that comes and goes at will. To say that I’m a bit of a wreck is kind of an understatement. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. A truck with spikes on its wheels.
Tomorrow we’re heading to Tahoe for the weekend. I’m hoping for a long lazy afternoon lying on the couch with a nice thick novel. Instead I’ll probably be on the floor playing with the girls or out hiking around the lake. Assuming of course that I get through the to do list that was sorely neglected during all the running around and partying.
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“I’ve been reading your blog and I think you’re a touch depressed.” My mother informed me the other day. I brushed her off with a couple “I’m fines.” as I fought back tears.
I’m fine. Really. I just have a lot on my plate right now. A lot.
I mean. I just left my job and I’m starting a new career. I threw my family into financial straights for my own selfish reasons. My husband has been battling a series of back issues (and by back I mean his spine, not as in things from the past), that have been plaguing us (well him, and me by association) for a good 18 months now. I have two very young children, one who is deep into the independent seeking 3s and the other who is right dab in the middle of 14mo separation anxiety and very, very firmly attached to me. We have a brand new schedule to manage; preschool three mornings a week as opposed to just two mornings last year. We fired the cleaning service, so we’re all watching the house fall apart around us. And when I decided to take up jogging as an affordable way to get rid of my last 10 baby pounds I somehow did something to my knee that has made quite painful for me to run.
So, when my car died on Friday, leaving me stranded at home with two little girls and a very full work schedule, and I called my mother to vent, and she told me that she thought I was depressed I don’t think I was overreacting when hearing that made me want to cry. Or was I?
Is depression just the inability to deal with stress without wanting to go hide under the bed? Isn’t is normal for me to be stressed? Don’t I have a couple excuses? I mean, at least I’m sleeping these days, I guess things could be worse. So I need to exercise. Whatever. I’m going to get new running shoes, which should make it possible for me to run again without hobbling for a few days. And I’m eventually going to figure out how to balance marketing myself/working/taking care of the house/and taking care of the kids. I figure I’ll have that sorted out sometime before they leave for college. And after that it won’t matter so much anyway. Right? M will get better, it’s just a matter of time and yoga at this point. And we’ll sort out the car situation sooner or later. We have to, the dealer keeps calling to find out what we want to do.
I am convinced that I am no worse off than any other mom. We all have full plates. We all have a ton to juggle. I am not convinced that I am depressed. I don’t think that me being overwhelmed is a sign of depression. I think it’s just a sign of me being, well, overwhelmed. But a little tiny part of me can’t help but wonder, what if my mom is right? She often is. She might live on the other side of the world, but she knows me better than anyone. Is she on to something? Should I be able to grin and bear all of this? Am I in fact depressed? And how would I ever know? And is it OK that I want to go hide under the bed while I figure it out?