It’s been a rough couple of days. I’ve been so darn negative. I’m already predisposed to negativity. Realism, as I call it. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t have one drop of optimism in my body. I really, truly, hate it.
There I go with the negativity again.
I really wish I could be the eternal optimist that so many of my friends are, but for whatever reason, it’s just not me. I guess it’s part of my genetic make up, but it seems that most of my family is pretty positive on the whole.
Anyway. It always starts the same. I somehow visualize or conceptualize the possibility that I may get sick at any given moment. Which is ridiculous, because as my husband points out every time I’m in the throes of panic, I think I’m getting sick every day of my life. And that’s impossible. And untrue! But it doesn’t change the fear factor. I don’t panic because I’m sick. I panic because of the “what if” component. After exhausting myself out of fear and chaos, I inevitably break down into tears. The tears are usually unrelated to the initial outburst, but the cycle is almost always the same.
I went to the crazy doc yesterday. Bad idea. Instead of making me feel better, and giving me tools to work my way out of this pit, she made me feel worse. I left her office feeling much less capable and optimistic than when I had gone in, and it ultimately snowballed into another episode last night.
I attribute a lot of my unhappiness to being a stay-at-home-mom. And I hate that. I want to stay home with my son. I love him to pieces. But my god, he is the root cause of so much anxiety and frustration. He’s in the dead center of the Terrible 2s, and I don’t imagine them getting any better at this point or in the near future, and it is an extremely trying time for me. Emotionally, physically, mentally. He throws toys, he dumps things over, he refuses to clean up. For a Type A personality such as myself, who thrives on tidiness, order and structure, this does not bode well. I try to redirect his attention to games, where I try to teach him counting, colors, or some other useful skill, and he inevitably ruins whatever game we’re playing. I have an unlimited capacity for yelling, which I find myself doing often, and I just know that I’m causing irreparable damage to my tiny, cute, loving toddler. I don’t want to be that mom.
I definitely need to focus my attention on something. Anything. I’ve had my eye out for job opportunities, even before I left on maternity leave over two years ago, and I’ve applied and interviewed for a handful of things, but nothing has taken. At least not yet. I don’t love the idea of working again, especially because if I do go back it’s either going to be full time professional, or part time retail, and neither of those sound particularly appealing, but there’s a big part of me that is telling me it’s the right time to go. After two years of staying at home, I think I need some solid adult interaction. Plus the extra money would be nice.
I haven’t been devoting as much time and energy to my running as I should be either. Obviously that’s a huge contributing factor to my stress and anxiety and ultimate negativity, because I’ve had very little release. It’s also been hard to be motivated because of the season. Wintertime is the time for lethargy, sweaters, sleeping and movies. Not for running. But as soon as winter is over, spring running season begins. I have every intention of running a half marathon this spring. I definitely need to start training now.
Staying positive is difficult for someone like me. Already predisposed to being a major Debbie Downer, and having a ridiculous (but very real) phobia, PLUS being stressed with having a toddler, is truly a recipe for disaster.
I have to get over this hump. Have to. It is completely ridiculous. It’s ruining my life, my husband’s life and my son’s life. Tomorrow is a new day. Hell, this afternoon is a new afternoon. I’m starting now. No more ridiculousness. The only time I am allowed to cry is if I hurt myself, if I see a sappy movie, when my best friend has her baby, or if I’m having my period. And I’m only allowed to cry for legitimate reasons. None of this made up “I’m scared I’m going to be sick” nonsense. Ridiculous.
God, I hope this works.
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