Yankee Drawl

Posted By jayna on January 26, 2011

I’ve been sitting here, staring at a blank screen, erasing sentence after sentence for the last hour. The snow is falling, shutting down the city  and our power has flickered out once or twice. I didn’t even flinch the last time it did because what I had managed to write was so disjointed and jumbled that it was atrocious.

This isn’t some average writer’s block.

I’m not a writer. There should be no block for those who can’t actually call themselves a writer.

Self absorbed over-sharer block is more like it.

I’m tired of complaining here over and over again. I tell myself there will be no more whining about lack of sleep, or terrible behavior. But then I find myself awake six times in one night, and our day becomes one giant battle of wills and screaming. And, I want to complain, but I’ve said it all before. I jump up and down and shout from the rooftops that we’re moving – hallelujah – we’re moving. But then, the call doesn’t come and I have to tell our realtor that we can’t make that offer yet and I worry that we never will. I think to myself that I shouldn’t let myself write about about all that, when we should be grateful that there is a job and a roof over our heads now. I find myself so annoyed by so many little things – the house that’s always dirty, the gas bill that keeps rising, the insurance company that won’t pay, the cats, the girls fighting, the cold and sunless days – and I struggle so hard to shove it all to the side. Sweep it under the rug and carry on, as I should, being thankful for all of the good things each day.

I should.

And, day after day, I do. I laugh when I should laugh, I smile when I should smile, and I keep it together. Until, one day – much like today – I wake up and can’t shake it. I’ve wiped one too many runny noses, I’ve called one too many time-outs. Breakfast, lunch and every snack in between are met with disdain and left uneaten. Things get broken and feelings get hurt. Somewhere along the way, the last straw will fall, leaving me feeling like nothing more than a shell of the wife and mother I’m supposed to be.

These days hurt.

The thing is, I know I’m not alone. I know I’ve never been alone. The frustrations and simple, everyday troubles are nothing new and mothers have been dealing with these days for as long as anyone could possibly remember. There are so many out there right now, in situations I couldn’t even begin to imagine, and they flourish. So many mothers in pain or greiving or struggling, and yet, keeping it together for the world to see. So, what gives me – the self absorbed, oversharing mother of two healthy little girls – the right to complain about how hard things are? How terrible it is that my three year old doesn’t listen to me, and my one year old doesn’t sleep? How we’re stuck in a gorgeous, overpriced rental house that costs an arm and a leg to heat?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Now if only I could keep reminding myself of that on a daily basis, and not just in the midst of a melancholy mental breakdown.

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