Good Grief

Someone, please tell me I'm not alone here...

Have you ever just been sick of yourself?

"I just don't know what to do with myself. I don't just know what to do with myself.."

That obnoxious song isn't really fitting to my situation except those two lines, but those two lines, nonetheless, are stuck in my head this evening as I try to stay awake, yet again, day 10, while the kids wind down for bed.

Good grief.

Really, though.

Have you ever been there?

I don't get there often, I really don't.  As of late (like the past year or half a year at least), I've been much better about regulating my emotions, and keeping thoughts captive to God's truth, or at least being able to seek out advice or guidance when I'm in a spot where my mind is all mucky.

I don't know if it's the onslaught of influenza 2017, or if it's a spiritual attack, or if it's exhaustion, or if it's just a mental mess, but lately... I'm sick of myself.  The last couple days to a week have been rough.  I've felt like I was emotionally unstable. I can't tell sometimes if I'm overthinking things, or imagining things, or if I'm nuts, or if I'm just tired, or if it's true that I'm whiny or irritating or a big baby or a lackluster mom or an unhelpful employee and on and on and on.  And then I mull on it, and then I overthink it, and then I worry about it, and then I wonder about it, and then I wonder if I should reach out and talk it out with someone, and then I worry that talking to someone would just be irritating and drive them nuts and make them think the things about me I mentioned above.

It makes me sick of myself,

Now, in rational moments, I would say it's an attack of my spirit and my faith, and then I feel like I can handle it and know that I'm good, because God wouldn't make me that way.

But then, sometimes, in the exhaustion, I feel paralyzed and unsure what to rebuke or how to counter attack, and sometimes I just don't plain think to even pray about it.

I hate when I get like this.

Thankfully, it's not all that often.

I am worn out. I will admit that. Physically, emotionally, and mentally apparently.  But I don't believe I'm spiritually worn out. I think that everything else is just getting the best of me and I'm not sure where to start in this battle.

I write this not for pity or to worry anyone.  I write this because I feel like maybe writing will help, as it often does.

And I write, because I wonder...

I'm not alone in this, right?  Someone else feels this way sometimes, too?

Losing Sleep Over

Today, something hit me. It wasn't a bird, or a ball, or a hand, or a bus.

It was a simple realization, but it had the effect of any of the aforementioned on my emotions.

You see, I'm sleep deprived. I have been for years, really, but the past couple have been even harder because I've been pretty much doing it alone, and my darling, sunshine and roses little intelligent princess sleeps like a newborn, even though she's over two years old now. Top it off with her latest sinus and ear infections waking her every half hour or so for the last five or more nights... 

It's exhausting. I've tried pretty much every thing I can think of to bring an end to this torture (constant sleep deprivation feels like torture), but so far nothing has consistently worked.

So, while I was mustering all my energy to stay awake today, I got to thinking about how my kids have, for countless nights now, hindered my REM sleep.

And in the spiral of thought that proceeded, I got to thinking about how their dad has left me to do all the parenting all alone all of the nights (unless  the children are having a sleepover elsewhere which occurs every 50 days or so (I really don't count)), and therefore, they cause me to lose sleep.

And I wondered if they ever cause him to lose sleep... Does he ever toss and turn and regret his choices? Does he miss them? Etc.

Then I was thinking about how I get anxious thinking about my kids being overnight away from me and not seeing them for a couple days. And he hasn't seen them in 11 months. 

And then... The metaphorical bat hit me when I realized that I have given them more consistency in their lives than the boys probably ever remember and that Norah has ever known.

I have, without his help. I found and afforded an apartment for us, and we have now lived here 10 months. And I have been at the same job day after day where the kids attend daycare day after day for 18 months. Norah is only 26 months old and before this home and this job her life especially was just chaos.

It blew me away knowing that despite all the exhaustion, I have provided something so important for them. I guess that's worth losing sleep over.

(But don't let this realization that it's worth it fool you... I would still love a full night's sleep (or many) more than most anything in this world.)