All the feels

I’m tired. Exhausted, really.

Everything feels hard. Waking up. Going to sleep. The stuff in between. All of it.

No one could have prepared me for the emotional labor that comes with a pandemic. I mean, where the hell is that chapter in the parenting books we all read to be the best prepared we can be?

Diaper rash? Check.

Discipline? Check.

Engaging their whole social emotional being? Check.

Parenting through a pandemic with children of various ages, stages and personalities? Nada.

I can’t seem to find the chapter about a pandemic and the crushing weight of emotional management that comes with parenting through a crisis like this.

The question I keep coming back to after 5 months is this: Will I ever feel rested again?

It sort of reminds me of those first few months after you have a baby and you’re bone tired. (If your precious baby slept through the night at 3 weeks or some shit, you can skip over this part and fuck right off.) You wake up tired, you go to bed tired and you are just trying to stay aware enough to keep them alive in between. That’s what this season reminds me of, except instead of audible cries that you try to discern, it’s like someone is screaming but no sound is coming out. No one knows the things, why they are angry or sad or frustrated, other than they miss their friends, school is a mess and they miss leaving the house. And the kicker? You feel like you’re screaming but no sound is coming out, either. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what you need in this moment or even if I have the reserves to give it to you.

All the live long day…

Worry about how the kids are doing. Are they sleeping too much? Not enough? Are they spending too much time on devices or in their bedrooms? Are they depressed? Happy enough? Are they faking it?

Guilt about needing space from them all, followed by relief when I do get space. How long until I can leave for a bit and catch my breath? Can I just lay here in the driver’s seat of my minivan and wait until they’re all asleep?

Frustration about school and tech. I’m now my 2^nd grader’s teacher assistant. It’s the right decision for our family as he is high risk for COVID-19 but I didn’t exactly sign up to be eagle eye Mary Poppins for 6-8 hours a day. Why does the tech have to be so difficult for all of us, teachers included?

Anger about people not taking this seriously. How freaking hard is it to stay 6 feet away from someone and wear a mask? Stop being selfish. No, your kids don’t NEED to play baseball this season and you don’t NEED to have 25 people over to your house to swim. You don’t. And you’re ruining it for all of us. I won’t even touch on those who are reality avoidant and think it’s all just a hoax.

Annoyed that I have to break my kids’ hearts over and over, a little bit at a time, each and every day. No, you can’t see your girlfriend. No, you can’t jump on his trampoline, even though it looks fun and the neighbors do it anyway. No, you can’t go shopping with friends.

But that’s just MY feelings.

The reality is that I have 3 developing children who are experiencing a myriad of feelings throughout the day and need me to be open, receptive and patient. What I lack in patience, I make up for in caffeine.

And the weight of managing my own emotions in this time as well as help them navigate their own, well it’s CRUSHING. I’d love nothing more than to stay in bed with a book and sleep 16 hours a day, but that’s not an option. I have a schedule to maintain, a routine to put into place, a calling as a parent to keep our life as normal as it can be under the circumstances. And so, I play the board games. I check the homework. I watch the “hilarious” YouTube video for the 12^th time. I try to keep all the balls in the air. I have a partner who shares most of this burden with me and is a great support for both me and our children, but for most of the week? I’m flying solo while he works to keep our family afloat.

And here’s where alllll the peoples will come marching in with their “You got this!” and “This too shall pass!” and “Someone has it worse than you, you know?” To which all I have to say is…kick rocks. Yes, I have this. Yes, it will pass. Of course, someone else has it worse than I do.

 But when did we decide that we can’t feel our feelings about the crappy stuff?

Who made the master class in feelings avoidance and convinced us we must be the court jester to keep everyone else upbeat and on task?

Where did we learn that we can’t talk about the hard stuff with others and perhaps, be vulnerable for the sake of truth?

I refuse to be the 50s housewife martyr who makes everything easy for everyone else for fear that they may see me cry or not have all the answers. I refuse to model for my children that we only acknowledge the “nice” feelings we feel in life. I’m going to have shit days and I will yell and cuss and leave a lot to be desired in my role as a wife and mother, no doubt. But I will get up tomorrow and try again. I will repair the relationships and I will name the feelings I’m feeling out loud for all to hear. My kids deserve that. They deserve to know that they can name their feelings, even the crappy ones, and no one is going to come right behind and tell them to get over it and buck up. Because I’m not raising kids, I’m raising adults. There will be jobs, relationships, etc that will tap into emotions yet explored and they need to know what those are, how to communicate them and to know they have a safe place to express them without judgement.

We need to feel ALL of our feelings. And when we name them, we give our kids permission to do so, too. When we deny ourselves the opportunity to feel the crappy stuff, I swear the great stuff doesn’t feel nearly as great.

So, today is shit. I own it. I am in the throes of shitdom and all the things with all the people and all the places is shit. But tomorrow? I’ll get up and do it all over again, taking the good with the bad and give everyone in my circle permission to do the same. And you? I’ll simply sit here and hold space for you as you feel them, those shitty feels. I won’t offer advice or empty platitudes. You can feel all of it. I am here and this is a safe place to do that. You’re not alone.