I’ve really overdone it the last couple of days.  My sink breaking caused the dishes the back up more than usual, so I’ve been playing catch up.  Between that and Mount Washmore, carting the boy to and fro, helping with homework, trying to keep up on my own homework, and just the general stuff of life, I simply crash.  Not at the end of the day, mind you, but at 5 p.m. when I get home.  My naps are rarely less than two hours long, so I’m out of pocket during a fairly crucial time.  (What time isn’t crucial when you have a young family?)  Dinner gets pushed back, making bedtime way off.  This isn’t good for someone striving to be consistent with routines.

Routines.  I hate them.  But I need them.  And I hate that I need them.  I’ve never been consistent with anything in my life.  I’m impulsive and easily distracted, yet I have little endurance.  Even with meds.  If it were just me, I probably wouldn’t try so hard to change this.  But  with my son being so young and having special needs, though not severe, routines make life more predictable for him and give him some sense of control.

I would love to be able to push a button automatically be the person I want to be without going through the torture of routine.  What would be on my list?  I’d be tidier and more organized.  I’d take the time to read instead of vegging out in front of the TV. I’d get together with my friends. Be better at marriage and motherhood.  I’d actually do what’s on my list instead of making another list.

I would remember where I am instead of where I was.  I would tell myself I’m doing fine.  I’m doing what I can.  I’m where God has placed me.  Where He wants me right now.  Seeking Him.  Like the promise of Matthew 6:33:  “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” Letting Him direct my days instead of feeling mired down my my to-dos and unrealistic expectations.  If I’m to aim my consistency at something, that would be it.  All the rest will follow.




I have always been too hard on myself.  Like many women of today, I bought into the you-can-have-it-all lie.  I believed I could have it all even if it wasn’t all at once.  Some days it’s all I can do to get out of bed.  Self care is hard for me at times.  It may be because of the illness, I don’t know.  I think I just need to lower my expectations.  I’ve decided instead of referring to self care as “the bare minimum”, I will call it “the least I can do for myself.”  It may not be much different, but it sounds better somehow.  More positive.  And that’s what I think I need.


Just Blue

It’s one of those days. I can’t leave the house. This happens periodically. It’s not that I’m scared to leave or fearful of what’s “out there.” I can’t really explain it. It’s nearly paralyzing, and it makes me angry at myself.

I’ve been trying to give myself a break. Lower my ridiculously high expectations. But now I fear I’ve fallen back in to a depression. I feel ridiculous. I want to just snap myself out of it. Maybe someone will slap me across the face and then I’ll be me again. Any volunteers?