The first deadly sin of blogging

Forgive me blog, for I have sinned.

One of MY 10 blogging commandments is to not hold back when I’m blue. Thou shall not be silent. This has to do with staying connected with the outside world, but also accountable. By accountable I mean less to others than to myself. This public journal should somehow magically protect me from wallowing in self-pity, from angst, from fear.


But I’m back. And it’s only temporary. I have been seriously depressed twice at the time of major events in my life, namely the untimely passing away of my father and the death of each of my not so great marriages.

This is NOT that. This is what I need to recognize and perhaps prepare better for as a time of adjustment.  When my son leaves for the summer, I go through a few weeks of anxiety about the fact that he will be gone for a long time. Any divorced parent can probably identify if they have a long summer visitation with in their agreement, and my son’s absence will not only involve a month in France with his father, but 5 weeks prior to that he is doing the Kansas City Ballet’s summer intensive.

We did this last year. I went through the same separation pangs. I had weird dreams for weeks, about losing my son in a casino or having my dog run away.

I thought I was TOTALLY on top of it this year as I listened to the other parents at the intensive orientation, as they worried about whether something might happen to their children. I know and trust that my son is in a safe place, having all sorts of independent, skill, knowledge and strength-building experiences. He’s great.

But back at the ranch it’s not going so well. I’m kind of deflated. The last few days since dropping him off I’ve been in a really funky place. The kind of place that makes me wonder what I am besides a mom and teacher? What makes me tick? What gives me pleasure in life?

It doesn’t help that my month supply of prednisone has left me feeling puffy, bloated and tired from the sleepless nights. Fat. Yes, I feel fat. My only vacation was not relaxing, probably because I went with my mother (more on that another time).

What to do? One of my main pleasures is baking and cooking. It’s in the 90’s and the oven is not going to get turned on for a while. Besides, how can I make 12 Monday Muffins without my little (big) guy to eat them for me and give me feedback?

But tonight I decided to forgive myself. I wanted to run, but I really didn’t. I dreaded the hill. I pardoned myself for once and LET myself do some walking. I ignored the pacer when it told me I was at 15 minute miles. (Note that I know how fast I was going, however!) I ended up running more than I thought I might.

Every year and for many years after that I am going to have to go through this adjustment, from motherhood to moi. It’s like junior high, or menopause. It’s going to happen, it’s going to be rough, and I need to just ride the waves and forgive myself for every low moment along the way.

I’m off to say three Hail Mary’s. Not quite, I’m really just putting my foot in a bucket of ice water and I may have a glass of white wine with my Morrocan chicken. I promise that the next blog will be more optimistic, but for now, it’s just the circle of life.


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