Month: August 2014

Back to School: The ADHD Parent

Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds: Back to School: The 70s vs. Today, A Lot has Changed:

http://widelawns.blogspot.com/2014/08/back-to-school-70s-vs-today-lot-has.html?m=1

This blog had me giggling to myself. It was predictable, but pleasantly so. I decided to add to it. I want to give my ADHD back to school response. Anyone who is “Shiny”, as we call it in the ADHD community, knows what an absurdly trying task getting our little ones off to school in this day of age is.

1. Two weeks before school starts, realize the fast approaching date, but refuse to think about it. Make sure that anytime your children bring it up, silence them immediately. Tell them you have plenty of time, and to not worry about it.

2. Tell yourself, and your children you will begin adjusting to the school year schedule by early bedtimes and more structure. Then decide to stay up late with them watching Frozen again, because it’s still summer and you can go to bed early tomorrow night.

3. About a week before school starts, pick up the packets. Whine and cry about it to everyone.

4. Decide you need to sort everything in your house this week to get ready. Do all the laundry, but leave it in a heap on the couch. Make sure to walk carefully around all piles of paperwork that are “almost done” being sorted. And keep the toy room door closed so the kids don’t accidentally mix your sorted piles in with the not sorted piles. Don’t actually finish any of these started tasks. Instead, decide to organize your nail polishes or clean out your email inbox.

5. The day before school starts, realize you haven’t purchased any supplies. Try to remember what you bought on clearance last year, and where you put it. Realize you have no idea, and head to the store. Once at the store, remember you have ADHD and you cannot do hardcore, specific, shopping with small children there and leave the store.

6. Tell the kids that bedtime is at 8. Then pace around the house (but never actually do anything) until 8:05, then realize you can’t remember the last time your kids had a bath. Start baths, and finally at about 9:15, get them in bed.

7. Talk to your significant other for at leat an hour about how much you dislike back to school, how unprepared you are, and tell him you need to go to the store still. Start to grab your purse, then, talk to your significant other for another hour about how next year you’re going to plan better and not be so overwhelmed.

8. Finally go to the store. Look through the very specific, very long, list of needs. Make sure to only do one kid at a time. So that you have to revisit each aisle at least 3-10 times.

9. Now, feeling relieved, head to the check out. Then remember you have no food for lunches. Grab a loaf of the closest bread, a package of cheap bologna, a bag of apples, and the cheapest juice boxes you can find. Now you can leave.

10. Unload all the newly purchased items and sit on the floor with a bag and a sharpie.

11. Make a pile for each kid. Then open every item and write their name on them. (On the items you don’t know if they are supposed to be labeled, because you lost that sheet that tells you, just put initials…so they’re easier to skribble out). Make sure to be quiet now, because it’s 3am and everyone’s sleeping. But Shhhing the cat is fine. Because she keeps knocking over everthing and trying to play with the bags and trash.

12. At 4 am, feel accomplished. Crack open a beer. Then, remember you never washed the new clothes or underpants the kids want to wear in the morning. Start a load and sit on social media (probably your ADHD support group, since theyre all still up too) and wait. At 5am, put the clothes in the dryer and head to bed.

13. Wake up late, frantically yell at the kids, and manage to get all of them and their bags in the car. Start your commute, and breathe. Then notice your 7 year old didn’t brush her hair. And when your 9 year old smiles, ask her if she brushed her teeth. She didn’t. Look for a tissue and realize there are none. Take a piece of paper and crumple it up. Hand it to her and tell her to scrap her teeth. Then spray her mouth with Listerine spray and tell her you don’t care if it’s gross, maybe next time she’ll brush before she leaves.

12. Get to the school 3 min before it starts. Rush in, and wait as each kid uses the potty before you head to the class. Then make sure to very loudly bang into the door on your way into the classroom, and interrupt the teacher’s welcome speech. Try to sneak a pic of your child at their desk, but only receive a “hurry up” look.

13. Drive home, set an alarm for the afternoon, cry a little out of shear exhaustion, and pass out.

The Death of a Beth

I have spent the last few years doing a lot of “soul searching” and trying to figure out who Beth is. It’s exhausting. We all do it. Whenever there is any huge event or life change, our first instinct is to figure out how and why we got there. Are we being true to ourselves? When did we change? How would you define yourself simply? I believe this is how we accept the metamorphosis within during a life changing event. And of course, it’s usually a painful, hard process that sticks out in our mind for the rest of our lives.

We refer to occurrences in pre or post event form. As if to better explain what we’re talking about. My life trauma was my divorce. Not the actual divorce, but the result from it. I often say things like, “Well, before the divorce I liked to…” or “Before the divorce I would…” As if to say, “That unharmed, whole, unstoppable Beth would….” Giving the obvious implication while saying these things, that I have been changed by this to the core of who I am. That was a different person than the one you see today.

So why did this effect me so strongly that I became different person? You can ask anyone that knows me personally, I move on past hurt and struggle quickly and positively. I do not dwell or fret on much for long. I am a pretty resilient person. Car accident? Stressful, but it happens. Loss of job? Heartbreaking, but I’ll find another one. Death of a loved one? I’ll need some time for my grief, but I’ll get through. I just don’t let things bring me to devastation. Life goes on. There is always those who have less or who are going through more. Just little speed bumps I have to slow life down for. My journey hasn’t stopped.

Then, I became that fictitious person I would compare my struggles to. That woman that had it so much worse than me. That person that had more than they could handle. That mother who couldn’t give to her kids what they deserved. I became them. Someone I had spent years feeling pity for. Someone who I felt, I could use as a worst case scenario, as a reminder to myself how great I had it. I was slammed out of my world of joy and dreams, and slammed into survival, bitterness, resentment, loneliness, and despair.

My days were filled with panic and fear. I spent so much time feeling jealous of pre-divorce Beth. How spoiled she was. Not that everything was great, she just took so much for granted. I would see these pictures on facebook, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” “Every journey starts with a single step” and the list goes on and on. I would lie to myself. That these were true. That my struggle and pain was not in vain. But deep down, I knew they were bullshit. There was no hope to ever get that Beth back. She is dead. She was killed by the divorce. She would never be back, and this new Beth could not handle or cope with any of the things the old Beth could. So I had to start from scratch on who exactly I was/am. Throwing out any and all preconceived notions about myself. I had to quit expecting things from myself that weren’t within my capabilities. And at the same time, I had to learn what I was actually capable of.

I would say one of the biggest changes in myself would be caution. I now know I have limits. Everything I have could be taken from me in an instant. I have no attachment to material things. The choices I make in life are now followed with constant stomach pain and anxiety sitting on my chest like a weight. Now, I am not naive to how horrible things can get. My constant optimistic outlook has been replaced with a realist view, with a touch of pessimism to keep me prepared for the worst. In a perpetual state of alert, scared to let your guard down for a moment. Cautious to the extent of distrusting or fearful at times.

The other change I find quite predominant would be compassion. While I’ve always showed care and love to those who are hurting, my sympathy has turned to deep empathy that is almost painful. I have been brought to tears simply by seeing the despair in someone’s eyes. To know how lost and broken that person is, and to feel helplessness in releaving their misery.

I also have an anger towards those who are delusional about life. Those who live in the land of fairy tails and rainbows. You know, those who feel that their life is so great because they do it the right way, with no gratitude that they have not yet encountered a life changing…..no…..a self changing occurrence. Hearing condescending advice and their “simple” solutions makes my blood boil. They don’t want to listen to how you got to where you are, or try to understand your hardship or pain. They have all the answers, and honestly, must believe you are a idiot. Their insulting “Why don’t you just….” very rarely is a possible solution. But if you try to explain why it won’t work, the assumption is that you are not seeking a solution. Their audacity pushes you to the edge. You realize, their intent is to not help. Nor is it to understand. It’s purely self righteous, verbal masturbation. So you calmly agree, walk away, and let them finish. So they can pat themselves on the back, and congratulate themselves on not being such an ignorant, unwise person.

It Actually is About Race.

I do not get the paper. I do not have TV. I would say the majority of my news comes from social media. Mostly Facebook. So, after a week of having my new phone, I decided to go through the tedious process of trying to remember, then forgetting, then resetting, my passwords. FB, was taken care of immediately, of course, so the last week has been a “if it’s not on Facebook, I probably didn’t know.” situation. Judge if you must. My life is busy.

So, last night, I keep seeing these statues my a friend of mine. All race related. At first, my response (in my head) was, “quit bringing race into it. That’s why racism still exists. Because people keep perpetuating it by villainizing or victimizing themselves or others.” ….we’ve all said or thought some form of this at some point.

See, I was raised around all sorts. Different colors, cultures, family styles, religions, etc. To ME it never seemed an issue. Color was just a description. He’s black, I’m skinny, they’re young…it was just to give a visual. Connotation with any certain race was only for comedic reasons. (Stereotypes are fun for comedy. Easy material. Haha) You make the skinny blonde girl ditzy and vapid, I will laugh. Not be offended. It’s funny.

Then I read: “It’s not a black problem, it’s a people problem.” Translated “Your feelings of oppression are invalid if they don’t include white people.”

Pause…process…oppression? In 2014? Seems a bit melodramatic. Do blacks really feel oppressed? I’ve never oppressed or would I ever stand for it if I was exposed to it. Hm.

“Consider, that a white felon has almost a 10% better chance at gaining employment then a similarly qualified black person with no criminal history whatsoever. ”

Then, like a train, it hit me. I am ostrich. My head in the sand. It’s the every day that has been wearing on an entire culture. Going to the store. Getting gas. Taking a walk. All the “nothings” that make up our day. How would that feel to be on edge every time you walked into a new place? To feel the eyes watching, or to feel like you did something wrong purely just by existing. I have been judged wrongly and had ppl make assumptions about me. Does it happen DAILY? Has it been a constant repetitive occurrence though out my entire life? No! I am a skinny white girl from Michigan. The closest situation I could relate it to myself was living in Oklahoma. Being called a “damn yankee” or being told to “go back to the north where I belong.” And even that was mildly fixed by just not speaking, adding some “y’alls”, learning to 2-step, and making sure my clothes were never fancier than jeans and a shirt. How would it have felt if I COULDN’T fake it? You can’t take your skin off. You just are as you were born.

So, I finally decide to log into twitter. (After many failed attempts, I figure out which email and password). And it is flooded with tweets and retweets of some city. I see tear gas. I see military dressed officers. I see crowds of blacks with their hands raised. What the Fuck is going on??? And why is this the first I’ve heard of this?? It made me sick to my stomach. I couldnt pull myself away. Tweet after tweet of this town being terrorized by these officers. An boy was shot. This was a peaceful town. These people were unarmed and peaceful. Why is this being treated like a warzone???

How the hell is this going on in the United States? Wake up everyone. See this. Understand how completely horrible, yet possible this is. How do you feel, knowing we live in a place where this happens?? You’re not racist? Then why are you turning a blind eye? Pretend it’s not there. Carry on with your day. That’s what we’re taught to do. You want to know why you can turn away? Because there is not a stigma attached to the color of your skin. My little sister is 9. She is black. My heart breaks with this realization that I was so oblivious to this. I REFUSE to let her grow up in a country that does not see how incredibly amazing she is. I will not stand for her being passed up for a job, or immediately distrusted. Why is she burdened with having to work twice as hard, to even be considered equal? We will take this head on. Because she deserves the same chances I was given. I have no idea how one would even begin to take on changing an entire societies view on a specific group. But I believe that realizing, admitting, and having some compassion and understanding is a step toward it.

I Would be Such a Kickass Rich Person

As someone with very predominant ADHD, I have gone through many different levels of support, embarrassment, motivation, and discouragement. Much self assessment on the “why” of who I am has lead me to learn, it doesn’t fricking matter. While I sit and rationalize what it could all mean, and where this (gift?) could take me, the rest of the world carries on without me.

That being said, my favorite explanation for ADHD is that humans are evolving and it’s actually a superpower. At first, I felt this was a total bullshit answer, because superpowers are helpful, and I can’t imagine a world where everyone is distracted, forgetful, and never finishes what they start. Sounds more like a disability to me.

Then I was sitting one night, twisting wire into a car. (I like to make wire art) and I was thinking about this book I started writing. I should finish that….and that screenplay….I worked so hard on the character development and story line….but never finished it. And I should make some videos on YouTube again. That was fun. And I wonder if I made up a syllabus if I could find a school to let me have an improv clinic. Oh! I bet I could teach wire art! I wonder if I need to be certified to do that. I should take a drawing class. I want to draw that conflicted lady I started and didn’t finish. I wonder if I could find someone to be in a band with me. I have my bass, and I would love to perform again….

The one thing I noticed was, while I have a million ideas and visions, I am disorganized and lack time and money. I need a personal assistant. Then I started thinking about what life would be like if I had someone to snap me back to reality. To stay with me and keep me moving from task to task until completed. Do you know how fricking unstoppable I would be?? Seriously. I am 100% confident I could not only finish these things, I could excel and dominant them.

I AM a superhero! I just don’t have a sidekick. Or an Alfred is more like it. So I just went all Elsa on this shit and let it go! Sounds corny, but I totally get that movie. And I cried a bit during that song. Feeling trapped by something, and never having the freedom to let all of it out DOES make you feel as if it’s a curse. I need to be where I can let myself shine. Because I guarantee I can amaze the world.

Unfortunately, I’m poor and a mom. Hahaha. So I am on hold until further notice. Unless someone out there wants to make me nutty rich or volunteer to be my personal assistant. Then, I’ll get right on that. Until then, I’m going to let these ideas and passions rumble around in my brain, and hopefully a few can escape now and then 😉

How to Treat a Wound. Mother Style.

What happens when you accidentally stab yourself with a screwdriver in the finger? For most ppl, it would be, put pressure on it, gently clean, treat an antibiotic ointment and a band aid.

But when you’re a mom, it’s not nearly as simple. First, you track blood in from one room to another, looking for the roll of paper towel. You know it’s somewhere, but can’t remember which room had the most recent spill. Then you find it with the barbies. One is sitting on top, while another is sleeping cozy under a “double quilted” bedspread. You very rudely wake Barbie up from her slumber to stop the bleeding. Now the bleeding is contained and you can carry on to the next task. The bandaid.

At this point the kids notice and keep asking what happened. Now, the pain is pretty extreme. So out of fear of only profanity escaping your mouth, you mumble out a very eloquent “mmffnnppff” Your significant other now arrives, “Are you OK??” He asks. And you blurt out, “NO I’M NOT!” The guilt of yelling at your love hits you briefly, but then becomes overcome by the pain. So he backs off and leaves you to your chaos. Mental note, apologize for that later.

Keeping calm, you hold your now wrapped finger above your head. And start the search for bandaid. In a house with three children, this task is more impossible than finding the holy grail or the fountain of youth. On your quest, you notice that hairbrush you was looking for, about 14 hair ties, your daughters sandle that was lost, the cat’s toy mouse, and every other lost thing you’ve been looking for. You mental note where those things are, and carry on with your search, knowing that mental note will most likely be erased in the near future.

As a last resort, you just pull everything from the back of the cupboard forward. Forgetting you sliced your finger, you go to grab some random objects, and start the bleeding process over again. You contemplate releasing your hulk self, and ripping out the entire cupboard, but contain yourself. Then. Victory. There it is. A 1/2 opened red crayon bandaid, stuck to the bottom of the shelf. You snatch it up, and do a one handed open. As you try to fasten it it the tip of your finger, it catches on itself, leaving one side unsticky and bunched. Refusing defeat, you just pull the other side even tighter over the crinkled side. You did it! Sweet satisfaction in your victorious adventure is interrupted the moment you realize you forgot the antibiotic ointment. You look at the frazzled looking red crayon, sloppily wrapped around your finger and wonder if you can stick the tip of the ointment in without disturbing your attempt at attaching this lone bandaid. Throwing caution to the wind, you say eff it!  And breathe.

This all happens in about 1 1/2 mins.

*you can also substitute a duct taped/scotch taped paper towel bandaid if your attempt for finding a bandaid is in vain.

Zombies, Desert Island, or Meteorite. They’re all the Same.

The other day, my 9 year old asked me why adults like end of the world movies. I don’t remember what brought this up, but she pointed out how a lot of shows and movies grown ups watch are about surviving the end of the world. So I started thinking of shows, movies, books, etc., that I enjoy watching. The Walking Dead, A Friend for the End of the World, The Book of Eli….the list goes on.

So I told her, “Well, when you lose everything, and the world as you know it disappears, you are brought back to your human nature. When there is no standard of style, pressure of socially acceptable conversation, or motivation to move ‘up’ to one job or another, our real selves come out. Are we a leader? A follower? Would you harm others? Or protect? Watching these shows open our imaginations to what we would do if it happened to us.”

Then, my fiancé and I had a conversation while listening to Ween. We were talking about Super Ego, Ego, and Id. The internal balance we all maintain. Through our entire lives we question this internal struggle. It’s the whole nature versus nurture debate. Ryan compared it to the cartoons with the devil on one shoulder, and the angel on the other.

With this vision of walking around with good and evil riding on my shoulders, I realized how our civilization views Id and the Super Ego. We have painted our natural instinct into a little devil, as if to suggest we must fight it or else we become evil. We learn and teach self control over our impulses to be able to function with others. In our society, we do go against a lot of our base instincts. Our ego is what separates us from animals. Having reason keeps us balanced. Yet, humans are self preserving. When the direct threat of harm or death is gone, we strive for something more. We protect the weak. We set up rules for life. Laws, consequences, and etiquette form on small and large levels. With our basic needs met, we spend our time micro-managing and obsessing about insignificant details. We start leaning toward the Super Ego, vilifying the Id portion of our psyche.

Now, my A.D.D. took over at this point, and I started to think about offensive things. Not actual things that are offensive, but the concept of being offended. How silly is it to take offense to anything? The Id part of us wouldn’t give it a thought. I imagine a caveman. Leaving to hunt, and his wife comes out crying because the cave woman next door “ughed” at her meanly. Hahaha.

Which brings me to pride (hope your enjoying this jolt filled ride through Beth’s mind). I do believe pride is instinctual. Even animals are competitive and assert themselves as the dominant male, or the most sought after female. So when someone gets their pride broken, they feel anger, embarrassment, frustration, and jealousy. If someone belittles something you have pride in, you feel a sense of violation. Having someone violate or insult your pride is a lot more of a base, instinctual feeling. Being offended, to me, is surface deep. A penguin will not get offended another waddling by collecting stones a different way, but will fight and defend is own and see his stones as a personal reflection on who he is as a penguin (if he could reason that thought out. Haha)

There are so many things I believe we have developed to fulfil our overly suppressed Id side. Being offended was created by us. Our nature needs to feel pride and motivation. We have set ourselves up in such a way, we are stagnant and live monotonous lives. So we create insignificant problems. We find things that offend us, that really have no matter in the grand scheme of who we are. Our efforts are focused on things that are shallow or materialistic. We find socially acceptable ways to be impulsive with our wants or feelings. We believe that catering to our Super Ego is somehow superior to our base level Id. The problem is, when you swing too far to either side of the spectrum, the other part will come out in in other ways. Because like it or not, they are both part of us.

To come full circle, that’s why we enjoy reading Lord of the Flies, or watch Lost. We want to imagine a life without bullshit. Where nothing offends, but we fight for our pride and survival. A world where the angel and devil on our shoulders are redefining right a wrong based on self preservation, not socially acceptable expectations. We get to see ourselves in the rawest form that way. Would be thrive in a survivalist world? Or cling to the idea order and being civilized? How would superiority be shown? In our current world, the successful are, most the time, obvious to the rest of us. Properly dressed, perfect manners, and have a presence that demands respect. So what would be the cue for us to know our alphas? We know deep down we came from uncivilized to overly civilized. To imagine our lives redefined and being able to escape this world of rules and expectations to one of survival, let’s us experience the Id portion of ourselves. It’s fun 🙂

I Should Get an A for Effort

Do you remember in school that combination of nervousness and excitement of conferences? Maybe not the later years, but in elementary school, it’s exciting to see your mom and dad proud of you, yet nerve racking that maybe you weren’t nearly as great as you thought. Well, for my non parent friends, I would like you to know that it’s the same feeling when your kids have conferences. I am not sure of how they are now versus 20 years ago, but my experiences is full of anxiety. Don’t get me wrong, I know that my kids are amazing, so I most likely will get to hear about how wonderful they are, but I know any negatives will most definitely be my fault. 

My oldest daughter, Audrey, is a very smart, funny, shy, contemplative child. Full of curiosity and a great comprehension of anything taught, I know that she is doing well academically. So I sit and listen to the teacher rave about her. How well she does on tests, how advanced she is in subjects, and how great it is to have her in her class. Then the pause….BUT….  I knew it was coming. One issue I needed to resolve was tardiness. Yuck. I knew this would be brought up. Why is she always late? You are the mother, and it IS your responsibility to get your children to the school on time. She does so much better when she’s here early. etc. I, of course, heard all these things and became very emotional about the subject because all I heard while she said these things was, “You’re failing motherhood! You’re not doing your job! Your child is lacking because you’re so flipping incompetent!” This teacher did not say these things, but definitely perceived her criticism as a personal attack on my ability as a mother. 

I tried to explain myself, but within a couple min of talking, I realized I sounded like the biggest excuse maker in the world. A “the dog ate my homework” excuse would have been better received than my reasons. After we addressed other issues, I left and proceeded to sit in my car having myself a good ugly cry. After thoroughly wiping the fluids from every hole in my face with some left over McDonald’s napkins, I went on my way.

Why the heck did this affect me so strongly? I’m sure there are parents in there that have to hear about what a little shit Tommy is, or how far behind academically Sally is. My child is doing awesome. I should be leaving with a sense of pride and happiness. Not snot and Alice Cooper eye makeup. 

The reason is because this is a subject I kind of feel helpless on. When people ask why we  late,are I always want to reply the same way. Which reason would you like? The time that Genevieve decided she had to poop before we left? Or maybe the time I leaned over and spilled my coffee all over the kitchen floor. Or we could go with the time that the girls decided to use one of there shoes to tie up a fort they made, so I had to spend 10 min untying knots. Or our most common occurrence, bus #12. Yes. There is actually one bus that has made us late numerous occasions. If, in the last 3 min of our drive to school we get behind this particular bus, it takes us an additional 5-10 min. And these are just normal days. I won’t even begin to give examples of what the winter months in Michigan hold for my family. Which reason is your favorite? 

Today, like a super mom, I managed to have everyone ready to go out the door EARLY. Then it happened. That moment the universe realizes it was not paying nearly enough attention, and forgot to throw some crap your way. My 4 year old was upset because she wanted to wear a very wrinkly blue and white dress. With black pants under. And she no longer liked her sparkly shoes. They were “too sparkly”. In the mean time, my 7 and 9 year old were “getting in the car”, which really means, we’re going to run around outside and hopefully find some puddles to jump in. And while we’re at it, maybe we can find a way to get a bit of dirt on various places of our body. So, I told my very upset 4 year old that the blue dress is beautiful, and pants are a great idea, and I understand that sparkly shoes were so “last week” but she’s stuck with them. And no you can’t have candy with your breakfast. Finally, which feels like an eternity, I load all the kids in the car. Ok. We wont be early, but we can still make it on time. Until about 10 min into our 35 min drive. “Oh no! I forgot my swim stuff!” My brain quickly reasons out the proper response. I really want to say, “Well, that’s unfortunate for you. I guess when you said you were ready and had everything for school, you didn’t really check. Guess you won’t be swimming today.” Then I realize that it would most definitely result in a talk with me about how I’m the parent, and thus, responsible to make sure my child has what she needs for school. I weigh out which scolding I would prefer, that, or the “late again?” one. I turn around and head back to the house to retrieve the forgotten bag. Following 2 buses, and having to wait for traffic to be guided around an accident were just the frosting on “C’mon!” cake we had this morning. My kids were 20 min late. 

So dear friends, when I say I’m sorry for being late, I am sincere. When I don’t feel the need to explain, making myself seem indifferent, I am not. Just know, that the reason for my “whatever” approach to our tardiness isn’t because I don’t care about punctuality, it’s because the reasons are usually so absurd, and happen so often, I just have to let it go. 

Our Purpose is to be an Irritation

Sometimes I feel as if humans are just an infection in this universe. I was going to say cancer, but I really don’t feel we have that big of an impact. Just imagine, this vast, huge, seemingly endless, universe….we are what? A fingernail? Maybe humans are just an ingrown nail. Sore, bothersome, inflamed, but not terminal. Eventually we will be removed and the finger will heal. And we have the audacity to believe we are somehow special or purposeful. Do we realize how small our time existing is? A lifetime to us is merely a minor irritation to the universe. Cancer doesn’t know its bad. Infections don’t contemplate the harm they’re doing. Viruses don’t decide to choose to harm or help. THAT is the only difference. Yet, individually, our choices don’t matter. As a whole, humanity is self serving, and self preserving. And in the end we die. Believing our cause and purpose will have great impact. When, in fact, we randomly came to be, and consumed, used, and destroyed all around us.

Just a thought.

I’ve Been Missing the Trees, Looking at the Forest

I have this overwhelming disdain for shallow people. I find myself wanting break them to the point of reassessing their lives and maybe find a little depth. I often use sarcasm and overly condescending responses while having conversation. Not always, but a lot of the times. I guess I feel like I want to embarrass them. I want them to think before they spew their unimportant, usually trivial, thoughts to the rest of the world.

That being said, I can play the part of “surface level” thoughts and conversations. It’s actually a necessary talent to have in the adult world. When these occurrences happen, I am usually left with an odd combination of feelings. Part of me feels accomplished and successful, almost like nailing a part in a play. It is an act, so of course I feel like if I can get through the entire conversation without letting a snide remark out, I am the MASTER OF BULLSHITTING! The other part of me feels dirty and tainted. (I can’t believe I just talked about which kind of bushes would look the best in the front yard for 10 min…..OMG was that fake laugh at her turmoil and final resolution over an eggshell or white for the entryway full of obvious sarcasm??). I feel as if I’m going against who I am as a person, like I cheated myself. But like I said, it’s an act. 

So why am I like this? Where am I taking you on this ride through the mind of Bethy you ask?? Well, we all know I love flashbacks, so join me to my teenage years!

It was in the early 2000’s. I’m not sure of the exact age, but that’s irrelevant anyways. I was sitting at lunch with some of the popular girls. Now, I was by no means popular, but was far from being a social reject. My perception of myself in high school was, I was a piece of furniture. Not really liked or disliked. Just kind of there. (of course in my mind, I felt forced into this role. As an extrovert, it drove me crazy not being noticed in one way or another.) So it was not an odd thing to be sitting by these girls. Then it happened. Almost like an out-of-body experience. I heard myself say, “Oh, I just looooove Clinique’s mint eye shadow. I think I’ll pick some up when I go to buy a bottle of Happy.”  *cringe* What am I saying? I actually didn’t like Clinique. To me it was overpriced, and not even that outstanding of quality. Besides, I knew I had no way of ever actually buying it. I worked part time at a restaurant, and would much rather save my money for something I liked, not something I need someone to see me use to feel like it was worth it. I very gracefully excused myself, and never looked back.

At that moment I realized, I could have made the transition to “being someone” in the high school realm. I chose not to. At the time I was really into politics. It fascinated me to learn the interactions and workings of each party. And, having helped with habitat for humanity and the soup kitchen, I was really wanting to involve myself in more “give back” type programs. I also was exploring different music types. Finding out there was more that Brittany Spears and The Backstreet boys out there. It was ok to not like rap. Punk music had WAY more than the pop-punk radio songs had to offer. I would NOT be able to share this stuff with these girls. If I wanted to be shallow, I had to STAY shallow. Yeah…..I couldn’t do it. So I made a decision to live my life for the big picture, and not get worked up about the small stuff.

So here I am. An adult who has learned to loathe the casual, mindless conversation. And it hits me. I have completely set myself up for apathy. I know there is injustice. I know there are starving children. I have SEEN poverty. I know our government is corrupt and flawed. I see the possibilities in this world for complete and udder devastation with all these empty minded sheep. So the little stuff loses its point. My laundry is clean, but what’s the point of putting it away? There are more important things out there. I should organize my paperwork, but who cares? Everything is there, why waste my time?? There’s a whole world out there, and people trying to eat! People dying!

I believe we NEED to feel a certain amount of self thought and shallowness. Because our personal lives are OUR worlds. The big picture isn’t getting any better by my lack of care for the little things. In fact, I’m probably hurting the cause. How can I teach my daughter’s how to take care of others if I don’t emphasize the importance of self care? Our own little worlds DO matter, and while I still dislike the fake interactions that happen on a daily basis, it’s ok to lift the burden of the “big picture” every once in awhile. Our first responsibility is to ourselves and our family. So, I will work on looking at some of the trees, since I already know there is a forest there. And maybe learn how to navigate myself through it. 

Life, a Wave Pool, and Finding a Calm

One time, in my early teenage years, I went to a water park with my Aunt and her family. We were having fun in the wave pool, until I found myself drifting to the deep end. My mediocre swimming abilities became quite apparent very quickly. I could no longer reach the bottom, and the waves were so large, I couldn’t seem to keep my head above long enough to swim to the edge.

I remember thinking, “I’m going to drown. No one is helping me. Please someone. Turn off the waves. Someone please grab me.” Wave after wave, I could feel my body exhausting, and the fear increasing. At this point I was trying to time it so I could try to get a breathe of air between waves.

I hear yelling and think someone is yelling to help me. Then I see glimpses of the life guards. They aren’t trying to get someone to help me, they are yelling at me. I was in the area that made the waves, and they were yelling at me that I needed to get out of this area. They thought it was on purpose, and obviously, did not realize I was in crisis.

The waves started to calm, and I quickly swam to the side. I looked around for some sort of comfort or concern, and no one seemed to even notice this occurrence happened. Laughter, joy, happiness, and enjoyment were all around me. This place or terror to me, was a relaxing, enjoyable place for everyone else.

It was probably 2-3 min total. A very small amount of time. Yet I can remember every moment. I felt upset, embarrassed, angry, and tired. How could no one have noticed me? What if they did? What idiot almost drowns in a wave pool? Should I tell anyone? Play this off? I need to lay down. And for goodness sake please don’t cry. Stop crying. You’re so ridiculous Beth.

This is how my life felt every day for 4 years. I was drowning. I was not able to keep my head above the harsh waves. What was just life, work, family, school, etc, was chaos for me. In a constant state of terror and exhaustion. While others were finding joy and excitement doing the same things as me, I was feeling as if I wouldn’t survive. There were many around, but I went unnoticed by most. My struggle was interpreted by others as intentional, or maybe even deserved. I was so weak. Panicking. Waiting for that brief break in chaos and hysteria for a breathe. Slowly realizing help was not coming and I just needed to survive long enough to get somewhere where I could hold on.

And then came the calm. With one last burst of energy, I found my way to safety. Not out of the water, but able to breathe. Looking around for some sort of acknowledgement of my struggle and pain. Feeling embarrassed I could let my life get so out of control. Feeling angry I was unnoticed by so many. Feeling jealous of those who were enjoying life. Feeling bitter toward those who added to my struggle, those who didn’t have the same struggle and I felt deserved it also. Feeling guilty for being so needy for help, like a burden. I was left with everything stripped from me. My confidence, pride, and joy were gone.

Now, I was not nearly as alone as I felt. I did have some very kind friends and family that showed me compassion and concern. But I could not expect others to put themselves in the “danger zone” with me, or they could drown too. They had to help the best they could from where they were at in life. I am thankful daily for this, but I still felt alone an fearful.

Yet, I did survive. Like the wave pool, I am very aware of every moment of this struggle. But what happened after the pool experience? Did I decide to never enjoy a pool or water again? Did I become fearful of any risk of losing control? Absolutely not. That’s not Beth. So I live life, with a deep respect for what can happen, but with complete, honest, love for where I am now. I will always know how helpless it can be, how broken down I can become. And I make a conscious effort to open my eyes for others that may be drowning in life, even if all I can offer is some care when they finally find their calm.