I had to clean up, put away stuff from our night away, vacuum the car, and then feed and put the kids to bed... no big deal.
But then, like so many times before, all I could see was the mess that would never be cleaned, the car I've neglected to vacuum all summer, and kids that would never listen, and all I could do was sit and try to breath deeply to take away from my chest pain.
I couldn't start.
I couldn't pick what needed to be done first.
I was emotionally incapable of prioritizing.
There was no point of entry into the messy abyss that stood before me,
everything was torn to shit and all over the place.
No one was in ear shot to hear the silent screams inside me.
I could feel the panic and anxiety start at my chest and slowly seep into my limbs, filling my body with an overwhelming feeling of fear.
So, like any logical person in this state; I pick the best possibly thing to do when it begins to rain outside... I decide I need to clean the car.
The kids and I headed to the car wash so I could vacuum out at least two dozen McDonald's toys, a Costco size bag of Pirate Booty, 2 lbs of dirt from our travels this summer, and about 15 school art projects that had been ripped and shredded all over the floor.
As we pulled out of the car wash, my chest lightened and I felt accomplished. The industrial sized vacuum and car wash served as amusement park games and rides for the kids; I not only got something done, but entertained at the same time! I was multi-tasking.
The house was still there, though, and entering those doors put me back at ground zero.
I talked to my sister on the phone, I tried to call my mom, I posted a cute picture of my kids on social media, I cleaned out my email inbox, I went through and unsubscribed to emails, I busied my brain and myself; to avoid. And, until Michael came home from work and the presence of another adult allowed me to see the chaos once more, I sat on my couch and avoided.
Michael didn't ask me to pick up, he didn't ask what I'd been doing, he started in on what still needed to be done and got to work. In these times, we don't talk; partially because Michael doesn't know where I am mentally or emotionally and he doesn't want to push if I'm not ready, but also because (after 18 years together) we both know what needs to be done and if it isn't, there is usually a good reason.
And no, to those thinking "Why didn't he stop to check in with her, why didn't he find what was wrong and help her," that isn't always an option. In a family of 5, our priorities are the 3 little ones that depend on us and if Michael sees me seemingly losing control, other than asking if I need a break (which he does often, but he had been working and driving all day too), him stepping up and doing more work, is often much more important and helpful.
But the panic attack that had started was still looming over me. I could feel it, sitting there, heavy, waiting
The light at the end of the tunnel felt near, Michael was going to put the boys to bed and Lizie was ready to fall asleep, but then, Michael leaned over the railing on our stairs and randomly asked me a perfectly harmless question that sent me spinning. No, I didn't scream or cry, I didn't lash out or react, rather I perseverated on this (again perfectly harmless) question. I'd almost made it to bedtime.
The muscles in my body felt like they were quivering.
I started roaming the house and cleaning, all the while having hypothetical fights and arguments with people in my head that surrounded the topic Michael asked about. I played out every scenario, every possible fight or disagreement. My heart was racing and my chest was tightening by the second. I was angry with people, I was mad, I was jealous, I was not making sense, and I knew it.
My breath was fast and it hurt to inhale.
I knew that all of this was unreasonable. I knew these fights weren't going to happen, that the horrible outcomes I had running through my head weren't going to occur, I knew that (because of this harmless question) no one was going to die, yet I could not get that through to myself.
The tightening in my chest was so much, that I was walking and holding in my heart with my left hand.
Eliza started following me and I could hear her murmur to herself, like I was. I could see my mini-me rummage and pick up items and straighten things in a flustered and irrational manner. I tried to tell her mommy just needed her chapstick and then she would calm down, but she knew; better than I did, that no amount of chapstick would stop my shaking and labored breathing.
My ears were hot, my pals clammy, and my body temperature kept rising.
I hate that this trait is something I will most likely pass on to one of my children, and then, that became my obsession; seeing my kids' futures like this, and I started spiraling deeper.
I couldn't breath or reason or slow down.
Amid the, hypothetical, internal arguments I was having with people, I heard Lizie's voice, asking me to put her to bed. We brushed our teeth, climbed into her hot pink princess bed, and laid on our sides facing one another.
There were tears streaming down my face and I was taking as deep of breaths as I could... but then I noticed it. I noticed what my three year old daughter was doing for me; she had found my breath and was breathing deeply along with me and looking at me directly in the eyes. (Something I do to calm the kids)
My heart slowed and my chest pain lessened, and for a good 10 minutes we stared at each other, breathing in unison; until the most beautiful thing happened. Eliza took her little arm, rapped it around my back and began patting my shoulder and whispered "You're a good momma, we love you so much."
The thought of ever being a burden to my children scares me, it is not their job to take care of their mom, but at the same time; I love that they know how to take care of people. The balance of showing your kids your struggles, but exposing them to too much, is a difficult one; one that weighs heavily on me.
Today is slow. I have two check lists, a dream list and a practical list. I've apologized up front to my kids that I have little patience and that I might cry, but it's only because I'm tired and want to do a good job for them.
Beckett got his sister breakfast
Brooks cleaned the living room
Eliza keeps cuddling and stopping to check in with her me.
I've yelled, more that I would like to admit to and I've cried just a little less than yelled, but the kids are alright. Lizie is curled up between my legs, Brooks is sitting beside me, and Beckett is at the foot of our lounger. We are watching movie number 2 and I could give a crap less if I'm going over on "screen time."
Last night was inevitable, change always causes my panic and anxiety to ramp up. We've spent our summer going and going and going, because I was avoided a meltdown, but the irony is, that it most likely caused it.
I'm an imperfect mom who has an imperfect marriage and imperfect kids, but I try very hard to continually better myself. I have a husband who, although he isn't always the best at communication, knows that silence and putting the kids to bed without a question, is often what I need. I have children who are compassionate and forgiving and nonjudgmental, kids who I know will be good humans.
And, with any luck, hopefully by tonight I'll have a clean(ish) house.
