Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.
— Lemony Snicket, Horseradish
I’ve started and stopped so many blogs in my life because I always get so scared of doing the one thing I want to do the most, which is to just be myself.
You know how They say that people tend to construct their own ideal version of reality to share with people on social media? People just show the good times – the birthday parties and perfect hair days, the promotions and vacations, the pride. They leave out the nasty bits, and even more often the natural, every day mundane bits, which is a shame because it’s the little details of a persons life that really makes them unique.
They leave out the nasty bits, and even more often the natural, every day mundane bits, which is a shame because it’s the little details of a persons life that really makes them unique.
I’ve been pushing words onto pages for years without even breaking the surface of the things I really want to be talking about.
I’ve always held back out of fear.
Fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of contention and confrontation, and of course, the fear of being completely and utterly ignored.
I paid $350 for a writer and woman I really admire to teach me how to write anyway, even though I’m scared of all of those things, even though this ridiculous, irrational fear is keeping me from doing the things I love and reaching the goals I’m even too scared to admit I want to attain.
Well, it didn’t fucking work so far.
So, here I come again at the blogosphere, riled up and ready once again to commit to giving fewer fucks about what everyone thinks and only worry about the ones I actually want to find by doing this in the first place – those other moms that say, oh, okay. I get you.
That’s really all I want, oh my gods, to find my place in the mommyblogosphere, somewhere between the snarky, irreverent assholes that can’t be bothered to give any shits, and between the know-it-all Alpha moms who think they can do everything better than everyone else.
I can’t recall ever meeting an Alpha Mom with a special needs child, by the way, and for what it’s worth, I think that might say a little something about –
Whoops, there I go ranting and raving and bitching about people I don’t like. I need one of those signs in my living room: If you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit by me. It’s been the perfect motto for my life lately, even though I don’t want it to be.
I’ve been around the WordPress block a time or two before, but for those who don’t know me, my name is Cheney.
I used to be an office manager, a waitress, and a LuLaRoe consultant, I’ve always been a writer, and then this year I just said fuck everything, just fuck everything in life, I am not going to do things anymore that I find terribly and unreasonably unpleasant.
Lately, I’ve been making a living with graphic and web design work, but I’ve been making a life by deciding, essentially, to define my priorities and values, and work as hard as I can to stick to them.
I have deep thoughts and strong opinions, and I’ve always been scared to share both because I seem to be allergic to negative feedback, and so I haven’t shared, but now I fear that my contempt for people comes from feeling lately that people aren’t worth bothering with in general, which is just a sad and awful thing to think, isn’t it?
I also have this parenting issue, which is that for me, this whole business of parenting is a really hard issue that I struggle with every day. The issues I have go far beyond not wanting to do it and really wishing I didn’t have to most days, and yet that doesn’t stop me from doing what I think is best for my child even though it surely isn’t what is best for me. I guess it goes to show that you can still be a good parent even if you’re a reluctant or regretful parent, right? I’m hoping to find out, and I’m hoping to find more of us out there – I know you’re out there.
Oh, and the mental health problems. Of course, I can’t forget to throw those into the mix. The depression that is a constant companion, the anxiety that is a sneaky, trickster bitch, the PTSD that has me up, caught paralyzed in those blue-gray minutes before dawn, because there’s only one thing that certain shade of light reminds me of.
What? I’m still forgetting something? Pssh, I guess when you’re constantly, indefinitely, relentlessly worrying about one or two or three of your kids’ multiple disabilities that will have her dependent on your care for the rest of your life, you forget you have to even mention that to other people.
You mean I don’t have a sign on me that says, “Back the fuck off, my kid is autistic and I have a panic disorder?”
It just feels so alone at times, you know?
It would be nice to come talk about what went on in my day to nobody – and to anybody – and maybe, just maybe, someone talks back.
Someone who gets it.
And if not someone who gets it, then just anyone, anyone at all who is willing to say:
I see you.
I hear you.
I know it’s hard.
You’re doing a good job.
You’re going to get through this life
until it kills you.