🫠 Frazzled Woman Summer
Summer break seemed so long as a kid…
I’m 39 and I still can’t seem to figure myself out.
To be fair, I think we put too much pressure on ourselves to do so. The only thing consistent about life on earth is change. Seasons change, children grow, but adults continue growing, too, or at least should be. Yet, I feel like we have this perception that once we are adults and have jobs and start trying to make it on our own without the guidance of whatever kind of adult authority helped raise us, that that’s it. We think we are done growing and that’s how we will stay for the rest of our days until we retire.
No one teaches us how to retire properly, so we have to learn about that. In the United States we think a major milestone we need to achieve is home buying, but no one teaches us how to do that. I’ve owned three houses since my 20’s and I still can’t tell you how it works, except very confusingly. When we get our first jobs, we start having to do our taxes, and fuck if we will ever fully understand how to do that, unless we go into accounting ourselves.
I decided to become a mother when I was 24, and the greatest deceit is that we are told how to become a parent. We are not. Mountains of information are omitted when we are guided to the “next logical step after marriage” — cue the baby carriage.
My body and mind changed significantly after I produced two little humans in under two and a half years. But mothers are left in the dark on all the things that can happen to you—body, mind and soul—after birthing children. We may have heard about “baby blues,” but who the fuck named it that? “Baby blues” sounds cute and melodic, like you may have a temporary Eeyore rain cloud overhead for a bit while you play a harmonica until the weather changes.
Post-partum depression may be a better term, but honestly I wish someone would just say:
YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BE OKAY AFTER YOU GIVE BIRTH. YOU ARE GOING TO CRY FOR NO APPARENT REASON EVEN THOUGH THE LITTLE THING YOU ARE HOLDING IN YOUR ARMS YOU LOVE MORE THAN ANYTHING EVER. YOUR BODY JUST GOT WRECKED PHYSICALLY, NOW YOU ARE ABOUT TO GET WRECKED MENTALLY. I HOPE YOU BUILT YOUR OWN VILLAGE, BECAUSE THIS JOURNEY IS GOING TO BE SHIT IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANY SEMBLANCE OF HELP. AND FROM NOW ON, ALL ‘REQUIRED CHECK-UPS’ WILL BE FOR THAT LITTLE BUNDLE THAT WAS JUST FORCEFULLY REMOVED FROM YOUR UTERUS; NOBODY GIVES A SHIT ABOUT HOW YOU’RE DOING ANYMORE, IT’S ALL ABOUT THAT RIDICULOUSLY CUTE, SWEET THING YOU JUST SPENT THE BETTER PART OF A YEAR CREATING IN YOUR WOMB.
My children are 11 and 9 now, and I’m still recovering. I had a tiny village in place before my first was born, but most have since moved out, and all remaining residents have a full-time job. I didn’t know it needed to be bigger, and for the past 12 years, I have been the mayor, events manager, secretary, and caretaker with a co-council of one (my husband). I think American society has the idea that it takes a village while our children are babies, but we need a village well beyond that.
We need a village always, children or no.
I didn’t realize I had post-partum depression until my youngest was two, and even then my diagnosis was never officially added to my medical records; I found out from my therapist, who was helping me with my crippling anxiety at the time.
Since then, I have discovered that things were going on with my reproductive system long before I had children, and the past three years of my life have been meeting with doctors, begging for referrals and not being granted them, getting some answers and being grateful for them, but getting dismissed for my other symptoms and being resentful of it.
I’m still on this journey, which has included me realizing through my trial and error that I can’t have coffee because it keeps me up too late at night and sleeping in so late that most days these past few weeks, I’m not starting my day until noon, what with not having the obligation to get the kids to school early.
I previously would only do decaf, but then I learned that decaffeinated coffee may be carcinogenic1, so I stopped. It looks like it’ll be tea for me for the rest of my life, baby.
I think I have insomnia, but I’m not sure, because it only really occurred to me because my doctor used the term in the summary of my last visit, but he didn’t actually tell me I have insomnia during that visit, so I’m confused, because I didn’t think I had insomnia before…
This summer I had the audacity to tell myself that I could still produce two Substack posts per month, with my current health issues and additional stress that results from it, plus trying to make sure my kids have a pleasant summer—but nothing too crazy because we are on a budget, and I as the village treasurer need to make sure we have money for back to school shopping next month—oh and also don’t forget to put on your events manager hat to coordinate sleepovers and play dates, oh and then switch to your caretaker uniform because your house is a fucking pigsty. But you know what? Also, do that Cricut project you want to do for the kids and make some custom T-shirts.
But also don’t set your passion aside, because you are a woman and you deserve to follow your passion just as much as everyone else, so go write!
Oh, but your computer is broken, so… deal with that first.
Most of you probably didn’t even realize that I missed my last post at the end of June. It was supposed to be a lovely short piece from The Crush Chronicles that is fun and light-hearted, but also touches on a bit of body image issues.
That will come later this month, but with all of the above and trying desperately to slow down and balance the unpaid work of being a mother and homemaker with downtime, relaxing and reading, and then a computer that just REFUSED to start up, I missed it.
I’m not mad at myself, partly because I know my readers didn’t notice, probably wrapped in similar Frazzled Summers, unless you actually have been able to enjoy a Hot Girl Summer (in that case, good for you! And I mean that un-sarcastically), but because I need to give myself a damn break. Although every time I do, I feel guilty because I’m not being a productive, unpaid worker. I should clean the floors, do the dishes, or start yet another load of laundry, but goddamn it I just want to sit here and play the video game my family got me for Mother’s Day two years ago but I never give myself time to play because—(see previous sentence).
As a mother, I was so looking forward to summer break. I would get to sleep in like my kids because I purposely did not schedule any summer camps 1) to save money and 2) so we all didn’t have to rn around crazily like we do during the school year.
But with summer comes family events and BBQ’s and all these things that fill up the space in our schedules because we as a society think that because it’s empty, it needs to be filled.
My god, can we just not have some space to just sit like a slug and just BE?
So, that’s my Frazzled Woman Summer. I’ve gotten to stay up late and sleep in, because that’s the type of human I am, but feel guilty and unproductive about it, even though that is one of the few privileges I have as a Stay-at-Home Parent. I can’t even let myself enjoy it. Because Fuck the extra sleep you are getting to pay off that ridiculous sleep debt you’ve accumulated, you should be making a breakfast your kids won’t want to eat, and taking the cat to the vet, and WHAT DO YOU MEAN there are only four weeks until school starts back up again?!
How’s your summer going?
https://www.cnn.com/2024/04/04/health/decaf-coffee-methylene-chloride-cancer-wellness/index.html