I keep hearing this thought running through my head, and although I remind myself that I can't believe everything my brain tells me, still the thought reverberates, recyles, and repeats itself: "You're just never happy no matter what, are you?"
Probably not. Not with the choices I've made. Not with the life I have created. And no matter how diligently I have struggled to recreate, to re-align, and to restore what should have been, I am left with the consequences of the foundation upon which I am forced to build.
I've discovered that the older I get, the more like myself I become. Great. Self-realization. But what does that mean?? It means that, had I known myself better when I was still a teen and a young adult, I would have understood just how important solitude is for maintaining my sanity.
Of course, it could be argued that the life I so very much wanted when I was younger - domestic bliss, chronic motherhood, the white picket fence, and Betty Crocker status - is exactly what has triggered this insane, perpetual, driving need for being alone. Years of tending to the needs of so many others and being on round-the-clock call and standby has left me tapped and reveling in the luxury of basking in my quiet aloneness. But either way, here I am, still surrounded by multitudes of needs, demands, and the endless tasks associated with caring for others. Either way, quite frankly, I am overwhelmed and feel the urge to run.
Another rambling thought that keeps regurgitating into the forefront of my consciousness: "We all know you are delusional." A direct quote from my youngest daughter. On the surface, very untrue. Yet, the words linger, tormenting me, poking at me, as if to say..."Well, might there be some truth to that??" As I plan to work on my Master's degree in Counseling, I have questioned myself. My brain argues, "Who are you kidding? Just give up these goals; you know you're way too old to be doing this! You've missed the boat and you'll never catch up! Admit it!"
And then I see myself working the check-out at Sterk's or Aldi's.
Still, I scold myself - my random, intrusive thoughts - for being so mean, so critical, so negative. I remind myself that I can do it. Remember, I tell myself, the mantra of your younger mommy years; "You can have it all, just not all at once!"
"Live authentically," I urge myself, "even when that means putting the coffee on at two in the morning and writing compulsively in an effort to purge these thoughts and desperately seeking catharsis." I hear my mother's voice responding to my pre-schoolish "I can't do it!" with "You can do it if you try," but no re-assuring hugs come with it.
"Consequences..." my brain retorts. "You can't change the life you forged. These are the consequences of the choices - and mistakes - you made!" How can I argue that??
So, for the next few hours I will be inclined to feel at home in the still of the night, and although I am visibly alone, my rambling, ruminating, dysfuctional thoughts will likely continue to invade my space and play tricks with my logic, applying Socratic Method with skill as it attempts to manipulate my self-confidence, errode my general happiness, and tempt me toward defeat. And mom's voice retorts, "Don't believe everything your brain tells you!"
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