I’m having one.
I have said that I aim to integrate my thoughts, words and actions, and that I want to integrate all my selves — the different faces I show in various situations. Self, wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend, writer, employee, and all the other titles I wear.
It came to a head recently, and I feel like I am failing.
I won’t go into details about the interactions that sent me spiraling. Suffice it to say that who I aim to be — a mindful mom who knows what to say to her kids in any situation, a wise elder who survived infertility and adoption and can shine light for others, a spiritual yogini able to breathe through any energy disturbance, be it physical, emotional, or otherwise, a woman grateful for all she has — well, I don’t consistently meet my own expectations.
Actually, at times it’s tough being a mom. I seem to need a lot of solitary time, and I dread the tedium of wiping yet another bottom or playing yet another game of Teacher. I’m not experiencing gratefulness at the moment, even though I have the life others may dream of. And I’m feeling pretty blocked — down and spent. On top of it all, I’m wallowing in this malaise.
The preceding entry was written several years ago — I haven’t had to wipe another person’s bottom for quite some time — and has resided, forgotten, in my Drafts folder. I’m pulling it out now because once again, I feel unmoored, shaken by a couple of recent encounters in which I was energetically knocked over. When faced with my own personal Sandy, I did not breathe. I was not mindful. My actions and reactions came from someone I didn’t recognize.
Or like a whole lot.