If you're going to make a mess you might as well be naked
The result. Note some help from Dad.
They're eating it!
Oh so much fun
Escape, Part 2
April 5, 2011 by ·
[See part 1 of this story here.]
Checking into a hotel is normally a fairly simple process. Except when your brain has had a spaz and screws you over in the process.
This night in a hotel was courtesy a gift card I got for Christmas 2009 and hadn’t used yet. (I know, dumb. You’re welcome to slap me.) I looked at two websites in trying to find the hotel’s reservation number – the first was a hotel booking site and the second – the one I wanted – was the hotel’s site. I found the number and called to book the room, giving the friendly man on the other end of the line my credit card number when he asked for it to hold the room. At no time during this conversation did he say he was going to charge the card or that it was non-refundable. <Insert ominous music here>
I discovered my brain spaz when I told the woman at reception I’d be paying with the gift card. She informed me the room was prepaid through another company so I couldn’t use it.
I distinctly remember looking at the hotel booking site and discarding it. I distinctly remember looking at the hotel’s site – the branding, the hotel features, the drop-down menu with the property I was looking for. I have no idea how I screwed it up but this was absolutely the last thing I needed. I didn’t want to have to argue about it. I didn’t want to have to sort it out. And I didn’t want to suck it up and just pay for the room and use the gift card later.
I called the company and informed them I didn’t realize I was booking through another company, that I never agreed to have my card charged and that I certainly didn’t agree to – in fact, wasn’t informed about – a non-refundable booking. The oh-so-helpful response? “But it’s non-refundable.”
Force down panic, repeat story. Demonstrate full will of a mama struggling to hold her shit together instead of completely losing it in a hotel lobby: “I DON’T CARE. FIX IT NOW.”
Last weekend was just too much. What was originally intended to be a nice break had become, truly, an escape. I need to go somewhere and close the door behind me and not talk to anyone. I need to figure out what’s going on in my head that’s allowing these waves to keep crashing over me, totally unexpectedly. I need him to fix it.
He fixes it.
The woman at reception must sense I’m on the edge, because she upgrades me to a room with a king bed and a harbour view. And then, embarrassingly, I do start to cry.
Once I get into the room things are better. I drink Coke with ice in a wine glass and that alone makes me feel like I’m somewhere else. I read a bit, write a bit, breathe a bit. I listen to music. When I’m feeling more calm, I throw on my workout gear and get sweaty. I pull up one workout on my computer and when that’s done I do another one. Exercise is a sure thing, every time, and when I’m done I feel like me again.
The rest of the night was heaven – a carpet picnic, a hot shower, pajamas and cozy socks. A conversation with a dear friend who called to make sure I was okay on my own. A delicious chocolate dessert while I sat at the desk looking out at the lights coming on around the harbour. A solid sleep in a bed with fluffy covers and puffy pillows.
I am grateful for this. I am. I can afford to do this for a night and I have a husband who is not only supportive, he tells me to go. I have a laptop I can take so I can read and write and stay connected.
I sat there that night and took deep breaths and felt that gratitude wash over me. But behind it the usual tension was still there – a tightness in my shoulders, a twitchy foot and a brow that remained furrowed so that in the morning I woke up with what appeared to be a permanent crease in my forehead.
The events of Saturday, including a call to the psychiatrist at 10 at night, led me to what I sincerely hope is rock bottom. Things cannot continue like this – it’s been over two years. Almost three. I’ve taken so many steps that seem like the right ones and it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better.
Maybe this new medication will kick in (please oh please) and things will start to improve. But it’s clear to me now that I need to take charge of this. I need to do something different. I need to do something more.
So that’s what I’m going to do. As of this morning, the wheels are in motion. Stay tuned.
Party Like an Introvert
April 4, 2011 by ·
I first came across 5 Minutes for Mom when someone tweeted a link to this article about how to get your email inbox under control. It’s pretty much the best thing I’ve ever read. I use it at work and it’s been worth the cost for the sanity it’s given me (especially because it was free).
So I’ve followed along a bit and lo and behold I discovered that 5 Minutes for Mom is hosting a party. The best kind of party – the kind I can attend in my pajamas (like I’m doing right now!). I don’t even have to leave my house. It’s Ultimate Blog Party 2011 and it’s taking place from April 1 to 8.
Like most introverts, I’m a little late to this party but I’m here. For those of you who have wandered over from the main party room to the corner in the kitchen to join me, here’s a brief peek inside what my blog and I are about:
I’m a working mom with a son who’s almost 3 and a fantastic husband. I’m Canadian. I’m a chocoholic. I like to run (sometimes) and I love to write. I also had undiagnosed postpartum depression after my son was born and it was 18 months or more before I finally got help. I’m still very much on the road to recovery, and this blog is part of that. I’m honest about my experience in hopes that it will help others, because PPD is so much more common than most people realize, and it’s not all about “depression”. Being a mom is hard enough – we shouldn’t have to top it off with something that makes it even harder.
So that’s me. Tell me about you!
I’ve moved!
April 4, 2011 by ·
I moved this blog to a self-hosted WordPress platform at the end of February and based on some questions lately I gather not everyone caught on. I tried to get in touch with those of you who subscribed but apparently I either missed a few or it didn’t go through. Mea culpa.
If you wish to still follow along, I’d love to have you join me at http://farewellstranger.com.
[Apologies to those of you already here – just making sure everyone else finds their way.]
Escape, Part 1
April 3, 2011 by ·
He knows I’m leaving. And what’s worse, he knows something’s wrong even though he hasn’t seen the meltdowns. And he’s not going to let me just pack my things and leave.
He pulls cotton balls out of my cosmetic case and when I take them back he reaches into my drawer and tries to grab a handful of Q-tips. He’s got that runner’s stance – feet planted, knees bent, ready to take off as soon as his chubby little hands have a firm grasp on the paper sticks.
“Please, honey, be helpful. I’m trying to pack.”
I can actually see him prepare to crank the defiance up a notch.
“Why don’t you go see Daddy for a minute?”
Please. PLEASE. I need to leave. It’s just for one night and I need to leave because yesterday was awful and I’m crashing and I just…need to leave. Please.
“I don’t want to see Daddy! I want Mummy!”
Tears stream down his sweet baby cheeks. His arms stretch up towards me.
I pick him up and he hugs me tight. His head is tucked snugly into me and he’s holding on like a baby monkey whose survival depends on staying close to his mother. I pause, overwhelmed with love for him, and wonder how something so beautiful could have turned my whole world inside out over the last couple of years.
Having heard his wailing, my husband comes in.
“Why don’t you go with Daddy?”
“I DON’T WANT DADDY!”
He’s breaking my heart, but Daddy, ever resourceful, can fix this.
“Why don’t we go have a peanut butter snack?”
He agrees and I hand my baby monkey to his daddy. I take a deep breath and finish packing, all the things I need for a night in a hotel. Alone. I’ve got workout gear and cozy socks. Healthy snacks and Coke. A decadent, completely self-indulgent dessert. I intend to do nothing. Not go out for dinner, not walk along the harbour, not go to a movie by myself. I intend to lock myself in the hotel room and never come out think. Write. Figure out what to do next. I can’t get there fast enough.
With my bags in my car I head down the highway. The hotel isn’t far – maybe 15 minutes from where we live. The Sunday afternoon traffic is light, but every car is an obstacle. I keep missing lights – they change from green to yellow, taunting me. You’re not free yet.
A white van is plodding along at 10 kilometres an hour below the speed limit. Come ON! I change lanes and pass him.
Just two more blocks, across the bridge and I’ll be there. And then I see it. A sign, its yellow lights flashing: “Lights flash when bridge is up.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I round the bend and see that the railway side of the bridge is going up, but the vehicle lane is still open. Maybe I’ll make it.
The light goes red.
I can feel every nerve in my body twitching with the need to get into a quiet room with a door that locks behind me. I can see the hotel from here – mere metres from the end of the bridge. It’s so close. I’m so close. But I wait. I have no choice.
So close
I manage to breathe long enough to realize I’ve never actually been this close to the bridge as it’s going up, even in over 30 years of living here. It’s interesting to watch, actually.
And luckily it’s fast. Bridge goes up, boat goes through, bridge comes down.
About 300 metres past the bridge is the entrance to the hotel property. The lane curves left through a narrow driveway that’s surrounded by cherry trees in full bloom. I see lights wrapped around the trees trunks and wonder if it’s a de-Christmas-ing oversight or twinkle lights for nightly ambiance. Probably the latter.
I made it. All I have to do is park my car and talk to another human long enough to hand over a card in exchange for a room key. A simple conversation that will lead me to the silence and solitude I long for.
Unfortunately the conversation isn’t so simple after all, and I have another, potentially challenging, hurdle to jump before I find peace.
