Oh, Hank Green. How this speaks to me. I start all sorts of projects, and frequently drop them in the middle because I’m not living up to my own impossible standard. Manuscripts, quilts, paintings, poems, afghans, blogs, furniture, murals, and samplers have all gotten bundled away never to been seen again because they weren’t good enough. I don’t want this project to fall down that rabbit hole, so I’m aiming for Mr. Green’s 80 percent.
At the dentist last week we got bad news. In response to this bad news, I did the entirely rational thing and burst into tears. I managed to contain it in the car in the parking lot, but it was still utterly embarrassing.
I was set off because both of my girls need fillings. Big Jujubee was supposed to be getting hers, but the laughing gas wasn’t enough to keep her calm. We had to schedule an appointment for oral sedation in the office. Little Rosebud’s cavities developed like lightening, and now she’ll need to be under full anesthesia for multiple crowns in April.
Rosebud found the helmet and the dress in the dentists waiting room, and it was focusing on sharing little baby cosplay with everyone on the internet that got me centered enough to move forward. I’m still having nightmares about the tooth troubles, but the kids are going to be ok. I keep reminding myself that we did our best with their teeth, and this happens sometimes.
“It feels like everyone else is moving on with their lives while I am stuck here, in this hole that I can’t climb out of.”
There is a scene in the movie Under the Tuscan Sun when Frances Mayes buys her house in Cortona. She is in the notary’s office, there are a few documents that have to be rubber-stamped, a sip of espresso, and that’s it. Francis asks, “Just like that?” and it’s met with
“It’s a house, not a Vespa. What are you going to do, steal it?”
We close on our home tomorrow. To. Morr. Ow. We have our walk through this afternoon. I’m beside myself. I want to move in. I want to spend an hour, quietly, without any extra-familial eyes on me, going slowly through the house introducing myself. I want to carry in a box and make a meal. I want to go buy paint and a new couch. I want to haul the old washer and dryer out and scrub the alcove floor. I want to huff and puff and sweat and curse and accomplish something. I want my children to have space to play where I’m not trying to work. And I want it NOW.
I’m so beyond overwrought. Good stress is still stress, my friends and therapist keep reminding me. I’m not sleeping much. I’m eating either far too much, or I’m nauseous and skipping meals. My heart is racing and up in my throat all the time. I’m weepy and it is all because of good stress.
Positive stresses cause lots of mental health symptom. Buying a home, having a baby or adopting, weddings, even planning parties and vacations cause people lots of the symptoms I’m having. It is disorienting for me because my more severe symptoms are triggered but have nothing to feed of off. I’m stressed, so my suicidal thoughts are popping up, but “Kill yourself because you are getting your dream,” just doesn’t have the internal consistency of “Kill yourself because you fought with your kids,” or any other negative stress.
Have you experienced anything like this? Are positive stresses harder to manage than negative ones, or do we just forget that the same skills we use to stay on the rails during crisis will do the same thing during the exceptionally hard-but-wonderful times. I’m going to go do my Square Breathing exercise to see if I can get productive before the walk through. Wish me luck.