On Monday, we had a stressful situation with our son and his transition to JK foisted upon us. We were dealing with it the best way we knew how, and trying hard not to be stressed in front of our son, to make it less anxious for him. Oi it was tough, and I worried about worrying too much in front of my son and causing him to worry.
It was a worry-a-thon about worrying. Seriously. I am not kidding.
As we attempted a reconciliation with him, and talked to him, inside I was freaking out, and thinking the worst, worrying about the worst, and playing consequences out in my mind. Oh so healthy and productive… But there it is. I was unravelled a wee tich. Partially because I do not know how to move forward and deal with the situation, and worried we would not be doing the right thing to help him.
I be a duckie outta de bath water in this. *quack*
I’ll not be the first parent to admit I do not know what I am doing, for sure. I am most definitely not the first parent to sit with a glass of wine, once the kids are in bed, sobbing and fretful that I have ruined my children or they will never be self sufficient at things like dressing, pottying or socializing. This also isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with some sort of issue with him like this and lived through it. I know this, yet each time I feel as if the world is on my shoulders if I don’t get this right.
Parenting is hard, yo. We love our kids so much that we worry about every decision we make, or action we take.
The difference this time, for the first time, and the reason I am telling you about it, is this:
When the stress hit, I was desperate to just get out of the house and run.
I said to my husband (as we drove home from school, the kids in the back nattering away at one another) “I want to run! I want to just scream and sprint into the forest and not come out for a few kilometres.” This was the first time stress had made me want to exercise, instead of eat.
I wanted to sweat, and move, and get so breathless that nothing else mattered except breathing, blocking out the whole world except for that moment. Besides, running always makes me come up with a brilliant solution to problems, and if I ran with a pen and paper in my SPI belt (read: crayon and receipt from Wal-mart), I could stop and write it down.
Seriously! I would! Because we all know I would forget it the moment I stopped if I didn’t.
I have tried the voice recorder on my iPhone, but I can’t understand a gaspy word of my idea afterwards, when I play it back. I sound ridiculous, like an over-acting soap starlet who has just found out her husband is really her twin brother’s long lost gay lover, who everyone thought died twice. Once in an apartment fire in Belize, had total facial reconstruction, and then was fake-murdered in Paris by his former lover-turned Step-Dad to go into witness protection over a mob snitch he slept with, learning about a big drug deal thet went bad where two cops were killed.
Follow along now… Heh. I so need to get back to my fiction writing…
I wasn’t able to get out for my run before inky darkness descended upon our corner of the world, but my goodness, I was antsy, I was fidgety… I wanted to move. That feeling stayed with me until after my RPM class the next day. I was much more relaxed and felt capable of handling whatever was coming my way then. It helped.
The stress is back today with a vengeance. I cannot think straight, so I went for a walk. Tonight, I am going to try a BodyFlow class for the first time. Again, I am hit with the urge to move instead of eat.
I am so beyond thankful for this change in my mental capacity in this regard. I am just about in tears over this as much as I am almost in tears about my son’s situation and my feeling of failure (of him). No more late night burger runs to quell the angry stress-beast for me! No more urgently searching the cupboards for cheap, quick carbs at midnight when I can’t sleep because my mind won’t turn off and I need comfort.
I can now run from stress, instead of eating it. ♥