February 22, 2016
I was an insecure young adult. I met Mark when I was 20 years old and was that clingy girlfriend. In my defense, I had recently become visually impaired and had just left home. Also, my inner child.
Marriage, babies, my 30s, blogging, and some therapy later, I felt like I was finally coming into my own. I felt I had gotten to know myself pretty well. Just Jennifer (my former blog name). The Me I am aside from The Carer of All Things.
Besides WifeMomCaregiver, I am someone who likes to write a blog, make things with yarn, go for walks, watch TV, listen to books and hang out with friends.
I was on the verge (I like to think) of doing more writing (other than here). I had such hopes for where I might be able to submit posts. I have cried tears of frustration over the fact that I simply do not have the time or leftover brainpower for more than this. I am genuinely happy for my bloggy friends who are published on wider stages than their own blogs. But man, do I wish it was me too.
I don't see friends anywhere near as often as I had been. Granted, it isn't just my life that gets in the way of that, it's theirs too. But there are definitely a lot of occasions when I think maybe I should call J or C....maybe we could talk, and maybe we'd even plan something to go do....but I don't. Because when? I rarely feel like I can leave Mark anymore.
I can't remember when the last time I went for a walk was. Summer, maybe? I had been doing so well; had gotten into a (mostly) every-other-day routine. It wasn't something I did grudgingly; I looked forward to it and enjoyed it. Because it was MY time. (I even said no to neighbor ladies wanting to form a walking group because I prefer to do it alone.)
Walking around my neighborhood for about 40 minutes every-other-day shouldn't be too much to ask. But, like doing more writing or leaving for time with friends, I need the motivation after everything else I'm doing and the right time to do it.
Of the things I enjoy that I previously listed, all I get to these days is crocheting, watching TV and writing (on average) one blog post a week.
By the time I turned 40, I felt strong and dare I say, confident in more ways than not. I felt that I was well on my way to becoming fully ME.
With both of my kids in school, one of them a teen who didn't want much to do with me anyway, I thought I would have plenty of time for more of the things I wanted to do with my life.
And then my husband became needy. Our relationship flip-flopped from where it began when I was a clingy young woman whose boyfriend had to tell her, "I'm not your sole source of entertainment."
I don't know how to remedy any of this yet. Everywhere I see things that say we must take care of ourselves, that self-care is essential, that it isn't selfish, it's necessary.
I am afraid I'm going to forget who I was becoming and have no idea what to do with myself when all is said and done.