I read a status on TheFacebook yesterday that cut right through my depression haze and ignited my mommy fire, which I'm taking as a good sign. You know, as much as burning rage can be a good thing. The status was written by a mommy acquaintance and went something along the lines of "I am that mom that wants to get in [son's] face and yell at him to not let the other kids win!"
I'll pause while your brain absorbs that.
Yea, you read that right: She wants to scream at her child for showing compassion over a desire to win. (In case you are wondering, her child isn't even in kindergarten yet.) So, not only is winning more important to her, but she is willing to embarrass or inflict emotional hurt on her child to ensure that is his priority also. Please, tell me that I am missing something here.
I know how obsessed our society is with winning. I'll even admit that I can get caught up in it. I've been known to stomp around for hours after FSU breaks my heart loses a football game. Hell, I once pushed myself through a major injury in order to compete, only to end up needing surgery to repair the damage done. I understand competition & the need to win, but have we gone so far that we are now projecting that need onto our kids before they even learn long division?
I wish this mom's status was an isolated case of an overzealous competitive spirit, but I don't think that is the case. I see how school-aged boys act. There is no such things as a friendly video game or playing sports just for the enjoyment of it. Everything has a winner and quite a few losers sulking because they fell short. I can't help but feel that society crossed a line without even realizing that there was a line. In doing that, everybody became a loser because we lost sight that the entire point of sports is enjoyment.
I understand that competition will always exist, especially in boys, and I don't think that is a bad thing. Competition can be a great thing, if we let it develop naturally and take the time to teach our kids that winning isn't everything. Or keep doing what you've been doing, but I can tell you that there is at least one mom out there creating a new sport called "Slap-The-Fanatical-Parent" and I have every intention of setting the high score.
I'm being swallowed by a black hole. I think the black hole is currently residing on my couch, but it's hard to say. No, not the inexplicably large pile of unfolded laundry, but thanks for reminding me of yet another domestic failure. The depression sort of black hole. The sneaky quicksand that steals my energy, wrecks my perspective and leaves me thinking "The kids can eat goldfish, fruit snacks & string cheese for dinner. Again." It took me over an hour to get my butt off the couch to write this post, which I can all but guarantee will be sh*tty, unfunny & rambling, but at least I am doing something. I'll pause while you muster up some weak applause.
Sigh. The most obnoxious part of this depression, if there is such a thing, is that I saw this storm cloud coming from a country mile away. I even had the hubris to think that I would be fine & could sail right through it after a day or two. I guess that joke's on me. Ya know, if self-deprecating & pathetic jokes are your thing.
I'm soldiering on, trying to answer work calls without bursting into tears and playing, what I'm fairly certain is, the slowest game of keep away ever. I smile at my kids (even when I'm crying), try not to snot all over TheYankees' shoulder and fake normal text conversations with my judgy friends. Then, when I've used every last ounce of energy doing a horrendous job pretending to be fine, I pick up my phone, open twitter and tell the truth.
That being a good mom right now is the hardest thing. That just getting myself through the evening is brutal, much less attending to the never-ending needs of two kids who deserve better than a snack food dinner served by a sobbing mom. But that is the best I can do.
So, I promise myself that when I finally kick this sh*tty black hole out of my head and my house, that I'll enjoy every minute until bedtime and maybe even a few extra, just to see their smiles. That I will cook awesome meals and clean up all the messes. That I'll use my days off for more than skipped showers and zoning out. That I'll climb into bed to do more than give in to exhaustion. That I'll be me again.
But right now, I've got tears that are desperate to escape and no energy left to fight 'em.
