Anne TootillTo Be or Not To Be a Mother - Part Three
April 2nd 2007 17:40
Busy, busy, busy. So much to do. Always going, going, going. Which for me was usually a good thing. I liked to be busy. And even though I was still feeling depressed at home when I was at school I wasn’t.
During the week I was on the go from 5 A.M. until I sat down to eat dinner with my husband when he got home at 7:30 P.M. I took care of all the kid’s needs and all of the household needs, plus now I was going to school. I fed them, changed them, bathed them. In the morning I got them ready to take to the daycare center. Then I took them and went to class. Then I came home, some days in the afternoon, some days closer to 5 P.M. (depended on my class schedule). Then I made them dinner, got them changed for bed and then I spent more than an hour doing this bedtime ritual which I set up to make myself feel better about going to school and enjoying myself.
During this time I would play games with them, build things, laugh, pretend and read lots and lots of stories. After a while I added a tale of my own creation, “Mr. Bones and his Magic Balls (and no, it was not a tale of a man and his private parts, although now that I think back, the kids were so young, what did they really know? I probably could have enjoyed myself quite a bit more if I had fantasized about some tall dark knight-in-shinning armor with a pair of magic balls (well and some other magically delicious parts as well) sweeping me off my feet and carrying me off to his kingdom where he treated me like a princess...the end...but since Mr. Bones was a skeleton and therefore anatomically challenged it was G-rated all the way. Anyway, bottom line…I was so tired and hungry (I have low blood sugar so I was shaking and dizzy while I told the stories and played) but still I gave my kids undivided attention for more than an hour every night.
Why you ask? Because I felt incredibly guilty about having fun when I was at school. About enjoying myself when I should have been with the kids making sure they were enjoying themselves instead. I know this sounds crazy but I really thought that if I wasn’t suffering and sacrificing it meant I was a bad mother. I’d always done it for everyone else. My family and friends expected me to cheer them up and tell them jokes when they were down or to offer a helping hand when they needed one. So I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. Right? I mean no one ever told me I was supposed to count too. No one told me or showed me. Everyone saw me running around like a chicken without a head trying to please them all and yet not one, not my husband, not my parents, not my sisters, not my in-laws told me I should take some time for myself and stop trying to make everyone else happy. That’s how I was raised so that’s what I figured I was born to do. So I did what I was supposed to do.
But something inside me had started to shift. Because lately I was feeling something I’d never felt before. Resentment. And guilt for feeling that. I knew that made me a bad person. I was supposed to be doing good for everyone else. Isn't that what they say makes you a good person. A person that went to "Heaven". But how come I noticed when they were down and needed help, but no one noticed me. As a matter of fact not only didn’t they offer to help, they wetn so far as to flee in the opposite direction. Sometimes I no longer had the energy to be there for them, so as if to punish me, they started leaving me out. My own sisters, each of whom I had been close to, while neither had been close to each other, all of a sudden buddied up and went places together but didn’t ask me to come. My younger sister who had ADHD drove my parents crazy when she was younger so they made it my job to keep her busy. She had no friends and she was sad so they told me I had to find her friends. So I did. But then I had to tell jokes and amuse the kids, so they would stick around. Make friends for her Donna, take her along with your friends Donna, make the kids laugh when they come over Donna so your sister won’t be all alone (and drive them crazy with her hyperactivity). So I did what I was supposed to.
As for my older sister. She had gone through several illnesses in a row in college and gotten depressed and insecure. My parents threw their hands up. Too much trouble to deal with. You make her happy Donna. Make her laugh again so we don’t have to fix a problem we don't want to bother with. You deal with it Donna. And so I did. But the shoe was on the other foot now and for once in my life I was so sad and desperate I had no choice but to reach out to others. And where were my sisters when I needed them? Out to playgrounds and kiddie amusement parks leaving me in their newly minted sisterly dust.
But I never said anything. What good would it have done? It would only make them uncomfortable. Besides even though I’d never asked so I hadn’t known, deep down I knew that one day when I needed them they’d all say no. And thats' just what they did. Turned out my family and friends only wanted me around when I made their life more fun and easier. How did I feel? Sad and worthless. Why was I only good enough to give. Not to receive? But I knew why? Because I was a loser. So I raced from place to place making sure everything for everyone got done. And I never said a word.
And on the days I felt really, really bad and down about how my life had turned out, I cried to my husband that I hated being a mother. You know what he said to me? In his angriest tone (he’d punched a hole in the wall over my head early in our marriage) he told me in no uncertain terms that I was a great mother. That he could see how much I loved the kids by all the things I did for them. But I did love my kids, I told him, but I hated motherhood. So he told me that I didn’t mean that. That I wasn’t really feeling what I said I was feeling. And then he wouldn’t stop saying this until I agreed with him. So I did what I had to. What I always did when he didn’t like what I was saying. He scared me. He always scared me into changing my tune to match his. I agreed with him. And then we went to watch T.V. To him everything was once again right with the world. He was happy and nice to me again.
But new feelings were starting to emerge. I sat next to him and I hated him. I hated him so.
.
During the week I was on the go from 5 A.M. until I sat down to eat dinner with my husband when he got home at 7:30 P.M. I took care of all the kid’s needs and all of the household needs, plus now I was going to school. I fed them, changed them, bathed them. In the morning I got them ready to take to the daycare center. Then I took them and went to class. Then I came home, some days in the afternoon, some days closer to 5 P.M. (depended on my class schedule). Then I made them dinner, got them changed for bed and then I spent more than an hour doing this bedtime ritual which I set up to make myself feel better about going to school and enjoying myself.
During this time I would play games with them, build things, laugh, pretend and read lots and lots of stories. After a while I added a tale of my own creation, “Mr. Bones and his Magic Balls (and no, it was not a tale of a man and his private parts, although now that I think back, the kids were so young, what did they really know? I probably could have enjoyed myself quite a bit more if I had fantasized about some tall dark knight-in-shinning armor with a pair of magic balls (well and some other magically delicious parts as well) sweeping me off my feet and carrying me off to his kingdom where he treated me like a princess...the end...but since Mr. Bones was a skeleton and therefore anatomically challenged it was G-rated all the way. Anyway, bottom line…I was so tired and hungry (I have low blood sugar so I was shaking and dizzy while I told the stories and played) but still I gave my kids undivided attention for more than an hour every night.
Why you ask? Because I felt incredibly guilty about having fun when I was at school. About enjoying myself when I should have been with the kids making sure they were enjoying themselves instead. I know this sounds crazy but I really thought that if I wasn’t suffering and sacrificing it meant I was a bad mother. I’d always done it for everyone else. My family and friends expected me to cheer them up and tell them jokes when they were down or to offer a helping hand when they needed one. So I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. Right? I mean no one ever told me I was supposed to count too. No one told me or showed me. Everyone saw me running around like a chicken without a head trying to please them all and yet not one, not my husband, not my parents, not my sisters, not my in-laws told me I should take some time for myself and stop trying to make everyone else happy. That’s how I was raised so that’s what I figured I was born to do. So I did what I was supposed to do.
But something inside me had started to shift. Because lately I was feeling something I’d never felt before. Resentment. And guilt for feeling that. I knew that made me a bad person. I was supposed to be doing good for everyone else. Isn't that what they say makes you a good person. A person that went to "Heaven". But how come I noticed when they were down and needed help, but no one noticed me. As a matter of fact not only didn’t they offer to help, they wetn so far as to flee in the opposite direction. Sometimes I no longer had the energy to be there for them, so as if to punish me, they started leaving me out. My own sisters, each of whom I had been close to, while neither had been close to each other, all of a sudden buddied up and went places together but didn’t ask me to come. My younger sister who had ADHD drove my parents crazy when she was younger so they made it my job to keep her busy. She had no friends and she was sad so they told me I had to find her friends. So I did. But then I had to tell jokes and amuse the kids, so they would stick around. Make friends for her Donna, take her along with your friends Donna, make the kids laugh when they come over Donna so your sister won’t be all alone (and drive them crazy with her hyperactivity). So I did what I was supposed to.
As for my older sister. She had gone through several illnesses in a row in college and gotten depressed and insecure. My parents threw their hands up. Too much trouble to deal with. You make her happy Donna. Make her laugh again so we don’t have to fix a problem we don't want to bother with. You deal with it Donna. And so I did. But the shoe was on the other foot now and for once in my life I was so sad and desperate I had no choice but to reach out to others. And where were my sisters when I needed them? Out to playgrounds and kiddie amusement parks leaving me in their newly minted sisterly dust.
But I never said anything. What good would it have done? It would only make them uncomfortable. Besides even though I’d never asked so I hadn’t known, deep down I knew that one day when I needed them they’d all say no. And thats' just what they did. Turned out my family and friends only wanted me around when I made their life more fun and easier. How did I feel? Sad and worthless. Why was I only good enough to give. Not to receive? But I knew why? Because I was a loser. So I raced from place to place making sure everything for everyone got done. And I never said a word.
And on the days I felt really, really bad and down about how my life had turned out, I cried to my husband that I hated being a mother. You know what he said to me? In his angriest tone (he’d punched a hole in the wall over my head early in our marriage) he told me in no uncertain terms that I was a great mother. That he could see how much I loved the kids by all the things I did for them. But I did love my kids, I told him, but I hated motherhood. So he told me that I didn’t mean that. That I wasn’t really feeling what I said I was feeling. And then he wouldn’t stop saying this until I agreed with him. So I did what I had to. What I always did when he didn’t like what I was saying. He scared me. He always scared me into changing my tune to match his. I agreed with him. And then we went to watch T.V. To him everything was once again right with the world. He was happy and nice to me again.
But new feelings were starting to emerge. I sat next to him and I hated him. I hated him so.
.
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