Anne TootillTo Be or Not to be a Mother -Part Three
January 9th 2007 18:11
The days are passing and I’m not feeling any better. I’m going through the motions but it’s as if I’m not all there. I feel like I’m watching the world go by from behind a window. I’m on autopilot going through the motions.
But all my life I’d been a trained seal, performing on cue, and somehow I still managed to put on my party face when I was outside the house or with others. I suppose it was so ingrained that I easily transformed into Chuckles the Clown, what I’d been encouraged/taught to do since I was a very little girl so I could brighten everyone else’s world. Afterward, it always felt as if I’d just lifted an eighteen wheeler with my bare hands. Being with other was so much work. I couldn’t wait for it to end so I could rest.
But when I was inside the house, alone, just me and the kids I’d set Josh up with some toys and then sit in a dining room chair - over-looking Josh’s play area - and feed Alex a bottle. I’d sit there and stare endlessly into space. Sure I’d watch to see that Josh was doing O.K. (apparently my neuroses trumped even the worst of depression) but other than that I’d sit and stare, because moving even the tiniest muscle took much more effort than I could muster. Even the muscles in my face appeared to be frozen in place. Everything felt weighed down. So heavy.
But, on cue, when duty called and Josh toddled over to show me a toy or a book, I’d work my expressionless face into a smile and kiss and hug him and compliment and play with him until he wandered away, a moment later I’d turn back into that zombie, once again.
The funny thing was that I didn’t feel sad anymore. Actually, I felt nothing at all.
But all my life I’d been a trained seal, performing on cue, and somehow I still managed to put on my party face when I was outside the house or with others. I suppose it was so ingrained that I easily transformed into Chuckles the Clown, what I’d been encouraged/taught to do since I was a very little girl so I could brighten everyone else’s world. Afterward, it always felt as if I’d just lifted an eighteen wheeler with my bare hands. Being with other was so much work. I couldn’t wait for it to end so I could rest.
But when I was inside the house, alone, just me and the kids I’d set Josh up with some toys and then sit in a dining room chair - over-looking Josh’s play area - and feed Alex a bottle. I’d sit there and stare endlessly into space. Sure I’d watch to see that Josh was doing O.K. (apparently my neuroses trumped even the worst of depression) but other than that I’d sit and stare, because moving even the tiniest muscle took much more effort than I could muster. Even the muscles in my face appeared to be frozen in place. Everything felt weighed down. So heavy.
But, on cue, when duty called and Josh toddled over to show me a toy or a book, I’d work my expressionless face into a smile and kiss and hug him and compliment and play with him until he wandered away, a moment later I’d turn back into that zombie, once again.
The funny thing was that I didn’t feel sad anymore. Actually, I felt nothing at all.
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