I introduce you to this struggling mother’s shame. It is a large coffee mug (one of my favorites) filled with ice cream (today’s shameful flavor is chocolate chip) which is smothered with both chocolate and strawberry syrup and hot cocoa mix (yes, darlings, powdered cocoa) sprinkled (dumped) on top.
Fuck my figure, fuck my care, because it feels like my life is going to shit. Bills are overdue, car took a shit on us, money too short, month too long, and marital spice is a bit more on the spicy side and lacking on the zest. My saving grace for the day is the fact that my three kids were good for a majority of the day. Even when I had my ridiculous meltdown because the stupid burger patties were frozen in the middle and refused to pull apart and instead they crumbled so I just threw the damn things on that fryer as I screamed because, fuck, I can’t even cook burgers right!
So I cried and bawled over broken patties and my kids, all three of them, heard my pleas and came rushing to me and hugged me and rubbed my back and told me everything would be ok…. They saw me in a way I wish they never had, but they loved me even in that moment and I thanked them and told them to go play and dinner would be ready soon.
The truth is, I don’t think everything will be ok. And, frankly, I’m tired of hearing “everything will be ok.” It’s nothing personal to the loved ones who have said that to me, but in this moment nothing feels ok. Let me feel this moment because your words of encouragement do not reach my core. You don’t actually know that everything will be 100% ok. You have faith that my husband and I will figure it out, but you don’t know.
I’m sure you’re right (you typically are), but I need factual assurance in times like these. Best wishes (while appreciated) don’t help me in the moment of a mental breakdown. I barely hear it. I need to feel my moment of hopelessness thoroughly before I crawl out of that pit (with help or on my own).
And, darlings, I am feeling it. Every calorie, every ounce of sugar and fat and crap, oh yes. I am feeling all of it and I don’t care if this cup kills me. It’s delicious and it’s filling the cracks in my breaking heart.
Tomorrow (or possibly Monday because the banks are closed tomorrow) will be better. I’m 75% sure. Which is really good because I’m typically a lot less sure about these kinds of things. Soon I will have solutions, game plans, and a sense of purpose I didn’t give myself before. Yes, changes are coming.
…And possibly another cup of shame because I still feel pretty shitty.