Unmartyring (part two): Choosing the "easy" option.

I’ve always gotten a weird kick out of doing everything the hard way.

In my last year of school, I convinced the assistant principal that I didn’t need a study period, because I had to fill it with calculus instead, even though I was already taking statistics. Did I want to do calculus? No. But that was beside the point.

If I could fill my schedule more, I would. If I could take a more challenging subject, I would. If I could empty my cup and then smash it to smithereens, just because I could, I would.

I don’t really know where this ridiculous need to make everything difficult and then to suffer through it comes from. I have a few vague ideas, but this is a subject for future blog posts and for when I have time to research.

In short, every decision throughout my life has been so strongly influenced by this innate need, this stubbornness, to push myself beyond breaking point.

And boy, did I push. 

In the past, I’ve ended up in a handful of really bad situations because I just couldn’t give it up and let myself simply be. And I had to deal with the ramifications of these for a long time. Some of them are still lingering.

It also definitely didn’t help that my decisions were often externally praised, but ultimately I know that it all came down to me, just as it comes down to me to make a change.

So this, folks, is what I’ve been working on lately. Because suffering is miserable and boring and my family deserve better, my daughters deserve a far better role model, and hopefully one day I’ll believe that I deserve better too.

And my working on, has been working, much to my discomfort and challenging thoughts of “being lazy” or “taking the easy option”. But no growth is without its discomfort so I’m trying to just ride it all ahead.

Something that I’m both simultaneously proud of and feel guilty about to this day (writing about all of this guilt is getting so boring), is stopping breastfeeding when my first daughter was only two weeks old. When I stopped and “gave in”, giving her formula, the sky didn’t come crashing down. It was such a painful decision to make. My mental health soared and I felt far more stable, despite the continuous guilt that arose from not pushing on and doing what my stubbornness wanted me to do. To be honest, I'm not sure that I even wanted to continue breastfeeding so badly because I knew it was scientifically best for her, but rather because it was the more difficult option for me. Does that make sense?

Lately, I’ve been making a bunch of small, “easy decisions”, giving in to it all if you may, and it feels so good. Like instead of baking something when the thought was stressing me out, I just bought it from the store instead. It felt weird to do, but letting myself do that and challenging my own notion that it was lazy or not good enough has been quite empowering. 

We've also introduced a couple of Bluey episodes for our daughter a few nights after dinner, because it gives us all an opportunity to just chill for a bit after a long day. Previously I'd always been on the “nO ScrEEntiMe eVEr” bandwagon, I don't really know why, but it's actually been really nice to have this time as a family and not having to constantly be doing something productive, you know? Also it helps that Bluey is so adorable and wholesome, and a bonus point: it doesn't make me want to claw my eyes out like 99% of other cartoons do. 

I've also been challenging myself to communicate better with my husband and surprise surprise it makes us both happier. I've started waking him up some mornings to get up with our daughter (which he is more than happy to do, but planes could take off in our bedroom and he would still soundly snore) when previously I'd just make myself because "it's my job to always be the one to, as I'm not "working"" (bleh, I'd never think that of anyone else, it's gross the standards the we hold ourselves to aye?). It's been so lovely to be able to have a bit of a sleep in or to read a book, especially as I'm really starting to feel over these last few weeks of pregnancy.

There have been a bunch of other things lately, but to be honest I'm not that great at remembering things because #babybrain, so I'm just going to end with a little anecdote that resonates deeply with all things motherhood and allowing yourself some grace:

"Run the dishwasher twice.

When I was at one of my lowest (mental) points in life, I couldn’t get out of bed some days. I had no energy or motivation and was barely getting by.

I had therapy once per week, and on this particular week I didn’t have much to ‘bring’ to the session. He asked how my week was and I really had nothing to say.

“What are you struggling with?” he asked.

I gestured around me and said “I dunno man. Life.”

Not satisfied with my answer, he said “No, what exactly are you worried about right now? What feels overwhelming? When you go home after this session, what issue will be staring at you?”

I knew the answer, but it was so ridiculous that I didn’t want to say it.
I wanted to have something more substantial.
Something more profound.

But I didn’t.

So I told him, “Honestly? The dishes. It’s stupid, I know, but the more I look at them the more I CAN’T do them because I’ll have to scrub them before I put them in the dishwasher, because the dishwasher sucks, and I just can’t stand and scrub the dishes.”

I felt like an idiot even saying it.

What kind of grown ass woman is undone by a stack of dishes? There are people out there with *actual* problems, and I’m whining to my therapist about dishes?

But he nodded in understanding and then said:

“Run the dishwasher twice.”

I began to tell him that you’re not supposed to, but he stopped me.

“Why the hell aren’t you supposed to? If you don’t want to scrub the dishes and your dishwasher sucks, run it twice. Run it three times, who cares?! Rules do not exist.”

It blew my mind in a way that I don’t think I can properly express.

That day, I went home and tossed my smelly dishes haphazardly into the dishwasher and ran it three times.

I felt like I had conquered a dragon.

The next day, I took a shower lying down.

A few days later. I folded my laundry and put them wherever the fuck they fit.

There were no longer arbitrary rules I had to follow, and it gave me the freedom to make accomplishments again.

Now that I’m in a healthier place, I rinse off my dishes and put them in the dishwasher properly. I shower standing up. I sort my laundry.

But at a time when living was a struggle instead of a blessing, I learned an incredibly important lesson:

There are no rules.

Run the dishwasher twice." (Kate Scott).

//

Unmartyring: definitely not a real word. But for the sake of my next few rambles - the act of evolving from the martyr within oneself. Removing her from the vessel. Discovering what’s left behind. A whole lot of uncomfortableness. And who knows what else?

Confused? Read part one here.