It’s been two months since I’ve taken my anti-depressant medication. Withdrawals included, but aren’t limited to dizziness, mood swings, fatigue and emotional emo-ness.

Kinda like what I went on it for in the first place. Heh.

It’s all made me question my decision, just like the first time. But this time, I held on. I waited a little longer knowing that last time I made it to this position before I gave in due to extenuating circumstances: like work troubles and then winter starting. But now even though life is still quite hairy, I feel like I have somewhat of a grasp. (Because really? There’s never a perfect scenario.) I’ve come to the realization that the drugs are partly what’s caused me to feel so “out of it”. They turned me into the zombie and made me so comatose that I was just getting by.

I’ve been struggling with trying to figure *it* out and for a while, all signs pointed to my IUD. The weight gain, the abdominal discomfort, the headaches, The Rage and acne. I was convinced I needed to have it removed. But, now? I truly believe that it was because I wasn’t consistent with my medication. I’d take it for a day or two and then forget a couple; then take it for a couple more. Now it’s gone and my thoughts are more clear, I can concentrate better and I don’t feel like I’m living in a fog anymore.

Mental clarity is a huge deal, people. Huge.

Mental health? That, I’m still working on.

Since I was diagnosed with PPD I left my doctor to make the decisions regarding my health and medications. I handed everything over to her. I don’t regret it because she’s wonderful and lovely and I trust her implicitly. I just don’t want to be medicated anymore. I want to take back my life. I want to live my life, not just get by.

My next step is getting back into running. I’ve been talking about it for months years, but I’m nervous and lack motivation. Plus, I don’t know where to start. It’s been years, YEARS, people, since I’ve ran. I know how much I used to love it and I want that again.

So runners. Your tips, links and suggestions are needed, please! Go nuts (in my comments).

Running Room? Couch to 5K? an app? a website? Let me know!

If you link more than two items in your comment it will be held for moderation, but I will manually put it through, so don’t fret.

I’ve been teetering on the edge of losing my ever loving mind over the past few weeks. Between working 70 hours a week in the office, another 20 – 30 at night on my own business, I’ve worn myself down to merely a zombie going through the motions. Mike was off work for the past 6.5 weeks and I’ve been doing what I can to pump out some quick work to bring in a little extra cash while I’ve been swamped at my salary paying regular job. Without him, I’m certain this house would have imploded.

I try valiantly to find balance, but I find that I become consumed by one or the other depending on how much attention they require. The kids get sick, I stay home, things come up that need my attention then I spend too much time away from the office or unavailable, the boss notices and then there’s reprimand. Should I have to put in additional hours – which include weekends – then family and marriage suffer. Finding that balance is a feat in itself and I am finding I am not so strong at managing my home and work-life balance.

Actually, I am failing that balance.

I know it’s short term and will eventually, (hopefully) work itself out. It has to. I love what I do. I love working. I love being a part of something and contributing to amazing and wonderful transformations on a daily basis. Driving into Downtown Toronto and seeing the skyscrapers and condo buildings makes me proud because even though they have become eye sores and block out any natural light in the downtown core, I have been a part of their construction. Though my work is neatly hidden beneath soil, steel and glass, It’s an amazing feeling to know that I have contributed to that.

But that feeling, as amazing as it is, is really nothing compared to that of being there for your children. Teaching them, learning with them, being there during their Firsts. Nothing in the world can neither compare nor replace that, and I don’t I want it to.

I want both.

I want to find that perfect equilibrium.

But then again, don’t we all?

I am not about to quit my job, though I do appreciate the links and feedback on my last few posts, I am just working through being overworked and underpaid, fatigued and riddled with Mommy Guilt. It’s regular day-to-day around here. I need to rant and vent, but I am so grateful to have you. To hear my woes and encourage me to keep on keeping on.

Just a few more hours of sleep. That’s all I need.

Oh, and a life coach, personal organizer, nanny and a winning lottery ticket.

I wasn’t kidding. I want it all.

My upbringing was probably a pretty traditional one: parents divorced when I was really young, one sibling who I fought with constantly, low to middle income of which I was completely unaware since I sucked at math. The early 80’s were very much the time that kids did their thing while the parents did there’s. I remember rarely being accompanied by an adult as I rode my Big Wheel bike throughout the tiny townhouse subdivision where we lived with our mother. We would be out with our friends at the ages of 5 and 6 until the street lights came on, of course.

I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, but in some way it’s obviously affected me because, well, I’m writing about it.

There were a few rare occasions when my mom would play with us, but for the most part, my brother and I depended on ourselves and our friends for entertainment. She’s always been protective, but not entirely hands on. There, but not. I’m beginning to notice it more and more in myself these days. I am finding I partake little in my kids’ lives, in their fun and laughter, and parent from the sidelines.

I’m here, but not.

They make their games around me. Their laughter is just background noise. Their fun doesn’t include me.

I’ve fallen into this pattern, or routine, of a life I swore I wouldn’t have. I’ve been watching my children play and grow. Rather than being a part of their lives, I’ve been watching from the outer realms of their existence; merely a fixture.

I was often left to my own devices as a child. I was to entertain myself and not become a bother to the adults. I am seeing that in how I am raising my children. They are merely here as we live in parallel universes with small but frequent interaction. It unintentional, but the realization is so painful it’s hard to breathe.

I’ve unknowingly began a journey down a path I have no desire to be on. I never wanted this for myself or my children. The idea of just doing to get by makes me ill. Fighting through each day only to start all over the next. Same boring routine, same boring days which seem to meld into one and before you know it, the weekend has arrived and you’re just too tired to play even a half assed game of cars. Seeing my kids for a total of 2 hours a day is killing me.

Seeing the income tax statement from the daycare today was an eye opener.

From when I returned to work in May, until December, 74% of my gross income has gone towards daycare costs.

Essentially I am paying to work. I am paying to sit on the sidelines of my childrens’ youth.

It’s a painful kick to the gut.

I’m winded. I’m lost. I’m tired.

Work is crazy nuts right now. It’s great since only a few months ago we were on a work share program and now we’re hiring new people because work’s picked up so fast. I am a Project Coordinator for a small (under 20 people) company. I’ve been with the company since its inception, May, 2003, and though I have been with the company longer than anyone else, I feel as though I am the least important member of the team. Two maternity leaves have seemingly pushed me to the outer rings where some days I find myself feeling as though I am quickly moving closer to dismissal.

Upon my return from my latest maternity leave there were a number of new staff members and a completely re-invented policy and procedure program. I struggled with balancing my home and work life while learning about my company as though I were a new employee. It was a little demoralizing and hard at best.

For the first two months back to work, I struggled. I struggled so hard with having both my children in daycare and pretty much working solely to pay for that daycare. After eight and a half years of dedicated work, I went back with my first two weeks broken up into part time shifts because daycare had messed up placement for Carter to return to a full time slot. I then missed numerous days to stay home and care for them as illness was rampant through the centre.

After all those years of dedication, I was called into my boss’ office and put on notice that I better shape up or I was out. It all came down to roughly three and a half weeks of REALLY shitty quality of work – or complete lack of work, never mind all those previous years of traveling and overtime.  I felt as though I was given the short end of the stick because I wasn’t on my game as soon as I stepped foot in the office after a year’s leave. And as truly terrifying and sad it would be to find myself out of work, I was (am) shockingly comfortable with the thought. I absolutely love the industry that I’m in and the experiences I have, I just miss my babies so much. Being downsized or laid-off, seems like it would be a godsend some days.

Since The Talk, things have improved drastically and I feel, after almost a year back to work, I am somewhat back in the loop. But still, for some reason I find myself feeling more and more susceptible. I keep feeling like any wrong move I make will be reason enough to hand me notice and get me out the door. I just don’t have the confidence in my job that I once had.

Paranoid. There’s really no other way to explain what I’ve been feeling. I am completely and utterly paranoid.

Never in all my life can I recount a moment that I’ve felt this way. I’ve dealt with extreme self consciousness – like walking down the “Senior Hall” in high school trying to avoid eye contact and falling on my face as I passed through what felt like a million pairs of eyes watching and judging.

But paranoia? Doesn’t even compare. It’s debilitating and soul crushing. Questioning every move I make on a daily, hour, minutely basis is tiring. So tiring.

Two weeks since my last post? Honestly, the only reason I knew was because I received the dreaded email from the lovely ladies who provide me with my coffee money.

People, I can’t even tell you what it’s been like around here over the last little while. It’s so crazy busy that I’ve been working crazy overtime at both jobs. I’ve seen my family so little I’m surprised they realize I too live here. I’ve been leaving for the office at 6:30am and coming home 12 hours later, spend 20 minutes with the kids before they head to bed, then I’m on my computer working away at designs until about 11:30pm. It ain’t pretty.

What’s new with me?

Because I’m not quite busy enough, I’ve taken on another job! I’ve joined forces with Swank Web Style and I’m super excited to have this opportunity.

~

I’ve cried many tired and worn out tears as I anticipated a sad Valentine’s Day for Carter as his name was accidentally left off the class list.

Thankfully, everything went well for the little guy as many kids and parents seemed to have remembered him even though he wasn’t on the list. That’s a parenting moment I hope to never have to go through again. (I’m not going to be that lucky, am I?)

~

For the first time in my life, I am obsessed with Olympic coverage. I can’t remember a time that I’ve felt so patriot and so in love with my country. I mean, I have a Canadian flag on my hard hat, I have a poppy affixed to my sun visor which are merely small tokens of patriotism, but now I am finding myself so excited to see the name ‘Vancouver’ on everything Olympic related. I was brought to tears by Alex Bilodeau’s gold medal performance in moguls on Sunday night (and the love between him and his brother Frederic? Oy.).

GO CANADA!

Once I have a moment to catch up and things begin to calm down, I will be back to posting. I miss you guys, lots!

Since leaving high school and attending post-secondary school at the age of 18, I have, more often than not, been the youngest person in my close knit group of friends. Sometimes by gaps of four years or more. It’s really not been something I spend too much time on until it’s brought up; for example, in conversation or I’m outright asked and the resulting reaction is something along the lines of: Holy shit, you’re only (insert age here)?! But in all honesty, I really don’t care if you’re 2, 5, 8, or 50 years older than me (or younger for that matter. But 50 years younger? That may be a little um, weird) if you’re a friend to me, I am a friend to you.

When I’m feeling overly sensitive (sometimes) and utterly emo (always) I wonder if maybe people think because I am younger my opinions don’t matter or they feel I have nothing to offer to a conversation because my life experiences are assumed to be less than comparable to theirs. I, the completely irrational person I am,  don’t realize that: a) many are likely oblivious to my age and just assume I am older. (Yes, I obviously have an issue with self-esteem. I know this.) or b) they really don’t give a shit about me or my age in the first place. But they should care! Why don’t they care!? No one likes me! WAAAAAAAH! Also? See item a), parentheses 1.

So I’m a little lot self conscious and care far too much what people think of me. I’m working on it. As I have been my entire life.

And as self conscious as I get for being the youngest in the group, I also think, Wait a minute, why are you so shocked that I’m “only” 28? Do I look older? OMG, I LOOK OLD!

It’s really a vicious circle.

Then last week? That circle? It came to a crashing, back breaking halt. Straight into a brick wall of OLD.

In my defense, I spent majority of the week sleeping off some stomach bug I got from the kids. I showered and went to work on the Friday but with little make-up and my hair pinned back: low maintenance. I had to go to our sister company to pick up some project related paper work and while I was there I was chatting with a few of of my former co-workers, one of the guys, whom I used to joke around with a lot, commented, “Holy Sam! Look at you! You look… like a MOM.”

I LOOK LIKE A MOM!?

A MOM?!

Does Mom equal OLD?!

Because I’M NOT OLD!!

One of the ladies turned to face him and informed him “that wasn’t very nice” , while I, in my true colourful form told him he was “such a douchebag.” I wasn’t offended per say, I don’t really offend all that easy, but as I thought about it over the weekend I couldn’t quite pin point what about that comment irked me so much. It’s not like it was a lie, I am a mom. A mom to two beautiful, wonderful little boys. I am a parent. I love having children.

The thought of looking like a mom has me visualizing Mom Jeans, plaid shirts and Keds. I think of women losing their (our) self image and conforming to this uniform and lifestyle that strictly revolves around the children. I think of unkempt hair swept back in pony tails, no make-up and stained clothes. Immediately I felt shame wash over me. Have I fallen so far down the rabbit hole that I give the indication I no longer care about my outward appearance? OMG, I’M A MOM!!!

Yet, I’ve worn that uniform, and I know that’s not a mom. I KNOW. It just happens to be easy and comfortable and realistic most of the time, but it’s not a mom. No outfit, be it from a discount chain store or a high end boutique, makes a mom. A mom is that woman who plays; gets down on the floor with trucks, barbies or what have you.  She takes them to playdates, swimming lessons, doctors appointments and soccer games. A mom makes lunches, dinners, draws a bath a scrubs the dirt and grim from their little fingers. A mom comforts and soothes, loves and adores. Being a mom is NOTHING to be ashamed of, no matter if she works outside the home or in it.

I? Am a mom.

I? Am not ashamed.

I? Am, however, updating my wardrobe.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Since returning to work, back in May, I’ve been running myself ragged. For the past 8 months I’ve been trying to manage two full time jobs, a family and non-existent social life to the point where my body has finally said, Listen lady. This is bullshit. I need rest.

And it rested.

After a grueling week of 5 am – 12am days, a weekend of two sick children, and transferring to websites to new hosting and installing another, my body crashed.

For 37 hours of sleep.

One thing is blatantly obvious. I need some balance in my life. Where to find it is another question.

:::

Mike started working with a new company back in September. This one feels, to him, like it’s The One. More of a career than a job, which is fantastic. I am elated that he no longer comes home each day bitching about how much he hates his work.

That is, of course, when he’s working.

This company purposefully takes a month off at Christmas time; they hand out pink slips and a bottle of booze for a Christmas gift, I shit you not. From mid- December to end of January the guys are home. And if they’re like my husband and don’t see a reason to file for unemployment because they’re only going to be home for a month, they’re making no money. Brilliant if you ask me. Why? Because well, THE BILLS DON’T STOP COMING IN JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WORKING.

Ahem.

Also? Mike is the bread winner. Even though I am working the equivalent of two full time jobs, his salary still far exceeds what I can bring home. Yet we’re trying to manage on mine because HE DIDN’T SEE THE NEED TO FILE FOR UNEMPLOYMENT.

I’ve been too busy to notice that this month is flying by and we’re likely going to hit financial rock bottom before he gets back to work. I haven’t been on top of our finances until yesterday when I had to move money from overdraft to make sure our mortgage payment didn’t bounce. I took that opportunity to show Mike the bright red numbers staring back from the stark white screen and only then did he realize the severity of our financial woes.

What did he do this morning? Filed for unemployment. Guess it’s better late than never, right?

So now, I am fighting every urge to keep my mouth shut, because all I really want to say is, I TOLD YOU SO!

But that never ends well.

I hummed and hawed about writing that obligatory close out post for 2009. Frankly it was a bitch and entirely unworthy of my time. I have never so badly wanted a year to end, but here I am bidding her adieu.

So I said I wasn’t going to write about it, and I’m writing about it. Sue me.

2009 brought so much heart ache to friends and family. 2009 really had nothing all that wonderful to offer personally, professionally, for friends, for family, for the world’s economic condition for that matter. Really? I don’t give a shit, I’m just glad it’s gone.

For me, 2009 meant loss of a beloved family member, and finding others again. It meant finally meeting friends, yet losing some along the way. It made me face one of my greatest fears: trying to figure out if my child was a victim of abuse at the hands of someone we trusted to care from him daily. 2009 brought more pink slips than one would care to shake a stick at.

(Thankfully Mike has been with the same company for about four months now. Not including, of course, the ENTIRE MONTH OF JANUARY BEING A VACATION. Seriously, the company shuts down for a month around Christmas. They give out a bottle of booze and a pink slip at Christmas so the guys can collect unemployment while they get their drink on in January.)

This past year meant I returned to work from a year long maternity leave only to be thrown into a work share program (part time hours instead of laying off staff). Since returning to work I’ve also dealt with my depression rear it’s ugly head again as I struggled to manage my work and home life. It meant turning on my friends and spewing hurtful mean things across The Internets (which I won’t be linking to, sorry) as a means of deflecting the anger onto others instead of where it belonged: on the path of which my life has taken.

I have been a shitty friend.

I have unintentionally hurt people in my life – that I would otherwise have done anything for – because I would not face my own demons. I have lost some of those I thought were close to me and would understand the most. They didn’t and I was wrong to expect that they would be there after the dust settled. I was wrong to expect so much of them.

The only great thing to come of 2009 was the fact that I’ve made it through relatively unscathed. The damage has been done and, for the most part, I’ve made it out on the other side. There are still fences to mend and rebuilding to be done, but aside from that I am certain 2010 will be a better year for us all.

I’m going on another break. I’ve blogged twice in two weeks. That’s enough for another month off, no?

Seriously though? My dear friend, Issa says I take more breaks than Ross and Rachel on Friends.

She’s right you know.

There’s been stuff behind the scenes that have kept me from wanting to write. I tried forever to get passed the mental block by writing it out; by posting (more of) my dirty laundry, to clear the air – give my side of the story. But then I was uncomfortable with airing everything for the world tens of people to read. Not because I felt guilty, but because it’s painful and personal. It’s not something I want to have The Bots shredding up and sharing.

I decided against posting about it, and even though it still eats at me daily hourly, I refuse to write about it openly. Those that were involved know where my heart was (and is). Those that have made it their business to share a one-sided speculative version of what happened are free to believe what they like.

I wanna leave that shit in 2009.

Whoever wants to carry it along with them is free to do so – just stay the fuck off my lawn.

And now that we’ve got that bullshit out of the way, Happy New Year!!

Here’s to a happy and healthy 2010.

Maybe even a couple more consecutive posts under my belt again?