There is no heat in my bedroom.
I don’t mean that metaphorically (smirk) though, sadly it does play in that context as well. I mean literally, I live in a converted summer cottage, and there is no heat on the second floor – only what rises up through the stairwell.
When my girls are home we all sleep with our bedroom doors open to circulate the heat (and also, of course, so I can hear them if they need me). Inevitably they both end up in my bed, along with the cat who likes to perform opera from atop my headboard at about 3am nightly.
He really knows how to commit.
On the weekends I close the bedroom door to avoid Diesel’s pre-dawn serenade (in the hopes of achieving that coveted and elusive REM sleep) and also to save on heat. It seems silly to keep it cranking from downstairs just for my benefit. So, on cold nights I throw an extra comforter or two onto my bed.
I woke up this morning with a sense of the chill in the room, although I wasn’t feeling it under all of the layers…flannel sheets, a quilt and two down comforters – oh, and I may have slept in a sweater (I know, I know, so much sexiness). I was like a reverse Princess and the Pea.
Anyway…I woke up feeling the weight and warmth of those layers and it was hard to get out of bed. I loved the feeling of being cocooned, protected. I thought of those weighted blankets they sell for children with anxiety. The weight has a soothing quality.
Finally I dragged myself up and padded downstairs for some coffee.
Here’s where I admit to you that once again, I am struggling. I do see a pattern. I notice that sometimes the weekends can be hard for me. I don’t have my children here, and I don’t have to be at work…those are the two arenas in which I feel my strongest sense of self. They ground me.
I know my parent-friends who have their children with them all the time may not be able to relate to “time off” from their kids as evoking a feeling of loss. I mean, I know you can empathize, of course…but I do remember – I remember when I was with my children seven days a week (especially when I was a stay at home mom) having a Saturday without my kids was like a vacation. A really amazing vacation. I would be giddy over it. However, when it is virtually every weekend – the celebratory mood fades.
You miss them, a lot.
When you’re depressed, having children around helps. For one thing, I love them and being with them brings me true happiness (most of the time!). I am also aware of how my moods affect them, so I keep myself as even keeled as I can when they are with me.
So, sometimes on the weekends I let it all out, and I just depress the shit out of my dog, instead.
I need to laugh, you guys…even if it is at my own expense.
It has been an emotional week here at Dipped In It, no? By Wednesday I had already tackled divorce, separation from children, and unrequited love. Loss, pain, and feeling like I have failed in some way. Feeling not enough…
No wonder I am depressed, for Christ’s sake.
I need a vacation from my own thoughts.
Did you ever see What About Bob?
“You need to take a vacation…from your problems.”
Will somebody please tie me to the mast of a sailboat so I can have some effing fun!?
I SAIL. I’M A SAILOR.
Okay, fine. A walk, then. I’m going to go bundle up and get some fresh air…“with the wind and the sky and everything…”
Thanks for listening. I actually do feel a bit better.