Running running running.

I ran my fastest 1k tonight. I ran an 11.5 minute mile. True story that I run fastest when I have something from which to run.

I spent a lot of time running trying to figure out what it is that has me running. We missed the meeting again tonight. Another case of screaming toddler and full time working mommy syndrome. And I let it drag me down. After a while, it gets easier to keep missing them. After a while, you don't even need an excuse.

Anyway, sitting on the couch trying to ignore my life, it felt like an intense bubbling in my chest just boiling up and up and up until I finally decided I couldn't take it anymore, and I had to get away from it.

I've figured out from what I'm running.

Myself.

Such a short and simplistic answer, isn't it? I ran in metaphorical circles around our neighborhood hoping to escape the one thing I never have and never will be able to outrun. Me. Myself. And I.

Motherhood makes some people nicer people. More patient people. Calmer people.  Not me. I've been on a dinosaur-like rampage for over four years, and heaven help anyone who gets in my way. I've been angry and overwhelmed and sometimes agonizingly depressed, and sometimes, let's be honest, I don't believe they're my kids... and I gave birth to them. I look at them and feel lost, wondering where they came from. (Kicking myself for ending a sentence in a preposition, but sometimes perfect grammar sounds stupider than the alternative.)

I have such unreasonably high expectations for myself in everything I do. And when I fail to meet those expectations, I begin to doubt whether I should even try. I work full time, so I can't be Mrs. Milk-and-Freaking-Cookies Cleaver, although my terribly old fashioned self can't imagine anything better to do. I don't want to work. Not because I'm lazy. I had kids because I want kids. And I'm eaten alive by the guilt that comes with not being able to devote every waking second to those children. Not being able to see every single itty bitty milestone. I feel like I've missed so much already. And I'm failing, so I withdraw emotionally, and then it all just falls to pieces, and nothing makes sense.

Some moms can't stay home. Some moms have to work to keep their sanity. I'm not one of those moms. I love and adore my kids more than I ever imagined I would. It literally kills me to be away from them for more than a second. I can't be a working mom. I just can't. I love my job, and I love the patients, but they don't deserve the attention I feel my kids should be getting.

I've been told I'm an old soul. I believe it. I was raised by an old-fashioned man, and I never knew how much he really influenced my life til I was grown, and he was gone, and now I can't tell him how grateful I am that he stepped up to be my father when he didn't have to be. But I owe my sarcastic, snarky, old fashioned hag mentality to that wonderful, beautiful man, and I don't view it as a negative for even a single moment. Things were better in the good ol' days. Easier. Simpler.

I'm rambling.

Le sigh.

I need focus in my life. I feel like a stretch Armstrong, pulled in so many different directions, that I can't sit still, can't focus, can't figure out what I'm doing. I feel like I've been kicking and screaming for help and attention, when, in all reality, I've gotten so good at wearing my fake happy upbeat front that I can't seem to wear anything else. And people eat it up like candy.

I haven't been genuinely happy in a long time.

Vacation. I was happy on vacation. No obligations. No pressing urgent matters that were really somebody else's problems and not mine. Just me and the hubby and the wide open sea, and it was simply amazing, and I can't wait to go back.

Life just gets heavy sometimes. And tonight, I'm all over the place with my thoughts.

I'm still running. I'm not sure I'll ever stop.

I.

Just.

Le sigh.

xoxo,
Alex.Is