Things that did not save me:
Church didn’t. I did the youth group, the lock ins, the missions. I got a lot of experience with singing in public, but I don’t think I was saved, not by God. I was saved from a lonely adolescence, which I guess is worth a lot.
Being blond, being brunette, the pixie cut, no. The perm didn’t save me. The right suit got me into an excellent MBA program, but that didn’t save me.
I hear people say their kids saved them, and I always think, “your baby looks like a potato. Are you saying that screaming tuber saved you?” I think having something cute that needs you is a great way to be forced to get your life in order, but I don’t know if that’s the same thing as saving.
My girlfriends did not save me, but they did keep me company every time I sank. My dog did not save me, but only because he still barks at the weenie dog next door every morning and it is statistically impossible to be saved by something you are yelling at at 5am.
Lately I’ve been having that itchy feeling of hating my clothes, hating my face, hating my house. I’m convinced if my kids could be pleasant and kind and helpful every second of every day, I’d be saved. I am convinced if I could get a head transplant, I’d be saved. And a trip to Hawaii, maybe a slightly higher dose of my SSRI, a protein powder that isn’t chalky, they could work? I’m sure if I could just be about 50% more beautiful and 80% more grateful, I’d be saved.
THIS MADE ME LAUGH/SILENT YELL AT MY KIDS
My undergraduate degree is a BFA in Acting and when I tell you that I USE THAT DEGREE everyday when I am silently communicating with my eyebrows exactly how my children should behave.
Okay, reading this back, it appears my main takeaway today is, WOW, am I an extremely intense mom just trying to look like a casual mom? Yes! Probably!
Please tell me what’s saving you right now, and also if you silentyell at your kids sometimes? Yes?
xoxo,
Kathleen
Sobriety (one year October 7th)
Lexapro
Hormone replacement therapy
My kids’ iPads
The fact that tomorrow is Monday
Yelling
Libra season
Gardening planning
What is saving me currently is a very low dose of an SSRI, my weaving class and its accompanying banter with my classmates, working with a financial planner to plot our early retirement scheme, and fresh tomatoes from my garden for lunch. I spend less time silent yelling and more time making a "Are you fucking for real right now?" face at my 13-year-old. Can't dish it out if you can't take it, kid.