I want to share something rather personal with you.
Wait, haven’t I been doing that all along? Well, sure, but that’s been mostly about the kids. This one is personal-personal.
One of the things I’ve recently been able to put into words is the fact that all the components of my life (work, kids, finances, etc) occupy tabs in my brain like the tabs in your search engine. Currently on my computer, I have five tabs open. One for email, one for the calendar, one for my Google drive, one for Facebook, and one for this post that I’m typing.
My brain really is no different. And just like I have trouble closing any of the actual tabs that I just listed (because they’re ALL important!), I seem unable to close the brain-tabs.
Each of my four children has their own tab. Work has a tab, but also each of my side projects at work occupy tabs. Our bills have one, my husband has one, and our current homebuying chaos has one. That’s eleven tabs right now. Oh! And the Special Ed PTA has one. Twelve. It’s like my brain is having its own IEP meeting. Heheh. That’s an image.
I can’t close them. And they’re all running videos and music and one has gifs and none of them are running an adblocker so there are ads too.
Know what happens when your computer has this much chaos?
Yup. That. It slows waaaaayyyyyy down. And at some point it decides it can’t do anything you want it to.
And that’s what my brain did this morning. As my amazingly patient husband and I were talking about house shopping, I started rocking back and forth. My heart rate increased, and all conscious thoughts flew away. All I could feel was the steam building like in our Instant Pot, and that valve needed to release or the lid was going to blow.
I vaulted myself into our room, away from the kids, curled into a ball, and proceeded to completely fall apart.
Right on my heels, holding my hand the entire way (I think, it was all blurry) was my husband. Reminding me to breathe. Stroking the back of my hand. Talking in hushed tones. Letting me pull the pieces of myself back into myself until I started to feel whole.
Only, it doesn’t ever happen just that simply. It comes in waves, you know, and the body-wracking sobs began again. The hyperventilating began again. And once more he stepped in, bringing me back.
Eventually, exhaustedly, and with a LOT of help, I was able to come back around to me. I hope that makes sense. It’s almost as if I’m somewhere else when this happens. You see, with each new “thing” (a deadline, a stressor, even the happy stuff) there is a tiny, barely perceptible fracture that takes place for me. And when there are enough of them, and I don’t take the time to acknowledge and work on them, those fractures become major fault lines.
I’m starting to feel like I have too many analogies happening here, but what I am really trying to get to is this:
Take the time.
Acknowledge for yourself that this is hard, and that you may need help identifying the first step.
Take that first step, and then the next.