Housework

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Granny Panties

I definitely need a new housekeeper. My current one is just NOT getting the job done at all. It seems she spends all her time sleeping, or sitting at the computer, trolling Facebook, pinterest or playing solitaire. She has absolutely NO work ethic at all. She is a nice enough person,quite social in fact, but just doesn’t seem to have any gumption. In a full day, she might accomplish a couple loads of laundry or maybe load the dishwasher and wipe the counters. She has been saying for WEEKS that she will clean the kitchen floor, and yet as of today – STILL not done. She has been making some meals lately. That’s been wonderful. She has even done some baking, but she didn’t clean up after herself. And now I have all these fattening treats to enjoy. Bitch.

She finally washed and changed the sheets on my bed, but I did have to sleep a night without any, as they were still in the washer at bedtime. She is just so easily distracted. She never seems to stick to a task and just “get’er done!” Now I totally understand since the tasks are never ending and there is little appreciation realized when they are done. But its her responsibility. HER JOB.

Now before you think “must be nice to have a housekeeper at all” or “geez why don’t you fire her”, I’ll let you in on a secret. Its me! I’m the housekeeper. AND I’ve been trying to get myself fired for YEARS. But is not working – apparently there is nobody to replace me. Somehow my friends have the OCD housekeepers that put away the mail, wipe up after every spill and even have trained the kids living there to vacuum and tidy without being ASKED! SERIOUSLY!! But nope I’m stuck with ME. (and my friends don’t actually have “hired” help either)

I have VERY good intentions,. Just ask me when I’m in bed, what I’ll be doing the next day. Oh my house will be spotless and everything will be where it should be. The paint won’t be chipped, the carpets won’t be stained and the smell of homemade bread will permeate the rooms. The landscaping will be done, the lawn mowed and weeded. This house would be a show home for Better Homes and Gardens. Martha Stewart herself would be green with envy. But then I wake up! Yeah my dreams and intentions are definitely NOT my reality.

Aren’t you supposed to leave your mail IN the mailbox for a week or more until you are ready to sort it? At least there it isn’t lying on a counter making a mess!

And honestly HOW do you get a teenager to not store half of the kitchen’s dishes and utensils in his room? Even then, the dishwasher and sink are always full and there seems to only be a 30 second window when its all clean. Because no sooner did you wash the last dish, then a kid comes for another glass of milk and piece of toast! NO – back away from my kitchen. Its clean and I don’t want that blob of jam hitting my floor or that dirty knife anywhere near my sink. Just back away – I’m STILL holding the mop (well actually I’m not – since its been weeks since I picked it up)

I’ve often thought I should just get disposable dishes. But I haven’t found a good source for disposable pots and fry pans. So I’m still stuck cleaning up.

And what is the deal with flat surfaces? Is there a gravitational FORCE in every counter and table top that PULLS every bit of paper and miscellaneous clutter to it and HOLDS it in place with an iron grip. I swear -I can pick up something from one surface and suddenly find it 5 minutes later on a different surface! Its like it LEAPS from the recycle bin or trash and dances on the table singing “nah nah nah nah nah, you can’t catch me”

So yeah – I get why my housekeeper just gives up and runs to the computer. My granny panties are being pulled by the gravitational force in the couch and sits down. Its a flat surface (the couch, NOT my butt) . Its science – I can’t argue with science. So I sit and blog about it instead!

And that’s me!

That inner voice.

Posted on September 21, 2012 by Granny Panties

Well this post is thanks to my wonderful therapist. She has spent the last 2 1/2 years with me on this roller coaster of life. She has seen me at my absolute lowest of lows and has been riding the waves every week on my journey of healing.

Today we spent a lot of time challenging my inner voice. I’m not talking about the one that guides you well. You know – the OTHER one – that negates everything good, by pointing out the bad. Some call it the dog or man on their shoulder. Michelle from the Cedric Centre calls it “the drill sergeant,” in her book Food is Not the Problem. http://www.cedriccentre.com/books/

Honestly, no matter what you call that voice – its annoying to hear. That incessant chirping in my head never shuts up. I referred to that voice today as “psycho bitch”. I can’t give myself accurate credit for ANYTHING without my psycho bitch telling me how it isn’t good enough, or I didn’t do x,y or z, I “should” have done better. When the voice was called The Drill Sergeant, I could accept it, but I didn’t really feel a direct association to her. But Wow, when I called her a “psycho bitch”, that upset me. I DO associate myself with that voice. So suddenly I was calling myself a psycho bitch, and I was hurting yet again.

I don’t want to be a psycho bitch. I don’t want to BE that voice. And yet I’m guided or rather “mis”guided constantly by her. I don’t get how she’s “protecting me” or “helping me get thru anything”. She’s pushing and shoving and knocking me down every time I try and make a single step. She’s my storm wrecking my beach, and hiding my shells. She’s breaking up the shells and leaving jagged edges for me to cut my feet on. And I’m fed up.

I don’t want to be this negative, this jaded, this distrustful. I don’t want to be lazy or useless. I don’t want to be fat, or diabetic. I don’t want to be mentally unstable and depressed. And yet it feels like EVERY single time I make a step in the direction of something “better”, or “healthier” or more balanced, good ole psycho bitch is there to make sure I end up back on my ass on the ground. And THEN points, laughs and tells me how useless and crappy I am. That I’ll never be better or successful and that I’m a FAILURE.

It has happened so often that that feels normal. So I’ve just come to accept that I’m a failure. That I AM this psycho bitch who can’t do anything right. And that makes me sad, so I cry on the inside, and often those tears leak out. So now I’m a blubbering psycho bitch. GREAAAT. Just what i wanted. How attractive. NOT!!!!

My counselor says that the role of the drill sergeant has value and a purpose, but needs to let my other parts – the ones that see the good things – have more time and space. Ok. So we made a list of things I’m proud of doing. Not monumental life changing things – everyday stuff. And EVERY time I wrote something down, my psycho bitch was pestering me with the “yeah but you didn’t do….” or “Yeah but you SHOULD be doing…”. SHUT UP!!! Just SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I don ‘t want to hear it anymore. I’ve HEARD you long enough. JUST SHUT UP!!! PLEASE!

There isn’t enough room for that attitude. She’s hogging all the space. She’s controlling every move and every thought. I want to be able to sit in my LR right at this moment and see the 4 piles of folded towels and linens and think “good job – you did the laundry” But instead I’m hearing “lazy lazy lazy you STILL haven’t put those away. Are you EVER gonna get off your ass and do it?”

Instead of looking at the pile of mail, bills and flyers beside me and thinking “Geez I’m a slob – those need to be put away and/or in the garbage” I WANT to be able to think “Yeah – you sorted all the mail, and paid the bills. Great job” But I just CAN’T.

And even though the thoughts are bringing me down, and it would take all of 5 minutes to get the towels put away, or the mail into the recycle bin. I can’t do that either! It’s like I WANT to be stuck – so the psycho bitch can be right and at least then I can have something to believe that’s true. YUP I’m a lazy useless no good failure. Psycho Bitch has known it all along and now I can see she is right.

I can’t seem to find that switch to change my thinking. I feel so stuck and I’m so frustrated. If you don’t live with an overbearing inner voice, I can’t explain it. Just imagine your worst enemy following you around NON-STOP nitpicking at EVERY single thing you do. Relentlessly trying to push you into an abyss from which there is no return. Until finally you just fall into it and say “there” “you got me”.

I guess its the same thing as parents and teachers being told “don’t label kids with negative associations, or they may just achieve them ” Is that what happened to me? Was I told “you are so smart, you can do better” “Nothing lower than a B is acceptable” too often, and now I can’t be happy with average?

Everyone has inner voices, just like everyone wear’s underwear. (OR should!!). But our voices seem to have different sizes. Some drill sergeants are small and don’t occupy much space – like wearing a thong I guess! My drill sergeant’s voice is like my panties – OVERSIZED and dominant. But unlike my granny panties which are comfortable, my inner voice is NOT comforting. So I’m going to keep working at hearing her comments and telling her to step aside and let others speak. That I’m NOT INTERESTED in her feedback THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

And that’s me! GP

Tears of Love

Posted on September 12, 2012 by Granny Panties

It seems I’m destined to cry. A LOT. For so long I’ve wept or sobbed tears of grief. Then tears of endless frustration and exhaustion. Now its seems I am crying over good things. I’m like a permanent fountain of tears set to ON. All the time.

Lately anytime anybody does or says anything good to me or about me, I cry. I just instantly well up. If I can’t dodge the comment or change the subject I end up crying. I’m embarrassed. I feel like I’m being overly sensitive and silly.

I think I’ve struggled so long thinking I was alone, or being negatively judged, that when someone shows compassion and understanding I just burst. I’m too tired to be strong by myself. But I’m not willing to believe that others value me or honestly WANT to help. So whenever it happens I’m overwhelmed by the love and support. Then WHOOSH. Tears.

They are like a relief I guess. An outward release. I’m NOT alone. I am loved. I’m not imagining this burden. It is real. It is hard. But I NEED an off switch. I’m out of kleenex.

I wish I could accept in my heart that my challenges are not a sign of my inadequacies. Each time a family member or friend supports me and points out that its not me, I want to fight it. Because inside its easier to blame myself than to just accept life as it’s been dealt to me. And now as I’m clawing my way up into the land of the living – I keep getting overwhelmed with the LOVE. And I have a hard time accepting that love too. Why would anyone want to love ME? I’m messed up. What makes me worthy of their time, love and efforts?

So then because DESPITE me being messed up – I’m being given tidbits or huge chunks of love and my heart melts and LEAKS freaking tears! So I’m just a crying machine. I should be given a role on TV as “crying person” because I have it mastered. Cry now – OK! Easy. I just have to think of something sad, something that makes me mad, or something that makes me HAPPY and I can cry. BOOM. Open the flood gates!

People talk about tears of joy, and sure we see them at weddings etc. But honestly – reading an email makes me cry. BOOM. Or when a friend argues with me that I’m justified being on LTD and not a burden on society. BOOM. Or that yes dealing with my family’s issues is tough. BOOM. or seeing my daughter’s smile light up the room as she tries her new dance class. BOOM. or having a wonderful heart to heart with my son, and seeing his maturity. BOOM. or realizing just how much I’m considered part of my husband’s family. BOOM.

So hoist up your pants right to your panties, because my tears are leaving puddles everywhere I go. At least for once it’s tears of love.

And that’s me. GP

Death

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Granny Panties

Being out of town and on the road for a month gave me lots of time to think. I also got to see many of my very closest friends; had many heart to hearts, shed tears, and got some rest. Several times during the month I’d think about a blog post, but I like posting in solitude with no distractions. In a tiny trailer with 2 kids, there isn’t true private time. I often shed tears while writing, and certainly didn’t want to have to explain that to my kids. So now I’m home with several “ideas” to write about.

Over the years, I’ve had many long term bouts with depression. I’m on medications and trying to get control. But because of that, drs often have to ask “have you thought about dying” (they are actually asking “are you gonna off yourself”). Well the answer to have I THOUGHT ABOUT IT is YES. Will I off myself – NO. Am I suicidal right now NO. Do any of you reading this need to get worried. NO!!!! So relax and keep reading.

The truth is I’ve had many thoughts about dying and killing myself and disappearing etc. At times I’ve had more serious thoughts. As a teen, twice I took too many Tylenol. Or thought I had. When the dose is 1 pill, 9 seemed like a lot! I had the intent to kill myself. Part of me wanted to die. But there was another part that I guess stopped me from taking more and more. Granted – that was the last 9 in the bottle. Who knows. I didn’t even pass out. Nobody even really knew about it.

In university I was bulimic. I was so desperate to be thin, but I just needed to eat. I had to eat. I’d try and not eat but by the end of the day I’d scarf down whatever. Then I’d feel guilty so I’d puke. I got good at it. I didn’t really care if it would harm my throat etc. I wanted to lose weight. And I did. And I got compliments. It was great. Until I passed out at the toilet one night. SCARY. I realized I had to change my ways. So I began eating, and occasionally puked. I stopped myself from puking. Eventually I just gained weight and tried to accept it. But by then I had my DH (my dear husband) and I wasn’t as worried about being THIN to be accepted. DH loved me. I didn’t want to hinder my health or die, so I vowed never to induce my vomiting again. I’ve stayed true to that vow. Unfortunately the binge eating still exists. Another battle, another blog.

For years my dad has said he isn’t afraid of dying. He said, he didn’t WANT to die, but wasn’t afraid of it. I always found that statement very unsettling and upsetting. How can you NOT be afraid of dying? its DEATH! I couldn’t comprehend how ANYONE, young or old, healthy or terminal could accept death peacefully. I just found the whole idea SCARY.

On TV I’ve seen plot lines where someone has died and the loved one touches the body or lies with it etc. I distinctly remember the Grey’s anatomy character Izzy lying in bed with just died Denny and I thought EWWW. How can you touch a dead body? Isn’t that gross?

Then DH died. I was so grief stricken. I immediately crawled into his hospital bed. I had waited 3 weeks to lie with him. Now I was never going to again. I wasn’t concerned about the dead body. I was just with my DH. I didn’t ever want to leave him. I had to be dragged away. At his viewing I kissed him. I touched him. it wasn’t gross or morbid. These were going to be my last moments EVER with him. I loved him. Suddenly Death was something different.

In the time since he’s gone I’ve had a couple of psychic messages from him. He is existing in a realm outside of our understanding. Suddenly I don’t fear death at all.

I don’t WANT to die. I’ve thought about it. There have been some very troubled moments. I even have a plan. Heck I’ve had more than one plan. But a plan doesn’t mean action. It merely indicates that I’m a methodical, organized, over thinker of things. But knowing that I’ll see DH again, puts me at peace about dying. I’m not scared of it. I get what my dad says now. He’s not ready, but he is prepared.

In the past year I refused to take a lot of my medications. I’m diabetic. I NEED to take these meds. So my one therapist told my I was “passive suicidal”. I didn’t care. My response was “ok sure, whatever” I was too depressed to care. I didn’t really enjoy living. I knew I had to live for my kids. At times that seemed like a small concession when if I actually died I could be with DH and NOT deal with all the crap being dished out at me in the here and now. But I kept living. Probably slowly killing myself with poor health. But I didn’t want to die. So I changed. I started to care. I started to take my meds again. I’m working on improving.

Each day I’m working on living. I’m trying to lose weight so I’ll need smaller granny panties. But I’m startled to realize that I don’t fear or even dread death. It really doesn’t scare me at all anymore. It’s no longer a black ominous void. So although I’m not yet ready to die, I am at peace with the idea.

And that’s me.

God and Faith

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Granny Panties

I grew up believing in God. I grew up with Christian values. My family occasionally went to church. I remember a few brief stints in Sunday school. I remember a couple of summer’s going up the street to a neighbour’s house for a week in the mornings and learning a bible verse, hearing bible stories and doing crafts. I learned the Lord’s prayer in school and happily recited it until it was banned. I like traditional Christmas Carols. I believe in Easter and Christmas to celebrate the life of Jesus – not Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I’m still offended that Christmas concerts need to be Winter concerts and that as a music teacher I can’t teach any songs that mention Jesus. I’m not trying to convert my students; I’m not preaching; I’d be willing to teach hebrew songs etc too. What’s the big deal?

It was a huge deal to me to be able to attend Easter Sunday services at St. Paul’s cathedral in London when I was in high school. In grade 11 I set out to read the entire bible. I made it through 1/2 the old testament. I made the choice to be confirmed as an adult and began attending regular services when I went to university. I even became a regular member of the church choir and an assistant Sunday school teacher. I made sure both my children were christened in my church. I was proud of my faith. But I stopped going. The church didn’t fit anymore – the sunday school wasn’t working out; the congregation snarky; the politics ugly. I tried a new one. It was better, but then the only time for swimming lessons conflicted and I got out of the habit of going.

Suddenly as the kids were getting busier, Sunday was the only day left to sleep in. I NEEDED my rest. I didn’t NEED church did I? I can believe and have faith without being IN the church couldn’t I? My husband didn’t believe in God. He believed in the Christian morals and values but not the God almighty etc. He wouldn’t attend with me. I accepted that, but it made it that much easier to stop going. I could let him take the kids for a hike and I could sleep and have some time to myself. THAT was heavenly at the time.

But now I’m confused. I’m jaded. Life threw me a curve and I didn’t duck in time. I got hit HARD in the chest. My heart got broken. I prayed and prayed at the time. I prayed that God would help heal my husband. I prayed that I wouldn’t be left alone as a widow. But I was. It was an impossible reality. How could I survive this? WHY did God do this to me?

At that moment I figured, it was a waste of time. I believed with all my heart that a miracle would come. That God would help me. And it felt like he didn’t. I feels like he just dropped the ball. A big freaking bowling ball, right on ME.

Ok, I’ve been blessed with a fabulous therapist who I would never have met if my spouse didn’t die. A good thing. Through a couple of psychic sources I’ve had a couple of messages from him. One message said that He is in Heaven because of my belief. He had a place to go. I was right – there is a heaven. WOW. Powerful stuff. But I still want my spouse back.

I find myself now praying more to my husband than I do to God. I’m still not convinced in God’s love for me. There is the long standing part of me that clings to what I’ve always known. But there is this other part of me – the one that feels like its been burned over and over – that can’t possibly stand the idea anymore.

How can God take my husband from me knowing that I already suffer severe depression and low self esteem? How can God then allow my daughter to be so mentally unstable and miserable? How can God take such a good man like my husband (here on in known as DH) and leave murderers and low lifes alive? WHY? WHY take DH? Why was it his time? WHY was I not able to live my life with him? Why must my children suffer without their loving and involved dad? WHY would God allow someone to report us to Social services in the midst of all our sorrow? WHY? Why were we put through that ordeal only to be totally vindicated and cleared of all accusations? It didn’t strengthen me – it knocked me so far down I could have died. HOW would THAT have been helpful for my kids?

The phrase “god only gives you what you can handle” is ridiculous. I’m unable to work. I’m unable to enjoy my life. Is this HANDLING IT? Certainly NOT in my mind.

I have two close people in my life who have both been affected by cancer. They both used to believe in God. Now both of them – not so much. Again – I don’t think either WANTS to lose faith, but neither feels overly joyous. Ok – so the cancer is gone in one case and hopefully gone in the other. But that journey has scarred them. And scarred their outlook. And made them question God.

I have another friend who tried to say it wasn’t God who “let bad things happen”. That its our “freewill” that he’s given us. But I can’t buy that. My DH didn’t freewill his brain hemorrhage. I didn’t freewill my daughter’s mental illness or the SW investigations. They happened. Beyond any control I had. But if God is all powerful HE did have control. Couldn’t he stop it? I just don’t know what to think.

I’m excited that DH is in heaven. I believe in heaven. I believe in ghosts, angels, orbs, spirits or whatever you want to call them. I believe that there is another dimension co-existing with us. Is God in charge? I’m not so sure.

Will I go back to church again? Probably at some point. I feel a slight tug in that direction. However I think my son will never go. He is adamant that the whole church, creationism etc is crap. And that devastates me that he feels this way. Which tells me I guess I still believe and want to believe. But I really don’t know how to go back to church and TRUST in God, when I feel like I tried that and it didn’t work out. I don’t even feel like god picked me up and carried me through the hard times. So even if I could accept that God had to have DH with him, then WHY did everything else feel like it was crumbling too?

My daughter didn’t even remember the Christmas story. She was Jesus in the pageant! She was a little lamb. But I stopped going to Church when she was 3 or 4. And at 7 her Dad was gone. By 9 she’d forgotten about Jesus. I feel like I’ve failed her. Again – I must still care and believe if this matters to me.

I guess its just that God is like a long time family member that I’m really really pissed off at. I blame him for what’s happened and having a hard time forgiving him. I don’t want to stay mad, but I just don’t know how to move past it. Just like when a loved one betrays you; how do you trust him again? How can you believe that it won’t happen again? My heart is still broken – I can’t afford to have the broken bits shattered more. There isn’t enough left.

So as I pray to my husband, I look for guidance and strength. I seek courage and wisdom. And I pray that the elastic in my granny panties doesn’t break, so that I can march forward in dignity.

And that’s me.

One day, one step, keep going

Posted on August 2, 2012 by Granny Panties

When the world comes tumbling down and leaves your life all broken,

it’s hard to pick yourself back up and seek out just a token

of what was once your day to day pattern of existence.

Instead you now must forge ahead with courage and persistence

through endless tears, and fights with those you love with all your heart,

to heal the pain and lick your wounds and make a brand new start.

The voice of doubt and inner fear that what you do is wrong

is hard to shake and rips you up and makes the road too long.

So crumpled in heap upon the ground, too tired to move,

your hopes of ever finding joy again just seem to prove

elusive in the constant battle of pain and endless torrent.

Instead you seek a therapist, who sits and lets you vent.

“One day; one step; keep going,” is a mantra you repeat

impossible to honour when each day you feel defeat.

Words of advice that are no help just make you question why.

“What is the point?” “Who’ll understand?” “Why should I even try?”

But push on through, buck up stand tall, keep faith, believe and toy

with the hope that there will come a day when in your heart is joy.

Little sponges

Posted on August 2, 2012 by Granny Panties

I’ve had my eyes opened dramatically in the past 24 hours. I have my 5 year old niece visiting us. This is her first time to our home. And as most 5 year old kids, do, she says what she is thinking with no filter. Her comments are a reflection of what she sees based on her own perceptions.

As I noted a few blogs ago, I didn’t remember “teaching” my own daughter my ways of thinking. But suddenly I am seeing my warped ideals and misconceptions being repeated in her thoughts. I didn’t want my child to suffer the same frustrations I have. I didn’t TRY to influence her in those negative thought patterns, and yet somehow she absorbed those problems like a sponge.

I’m seeing trends already in my niece that are no different. She is clearly a sponge too. As soon as my niece got in my van, she right away said “you really need to clean this”. Sure there is some garbage in the van – a take out bag, a disposed bag of chips from the beach last week, a towel, some misc. stuff – but actually – compared to what we sometimes have – its pretty darn good! Within 10 minutes of being in our home, she commented on my LR “why is it so messy?” I told her it wasn’t – sure the throw cushions and blankets were tossed on the floor – so what?! we USE this room. and sure there is a laundry basket with a couple of towels waiting to be put in the linen closet, and my daughter’s camping bin with her clothes ready to take to the trailer (she had just packed them for our upcoming trip). And the room was vacuumed about 5 day ago -so relatively tidy. So she pointed to the stains on our 10 year old carpeting – “but that’s dirty”

Since when does a 5 year old comment on house keeping and carpet stains? Where did she learn this “standard” Who TAUGHT her that a room has to be “perfectly tidy” and essentially immaculate? I bet her mom (my sister-in-law) didn’t intentionally sit her down and tell her that clean is good and messy is bad. etc. But this little sponge has figured out that value.

I’ve spent YEARS agonizing over the “perfect home” syndrome and not living up to it. Worrying what if someone shows up and judges me. Thinking that I’m a worthless person because I can’t keep the spotless home AND live in it too. That I’m not a neat freak and don’t clean and tidy all the time. I have wished at times for a bit of the OCD cleaning vibe some of my friends have. I struggle daily. I don’t want to live on fake pretenses. I want to believe that the state of my home is NOT what i’ll be judged on – that I’ll be judged on my morals and values and actions, and not whether I have a laundry basket in my LR.

But then WHAM – a FIVE year old reinforces my warped message. NOPE – not good enough. MUST CLEAN MORE. I don’t measure up. BUT WAIT.. I need to say STOP. I need to halt the thinking.

I’ve been continually frustrated by my SIL (her mom) for this VERY issue. I’m not allowed to visit my brother unless her house is perfect. They are out of town. I may only see them 1 or 2 times a YEAR. And I HAVE to give ample warning if I want to show up at their home, so that it can be “clean enough”. My brother has had to be secretive if I come over when the house has not been “ready”. I don’t care about their home. I really don’t. I want to see them! I suffer the same self doubt as my SIL – the “what will others think of me” if something isn’t right. I GET it.

But to hear my niece comment in a disgusted tone, on a yard full of dandilions “that yard has lots of weeds” (thankfully NOT mine! 🙂 is sad too. She has already developed that perception that outward appearances is important. Like a sponge, she has absorbed that message. And I bet, like me and her mother, it will haunt or trouble her as she grows older and tries to continually strive to meet that unattainable high standard.

It makes me cry when I see my daughter getting therapy to help her break her distorted thinking. I feel guilty. I blame myself. But my therapist pointed out something critical – “she is breaking that pattern NOW. She has not spent 40 years thinking this”

I’m trying to break the thinking traps. I’m trying to replace distorted thinking with realistic thinking. I’m trying to ignore the messages of a 5 yr old and remember that a Social worker was just in my home a week ago (for other reasons) and says I’m doing absolutely fine. That there are no concerns with my home. I have to believe this. I have to take it to heart. I do NOT (and nor does my SIL) have to have a spotless home, to be a worthy person. And my little sponge next to me, is learning valuable lessons every second – whether I “teach” it consciously or not.

She needs to learn that we are OK – granny panties and all – and that perfection in our home or life is NOT going to happen and trying to achieve that will only lead to continual disappointment.

My personal goal is to accept it AS IS. and be HAPPY with that.

That’s me. GP

So unfair.

Posted on July 23, 2012 by Granny Panties

Life is just so unfair. And nobody said life would be fair, but seriously?! Some people seem to roll along with minor blips and bumps and others get major shit, time after time. Its not fair. Its not right.

And one person’s crisis is a bump to another. And vice versa. Honestly, I’m tired of it all.

So finally my beautiful daughter is on medication and calmer. And able to cope better. So that should be good right? But the meds are causing her to gain weight FAST. She is getting fatter. She is 2 sizes larger than she was just a few months ago. She can tell. She can see it. So my once, tiny, athletic SKINNY girl is now definitely chubby. And just in time for puberty and when looks count for so much. As we sat together in her room going thru her clothes and getting rid of the small stuff, she broke down and cried. “I’m getting fat Mummy” It broke my heart. I was the fat kid. I carry the scars of self hatred and the teasing to this day. Food is my comfort and enemy. And now here she is, 9 years old and suddenly in a size 14 pant when she could wear size 10 at Christmas. Seeing it, feeling it and hating it. And we know her meds are a big part of the problem. But she MUST take the meds. She is a picky eater, so finding food she likes is an issue too. Sigh. It’s not fair. Sooo unfair.

Hasn’t she suffered enough losing her dad? And having a mental disorder that causes her extreme rage and anxiety? And having to see therapists and doctors? and having her brother hate her and tell her so repeatedly? and having a weak ankle causing her to give up gymnastics which she liked? and her anxiety disorder causing her to have fear of heights so she had to give up diving? and now she is getting fat? ENOUGH! This girl is only NINE! So unfair.

It just makes me cry. I feel so helpless. I can’t do much for her. I can suggest healthy options (which she hates) I can encourage exercise. I can support her tears. But I can’t take away any of the pain. And I know the pain first hand. And I live the pain daily. I want it to go away. For me and her. Its just so unfair.

and that’s me today. GP.

WHY?

Posted on July 22, 2012 by Granny Panties

I’ve never understood why I’m much more willing to help someone else than I am to help myself. And I suspect I’m not alone on this.

It applies to almost every aspect of my life. I am way more critical of what I do, say, etc than I ever would be of ANYONE else.

Yesterday is a perfect example. I was more than willing to help pack and move boxes for a friend (who didn’t even ASK me for help), than I am to do virtually any task at home for myself. I took a friend’s child over for a sleepover, so those parents could have an evening off. But am I able to ask for the same help? Nope. Do I think I should ask for help? Nope. Do I think I deserve the help? NOPE! and yet I feel the others deserve it. I think they are worth it. I think they’ve earned it.

On more than one occasion, I’ve had a therapist ask me “what would you do/think if this was a friend in this situation?” “What advice etc would you tell them?” and I am HONESTLY stymied that I can’t treat myself with the same respect and rights as I’d give my friends. One therapist went so far as to have me contact a friend, and have her write out some reasons WHY, she liked me as a friend. The list made me cry. But the realization that I can’t create that list for myself is upsetting. I truly can not fathom WHY people like me. Or what good they see in me. Or why they want to be around me.

Its so hard to give myself accurate credit for what I do. I dismiss things too easily or negate them. Rather than thinking “good for me, for packing over 1/2 my friends kitchen into boxes” I think “what a procrastinator you are, you should be cleaning your own kitchen, you lazy ass”

Instead of acknowledging that I did something nice for someone, I’m too busy criticizing myself for something I haven’t done. Or “should” have done.

I WANT to like and respect myself. I envy those who have (or appear to have) self esteem. I’m trying desperately to re-think the way I do and see things, so that I will change. But it just seems that I end up more critical of myself. I end up comparing everything and I come up short. (which is easy when you are only 5’3 1/2).

When I try to lose weight, I end up comparing my success with someone else. And if she has lost more, then I think well its because she’s better than me. She’s more committed to the goal. And if she’s more committed to the goal, its because she’s better than me at dieting. And since she is better at dieting, its obviously because she’s a better, stronger, more capable person. Its because I’m a failure and I suck at stuff. I can’t just stop and let it be that we lose at different rates. It’s black and white – all or nothing. Since I’m not doing perfectly, i don’t want to at all. If I am not the best, I’m the worst. There is no 1/2 way.

And somehow without realizing it, I’ve taught my daughter the same messed up perception. So now I’m ruining her life too. Apparently it’s not bad enough that I see everything all askew…now my daughter gets to see it that way too. I hadn’t even known I’d said anything or done anything, for her to get this messed view. Why do I have these perceptions? I don’t remember being “taught” them. Just like I certainly don’t remember “teaching” them to my daughter. So WHY does she see things so black and white too?

Why can’t I accept help as readily as I’d offer it? Why do I feel needing help is weakness? I certainly don’t think any of my friends are weak. I feel they are all much stronger than I, and yet I’m willing to give them help. And I don’t think they are weak for accepting it. Why is it, that if someone takes my kid for the day or a playdate etc, I think I will OWE them big time. And yet, when the shoe is reversed, I don’t think they’d owe me anything at all.

I just don’t know WHY I have this totally unattainable, unrealistic, high standard for my life. But don’t expect anyone else to have to strive to it. I’ve mentally collected all the positives that everyone else does, and put them ALL into ONE package deal. And I can’t do it. (I’m not sure if anyone actually does) But since I can’t – I’m a failure. AT EVERYTHING. And since I’m gonna fail, why start? why bother?

So once in a while, I’ll help someone else, and I feel good for a few moments. I like the positive feedback – the “oh thank you so much” etc. And for a moment I smile and feel proud of myself. Even to a point, where I allow myself to feel smug because “I” did that “whatever it was” and not someone else. But just as quickly I wipe out that feeling, and replace it with a negative reminder of a failed aspect in my day to day. WHY? does it make me feel better? Nope. But I’ve become more used to being miserable on the inside. And the warped perception I have, tells me that I deserved the bad things. That I’m being punished for being bad. Why? who knows…

So, day by day I need to acknowledge and ACCEPT some things I’ve done that are GOOD and worthwhile and stop there. NOT negate them. NOT replace them. And maybe one day I can stop asking Why.

And that’s me. GP

MYOB

Posted on July 20, 2012 by Granny Panties

Ok Pet peeve vent here. Decades ago, it was believed “it takes a community to raise a child”. People borrowed a cup of sugar from a neighbour. Maybe it was idealized. Maybe it wasn’t real? But now, it seems judgement is passed far more readily than help or encouragement.

Just today I saw a FB post from a friend, trying to solicit others to criticize another person’s (also a friend of mine) parenting. And lots of others jumped on that bandwagon with both feet without knowing the facts. They cast judgment. Most didn’t ask for more facts. It drives me crazy. Firstly, what business is it of anyone of them? Nobody asked for this advice, comments or opinions.

Why have we become so willing to cast stones against others? Who made us so much better than our neighbours? Do you know what they battle each day? When did our “story” become irrelevant?

I’m so sick of it. I had to stop putting a lot of things on FB as it became too hurtful. I used to trust most people. I used to trust that my friends and acquaintances were all essentially good. I believed in being open and honest. No facades. (well other than hiding that I personally felt that everyone else was better than me, and I was a failure – but that’s a post for another day). Now I’m jaded, and distrustful. I’m wary of others’ judgements on me and my life.

Now it seems the only time many want to HELP – is to criticize. Seeking out the truthful people, the ones who DO care, is challenging. I have many great friends. I have many I trust and who do care. But its so hard to discern who the “others” are. Who are the ones who are secretly casting judgements and throwing stones behind my back?

Why is it so hard to communicate honestly? If you are concerned for someone, or their kids then TALK to them. BE OPEN. BE HONEST. don’t hide behind FB or ministry Social workers. Man up. Don’t gossip. If we truly want the best for others, then isn’t it up to us to provide it personally? Honesty IS the best policy. I still believe that.

I WANT a community to help me raise my family. I WANT to be part of a community that helps raise my friends’ kids.

When I see a friend’s child doing something inappropriate, I’ll tell that child to stop. (heck I’ll tell a total stranger) I’ll tell the parent I did so. But know what? I’m not judging that parent. I LOVE my friends’ kids. I TRUST their parenting. I know that there is a story for their actions and why they parent as they do, and why the kids may act as they do. Does that mean I agree with everything all my friends/kids do? Of course not! Nor do I expect my friends to agree with all my choices. But if there was something BIG, that I was concerned about, I’d say so. and I would want them to say so to ME. Don’t hide. Honesty!

Be True, Be real. Hang your Granny Panties on the line for others to see! And if you can’t be honest and true, then MYOB.

and that’s me. Granny Panties and all! 🙂

My life as an Ocean Storm

Featured

Posted on July 19, 2012 by Granny Panties

Ok, so I have this space so I can write, vent, and generally be too verbose about all the twirling thoughts in my head. So now I can’t decide what to write about first.

I like the picture I picked because to me it represents my life. I have something beautiful (ocean, landscape) but my thoughts or the actions of my life (the storm clouds) are lurking just above threatening to make it miserable. Or worse, the storms HAVE hit and unleashed fury on our landscape and made a mess. But once the storm passes, there will be beauty again.

I feel like I’m living in a constant storm. I am waiting for that calm. and waiting and waiting and waiting… OK already, enough of the storms. I want the beautiful sunset part now.

Time will tell what the storm washed ashore. What treasures and what demise. But right now I’m still slogging through the puddles of mud and water and my boots are leaking. I need to find a rock to climb on, but I just keep tripping on the stones. Occasionally I’ve found a beautiful shell, but its either broken or gotten lost. I know they are there though. I see glimmers of them, peeking out at me. Offering me hope. Today the rains have stopped and the clouds are parting, and it seems like calm seas may lie ahead, but I fear another storm is brewing just beyond the horizon ready to rear its ugly head, when I’m least ready.

and that’s me today. Granny Panties!

Unleash The Ugly

the rumblings and ramblings of my life

Tag Archives: Life