Obnoxious you say? Well, I confess that I added that descriptor just for you dear reader, though I have to admit that even I sometimes find me a bit hard to be around. I mean, really? Nobody is that happy or that positive all the time. 

True enough. I have my moments. We all do. And what we see is not always what is.

I do, in fact, hit the floor most mornings with a twinkle in my eye, a song in my heart and smile on my face. I have learned to temper my exuberance to preserve harmony in my home. But that bubbling joie de vivre is truly a gift I cherish. Always there energizing me like a certain “bunny” that keeps going, going, going…and going.

This, of course makes it all the more spectacular when I hit a wall. When the moments crash together and I find myself drowning in a sea of regrets, what if’s and why’s. I am usually good at wearing my “happy mask” for most of the world to see. But those closest to me…the loves of my life see my horrible melt-downs. It must be a terrifyingly sad sight. At least that’s what I imagine. I feel responsible somehow. After a lifetime of being everyone’s cheerleader, now cheerless and stunned, I typically try to find a rock to crawl under, or tuck myself away for hours of restless sleep. 

The truth is I really do believe that things will work out for the best. I am generally a positive, upbeat person who loves life and is exceedingly grateful for its blessings. My happy-faced, positive tendencies are not an act and generally do not take a lot of effort on my part to pull off. But the honest truth also is that my brain is slightly out of whack. My happy levels of serotonin and dopamine bottom out sometimes and the weepiness begins and the world comes crashing in. Chronic depression is no ride in the park, and so I rely on chemistry to maintain the status quo.

A confession then, as promised in the title.  Making my optimism all the more obnoxious. Is my eternally up-beat persona a big fat lie? Nope. I repeat…nope!

For that, my dears, is what the fearful “pick yourself up by your own bootstraps” crowd wants you to believe. The “mental illness is a character flaw weakness and not a true medical condition” mumblers and “pray it away” exhorters will escort you to your rock and hold it up for you to crawl under if you let them. Because misery loves company. This is the real lie and we need to change this for all who suffer. I prefer not to be in the company of the miserable. And neither should you.

Being that happy optimist for me is a choice. The glass is half empty AND half full in my world. Yes both! The fact that the glass exists at all is reason to celebrate.  Even if I need a little boost now and then to maintain that lovely chemical brain soup sloshing around in my head. There is and should be no shame in that. It keeps it real for me. It helps me be me. And it’s called taking care of myself and being healthy.  And the truth is I’m not always obnoxious. But optimistic? I wear that label happily!

My partner has been unemployed for several months now…going on infinity. Or at least that’s how it feels from my supportive partner position.  It’s exhausting. I’m normally an upbeat optimistic sprite…the kind non-morning people hate waking up to each day before coffee. Or so I’m told.

Remaining positive in the midst of the looming depression, insecurity and fear that comes with endless application submissions, interviews ad nauseum and the waiting…waiting…waiting…days to weeks to months without closure or progress, takes a bit more effort than I am used to exerting. So far I have avoided that rabbit hole myself. That “what if” vortex that sucks me back to every time I have cried over a pile of bills on the kitchen table, with no means to pay them, wracking my brain for the umpteenth way I can rob Peter to pay Paul. It would be so easy to plunge into that uncertainty, angst and despair. I know it, because I’ve ridden that roller coaster before.  And I’ve been waiting for it…but in a startling development, even to me, I am surprisingly calm.

It’s as if I am in the midst of a final exam, spiritually speaking. The piper has come to collect on all my “live in the moment” aspirations. Sure I like to say I am practicing conscious moment to moment living. If you’ve known me long enough, you’ve probably heard me say it or read it in one of my flowery optimistic posts…Oy…I know it’s easy for me to say right? But the truth is, right here right now I am doing okay, even more, I know that I know everything will work out in the end.

How did this happen? I admit I am startled that I am not falling apart right about now. But I am encouraged by my progress.  I just may ace the test this time. I guess I’ve paid attention all those moments when Wisdom whispered into my ear, or when Experience, taskmaster that she is, took me through her impossible obstacle courses over and over and over again. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time, but each passing day I grow more and more confident.  And when I say “we got this”…  “you’ve got this” to my partner, I mean it with every ounce of my being. Even if sometimes I have to repeat it out loud to myself to make sure I’m hearing myself correctly.

Enter the dangling carrot bedazzled with glitter.  That job…THE job finally crossed our path – upwardly mobile, room for growth and a substantial pay increase. Every job hunter’s dream! We…I say we, but it is my partner who finally got that much anticipated call and entered into a dizzying series of interviews. The drama transpired over a month and a half, each interviewer extolling her virtues and passing her upstream to the next talking head. And in the meantime, another call for a job…not spectacular, but not horrible, not a step back, but meh…and the ensuing course of even more interviews. The moment of truth has been approaching for both opportunities. And I admit we both allowed ourselves to dream a little, to toss around the idea of a more comfortable life and the ability to tuck a bit away for that retirement I had just assumed was out of our reach.

When the call finally came, it was stunning. The last interviewer for THAT job lowered the ax…thanks but no thanks.  Even the bearer of this outcome, a friendly HR person, was shocked and dismayed by the verdict and offered another option within the company, a traveling position with an even higher compensation package so as not to lose what she considered a tremendously qualified candidate. Travel…extensive travel…more pay…extensive travel…no home life…churn…

As for that other job…what had become the lesser than, but adequate backup job. That process seems to be moving forward. Background and reference checks are checked…offer expected most assuredly in a few days. And another surprise…even another test? Perhaps, the most important test of all. A good night’s sleep and the new day sealed my resolve. How quickly THE job turned into just a job. Because there are a few things worth considering…important things. Clarity…the true gift of each moment, is a beautiful thing!

This morning I told my partner that having her around is more important than having…stuff. Of course, all this has confirmed what I already knew. It’s all going to work out in the end. It always has and always will. Riding the wave has been quite a thrill and I’ve learned I can let go, and to savor each precious moment when it happens. So with a smile and a nod and an “atta girl”…after she’s had her coffee…I think my partner is starting to believe it too. And at this very moment we are both fine…yes fine indeed!

P.S. We got a wonderful offer late last week! Filled are we with happy anticipation as we turn the page and begin the next chapter!

It’s Monday and the day after THAT day. There is a subliminal reason I am certain, that I surround myself in her favorite flowers.  She who is not named on Mother’s day. I immerse myself rather into my own role of Mother and Grandmother. But she is always there, in the air, in the walls, in the mirror, even flaunting her presence in the boisterous blooms of roses surrounding my front porch. It is only the day after, separated by hours and choke-held tears that I can call myself “Daughter” and consider the woman who birthed me.

I was the “good daughter” or at least I tried to be for years until I could be “good” no more. I truly believe she tried in her own way to mother me. But mental illness and addiction had stronger sway in her troubled life. There were interludes of insanity that peppered my formative years. And stories of my attempted escapes from it…once into raging city traffic when I was a toddler…another time, seeking the solace of warm cookies and mothering from caring neighbors who found me wandering on the balcony of our apartment complex or at water’s edge near our country cottage years later. It was not uncommon for me to act out in bizarre ways as a youngster, eventually drawing myself into an inner life of mystical imaginings, spending hours upon hours in safe secret places. Nature and spirit guides nurturing me to adulthood. And then I became a Mother to Daughters…

Despite her flaws and demons my mom taught me a few things about myself and the mother I have tried to be. Here’s what I learned…

• It is okay and healthy to let go…even if it is unbearably painful and hard to do (for mothers) and it is the breaking away that is most frightening and harder still (for daughters). As Mother I have learned to let my own daughters go, realizing that even in their longing to be free, there will always be a need for me, as their mother, to be a safe place to land and a familiar heartbeat to cling to…even if just for a moment. I have learned to ask permission to participate in their lives, giving them room, without the guilt so often attached, to create their own families, traditions and circles of significant others even when it doesn’t include me. I have not always succeeded gracefully in this, but it is my goal to perfect the dance.
• Children will attempt to parent if burdened with the task, but it is my job as adult and mother to protect their innocence. I learned that I couldn’t help my mother. And more importantly that is was not my job to do so. I have had to draw on my own inner child, often learning what it meant to be a child from my own daughters, and taking their lead.  I have learned to make time for silliness and play while protecting them from the responsibilities and cares of my world. 
• Mental illnesses…even the types that purportedly run in families need not become life sentences for future generations. Having “inherited” a double-whammy of mental challenges from, not only my mother but my father as well (perhaps we’ll visit that the day after Father’s day…), I have learned that I can change the unhealthy tendencies of my own life. The insanity can and does stop with me. It has taken recognizing and accepting the truth of my upside-down life, hours of therapy, creating new family circles, recognizing mothering from other sources, and grace, lots of grace to get me here. And as a mother, I have developed a keen eye and heart to gently guide my daughters to mental clarity, health and happiness through honesty and the acknowledgement of the realities of mental illness. There is help and hope for those who suffer.

So, this day after…surrounded by your favorite flowers, thorns and all, I would like to thank you Mom, for inspiring me even in your brokenness to become the daughter, woman and mother I am today.  And as an ironic and perfectly synchronistic denouement to this life’s reflection…I present to you Mom, as it was presented to me, this year’s Mother’s Day card from my daughters.  I hope it makes you smile…oh…and thanks for the roses…:) …until next year then…

kat ~ 11 May 2015

Synchronistic Perfection! As they do every year, our climbing rose bushes burst from bud to bloom. This year’s event coincided with Mother’s Day!

And so I feel compelled to share this sweetness with all my friends here, be ye mothers, daughters, sisters, aunties, or grandmothers, near or separated by heaven’s veil…or even by complicated distances of heart…there is a sweetness and grace in the wings; whatever our sorrows, joy has a way of surprising us. Perfection amid thorns!
kat on Mother’s Day 2015