I haven’t written in a while and it is because I never have the time. When I was a kid it felt like the days were so long. I was bored all the time. I wanted to grow up and I wanted to start my life. I wanted to drive and have a job and a family of my own. I wanted everything I didn’t have. I’m 30 now and I’ve found that I do the same things that I did when I was that little kid. I want everything I don’t have. I long for a simpler time. The days are long but for a different reason. I am exhausted.
Without going into too much detail, I am at my parent’s house for the second week in a row. My mental issues are spinning out of control a bit and I have determined that I should probably be at home with my parents and my kids. If I panic, I can go to another room and know that my kids will be taken care of. I am doing this for my children, but at the same time I know that I am hurting my husband. He misses us. He misses his babies. He understands, but I still feel the guilt. My little boy asked to go back to his house today and I knew that I just couldn’t go yet. I can’t explain it to him… so I try to find fun activities for him. I try to shield him from this as much as possible.
I think that is what parenting with anxiety is. When your little ones are hurting and its because of things that they don’t understand, you take every bit of yourself (whats left after anxiety has beat you up) and you give it to them. You try to make every single day the best day you can for them. Maybe one day they’ll understand. Maybe one day my little boy will ask me why we spent so much time at his grandparent’s house. I will tell him the truth. I will also try to stop beating myself up about this. I am sick and I can’t help it. I am trying to get better, but in the meantime I am trying to protect my babies from seeing how bad it can get. Something I wish had been done for me.