I find myself vacillating between pure blissful contentedness and severe self-loathing and it is getting exhausting. I couldn't tell you why per-say but it's getting to be a real drag on my psyche, self-esteem and overall energy level. I dwell on my faults way too much and have a harder time than I can describe valuing my truly positive traits; good mother, nice neighbor/friend, half-decent cook ??. Blah blah blah
I'm ashamed to admit there are actual moments when I it is all I can do to summon a smile to my face so that Noah doesn't see my sadness or momentary desperation with myself. I don't think a four-month-old can really sense my despair and disgust at my own body, the body that gave him life and continues to be his sole source of food, energy and comfort, but goddammit, why do I have to feel so shitty about myself? I refuse to pretend to feel happy when I just don't feel it. I am unhappy with the way I look, the way I feel and the continued fact that nothing in my entire closet fucking fits me AT ALL.
I actually have a fear of being a fat person who doesn't see themselves as overweight and unattractive, you know, the kind of person who is secretly and not so secretly made fun of in public. I realize that that sentence might be the most politically incorrect statement I have written on this site but right now I am just so dammed unsure of myself and my new roles that it is shaking my core. I still feel guilty for not bringing home a paycheck and I because I don't, I don't know how much attention and time I should demand from my husband who does contribute in a monetary fashion. The rules have changed and I feel like I am staring at a poster of rules from a distance so far away that they are blurry like the last tiny line of the eye chart.
Today I am roiling in my my lacking ability to ever get anything written, to ever attract more than twenty readers in a day, to summon the energy it takes to strap the baby into the baby bjorn and take the dog for a walk around the block. My computer is insanely slow and old which is just pissing me off at the moment when my brain is talking faster than the words actually appear on the screen because of some damn lack-of-memory-key-delay thing I have to deal with. There are dishes in the sink piling up because I'm too lazy to unload the dishwasher and errands to be done that I can't fathom leaving the house to accomplish.
I do realize that there is an outside possibility that the parasitic and often symbiotic relationship between my self esteem and my body weight is THE unhealthy factor of this equation. I'm starting to feel a little desperate because I know the effects a parent's sadness have on a child. And I really just want to get past this.
My mornings start with a long nursing and cuddling session that often are so touching and so heartwarming that I am carried through the day in a cloud of baby-neck softness.
Noah is doing so well that it tickles me. We are doing well, overall. It's just this thing that sneaks up and nags me.