I’m nothing if not honest here. Honest with a healthy dose of common sense. There are things I won’t discuss, like my sex life or money. Other things, like religion and politics and the Great Pumpkin are open season, and I’m pretty sure I’ve written about all of those. So go with me here as I dive into some self-honesty, and remember my mantra here is “if you decide to confide in others, you’ll discover you’re not alone.”
This summer was hard. Hard, hard, hard. That followed a spring so difficult that I was about to walk out the door and I’m totally not kidding about that. Spring was preceded by a winter that was less than stellar. Seeing a pattern here? Here at the House of Chaos things have been a bit janked for awhile. And it hit me hard. This summer, even though it was an “out of school” season better than others, wore on me. Having the boys home while I started a part-time job, while I tried to get more active in the gifted community, while I tried to still stay sane, really brought into focus how deeply I believe in year-round school. Oh, and showed me that hang the effin’ cost, next summer they are doing something every single week.
But I digress.
There came a point this summer where I felt like I was one breath away from a panic attack. All day. Every day. For weeks. It was just residual stress from all the previous months, stacked on top of one another, salted with my own personal intensities, oversalted with the intensities of the three men I live with, stirred up with the day to day craziness of having the boys out of a schedule, and thrown under a heat lamp to ferment. I finally looked at Tom and admitted I needed help, that the one anti-depressant I was on had apparently given up the ghost, and I was about to lose my ever-lovin’ mind.
My doctor, who I like but still freaks me out because he is my age, put me on a second anti-depressant (hooray for better living through chemistry!), and ordered me to find a therapist. To the therapist I went; she’s an awesome woman Tom and I have worked with to help us with A, because she’s a psychologist who specializes in gifted kids/adults/families. I like her so much. She’s been helping talk me down off the ledge and get a grip. She’s the one who first told me that I have a strong-willed personality. I totally laughed at her, I thought she was kidding. I have never in my life thought I was strong-willed. My brother, my son…they’re the strong-willed ones. She looked back at me and actually asked, “Are you crazy? You are soo strong-willed!” Ok, when your therapist asks you if you are crazy…well, I guess I am strong-willed. Who knew?
But I digress. As usual.
She has charged me to write my own personal mission statement. And I.am.stuck. I have no idea how to proceed. What is my mission in life? Other than italicizing a word in every other sentence, I mean…note to self, stop doing that. What do I want to accomplish with my life? My path has changed so many times I’ve lost track. While I’m kinda-sorta-not-really living the life I imagined, is it the life I want now? I wanted to be a stay at home mom. I am, and wish I had thought that through a little better. I wanted to be a band director. I was, and won’t go back. I wanted to be a flute teacher. I was, and can’t go back. When I was a kid, before I took up flute, I wanted to be a writer. I…have no answer for that.
So I’m asking for help from the Interwebz. Do you have a personal mission statement? What’s your mission in life? Do you know? Do you have a crystal ball so as to divine mine?
Because other than “Get up in the morning…” I’m lost.