Last week, I overdid it. I started a new ab and stability-focused program, and I tried to do V-ups the way I would’ve pushed myself 10 years ago. That was not smart. I generally act like my body hasn’t changed or done anything out of the ordinary (like gestate and bring new lives into this world) since I was 25. Clearly there is a part of my brain that is out of touch with reality. 

Here in the real world, I’m running with a renewed sense of purpose and energy, something I haven’t had in a long time. Maybe you can relate. Lots of things have felt really down and difficult lately. Regular tasks seem really and truly meaningless. I actually said aloud the following phrase: “Nothing I do matters.” I was referring to the fact that I feel like I’m constantly cleaning up, but since we don’t really go anywhere, everything is a mess again in 5 seconds anyway. Do I tend to be a little over-dramatic at times? Yes, no one is debating that. But I felt how I felt in that moment. 

This leads me down a fun path of thought: I (and many others these days, I’m sure) put a lot, perhaps too much, thought into my feelings. I’m not saying my feelings don’t matter. I am saying they aren’t more important than reality. I have learned to investigate my feelings to get to the root of the problem, but then instead of taking that root and either removing it or burning it or you know, symbolically destroying it in some other way one gets rid of roots, I stare at it and befriend it and hang out in the hole under the ground where it lives for a while. I’m not sure I’m worse about this than every other person, though my husband might disagree about that, but the fact is, I wallow. I count wrongs and imagine the world plotting against me and am actually pretty selfish when I’m down. It was something that wasn’t a huge deal before kids (again, Dear Husband might disagree with that statement), but now that there are kids depending on me, it’s a little inconvenient. I’m snappy and moody and less energetic. 

Let me stop a minute here and state to clarify that I am not at all talking about depression or mental health issues that should be treated by a professional. Those cannot be thought away and should be taken entirely seriously. What I experience is within my control and is honest to god selfish wallowing. I recognize it after the fact, but in the moment, I feel totally righteous in my anger/disappointment/sadness. Writing about this is basically me calling myself out for this pretty childish habit I’ve had as long as I can remember. 

What I’m trying to do is to replace the wallowing with action. I’m trying to see the problem as something that’s solvable, and then actually work to solve the problem. For example, here’s a problem: I want to run everyday, but I also want to write blog posts and instagram posts and things like that. I also have 2 kids, one of whom is crawling and attempting to walk, as well as get into every single cabinet and drawer in our house. The other is in virtual preschool (go ahead and laugh, but it’s great), which means my schedule is set for most afternoons. To fit it all in, I run before the boys are awake and let the older one watch an extra half-hour of tv during the younger one’s nap to have some computer time to myself. Does this bring up more problems? Yes, like what do I do when the younger one is up all night with teething pain or some other infant ailment? Answer: suck it up, or skip the run that day. The point is, I’m trying to take it one problem at a time and not let anything feel like too big a deal. I’m not that good at it yet. 

In everything in life, I’m not perfect and am a work in progress. I’m not totally sure why being open and honest here feels natural to me, but the hope is that you read about me bumbling along over here and maybe relate or feel a little more normal about your failings or maybe feel really great about yourself because you don’t have these problems. How you take it is up to you, but the goal is community and support. Love and support.