I Don’t Have the Wheel


Scream

On the days I have my shit together, I really kick ass. I get my workout in, eat healthy, connect with my kids. It’s the version of myself I always want to be. But she doesn’t stick around for long. Anyone relate to this?
It takes one bad night of sleep when one of the kids is up a few times to derail me. The next day I’m exhausted, crave nothing but carbs and allow myself to “have a day”. That’s all it takes. The permission I give myself to stop trying so hard pushes me into full sabotage: may as well just enjoy this day, I’ll get back on track tomorrow.
Next day: may as well rid my cupboard of all this bread and junk food today and start fresh on Monday; I’ll shop for veggies and really healthy choices.
Two weeks later: May as well just accept these rolls and love them because I’m never gonna have the body I had in my twenties.
During this time all the sugar and starch I am binging on is creating brain fog and impacting my hormones. Sending my anxiety through the roof. I’m angry. I’m resentful. I’m sad. I’m in a rut. I feel trapped. I feel annoyed. I feel like a bad mom. I feel like a burden. And the cycle continues.
All this isn’t only caused by food, I’ve had anxiety and depression all my life. But usually they’re just a grey cloud that I monitor in the rearview mirror as I navigate through my life.
But when I stop taking care of myself the clouds turn black and engulf me like smoke; making it hard to see, to breath, to distinguish truth from reality. Making it easy to believe all my negative thoughts as the truth. Making it so hard to get out of my head.
It’s such a slippery slope. I’ve been on this ride for years. Sometimes I have the wheel, most times I don’t. Most days all I can do is wake up and brace myself for the ride. But I will continue to get on every day. Because some days I wake up and have my shit together – and those days feel amazing.

The Cycle


Photo Credit: Warrior Art

A Poem for adults who suffered abuse in their childhood, and suffer with mental illness or addiction in adulthood:

When the pain can be traced to the very roots of the tree
Is there really any escaping it?
A curse passed down from generation to generation
Teaching their kin to rage, worry, blame, wallow
Building foundations for failure

Regrets and more regrets
Blame and more blame
Siblings lost together in a place they can’t escape
It’s home, but their young souls know it shouldn’t be

One sibling grows up
Blaming, hating, selfishly ripping through their home
Like an unpredictable tornado
The debris: broken hearts of those who can’t help but love them

Another sibling grows up
Sweeping secrets under a rug
Arranging flowers, ironing wrinkled clothes
Polishing tarnished silver
Making things appear perfect
When really, she’s a perfect disaster

When will the cycle stop?
When will the blaming end?
I know the pain is real, I’ve felt it
I know the demons are there, I battle them

Being a grown up is hard
Being a parent is hard
Being a grown-up parent who suffered abuse in their childhood
Is excruciatingly lonely and painful

But our children cannot not be the punching bags that we were
Our spouses cannot be the target that we spew our anger at
Our families deserve the best of us

The best of our childhood was stolen from us
We cannot steel it back from our kids
It doesn’t work like that

The cycle needs to stop here
For a long time, the fight will be constant
But we’ll get stronger, wiser and better

We are warriors who draw the line in the sand
With swords dripping our own blood
Marking the boundary that will not be crossed
And fiercely guarding it

We’ll need to fight for our own happiness
We’ll need to battle the demons
Who threaten to steal it from us
And plant lies in our heads that we’re bad
That we’re not worthy
That we’re unlovable

But we have to fight
Forever
And ever

Accept this
And you can begin
Your new journey

®Cristina Cole