Addiction

Hello, my name is Lori and I’m an addict.

I just read a fascinating article about how motherhood…or Motherlove, as she called it…is like an addiction. It’s not that as a mother you can’t take time away from your kids or even dislike them some days. But, she points out that what she hadn’t expected was to be so overcome with the love of that child, to have such a baby-shaped hole in not only her body, but also in her head, that she couldn’t NOT think about her son. Constantly.

I’ve tried to explain this…how being a mom completely changes your mindset. That you can predict their actions, interpret their babble, and know just what they’re flushing down the toilet when you’re not even in the same room. You can look like a magician for knowing these things. That’s what mothers do. It’s our superpower. What unhinges us though, our Kryptonite, is not being able to predict the rest of the world and how it will touch that child. Knowing that there are bad people out there lurking, accidents waiting to happen, and choking hazards printed right on the box, it’s such a distraction to the reality of everyone else that you lose your former SELF to the personae of MOTHER. As much time as you spend doing other things, as good as you are at reclaiming your pre-baby body and lifestyle, as ‘together’ as you can appear despite the insanity of caring for another human being, you are fundamentally changed and it is weird!

You become addicted to the person you have created…the child as well as your mother-self…you are addicted. You become overly aware of every move they make while trying to make moves of your own. It’s like performing a finely choreographed dance with a wildly spastic partner. You give pat answers to questions depending on who is asking and which personae they are familiar with because it’s faster and easier than taking the time out to think of a sincere response, and then your attention is right back where it belongs…on the kid. You are distracted, fidgety, and your attention is always wandering because you are physically addicted to the wellbeing of that child. The DT’s don’t stop until you’ve locked all the doors, tucked them in, snuggled them close and assured yourself that it’s safe for another night.

A quote in the article hit me closely.
“To be an addict is to be something of a cognitive acrobat. You spread versions of yourself around, giving each person the truth he or she needs—you need, actually—to keep them at a remove.” – David Carr

As a mother, you are all of these layers in one while performing those acrobatics for outside eyes of keeping someone else alive, fed, relatively clean, sometimes dressed, and hopefully happy. All of that while also keeping yourself passably sane, somewhat fed, relatively clean, sometimes dressed and usually at the expense of your own happiness. It’s amazing and depressing at the same time, just like your layers of personality can be amazingly together and hanging on by a thread depending on who’s looking. The highs and lows of addiction.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my children and find a great deal of joy in every single joke they tell and each new word they read and I pat myself on the back for raising happy, funny, beautiful, smart, and loving girls. I know. I know. I’m doing a good job. But, I also admit that it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and the percentages of my frustration may not be what you’d assume. About 35% yes, comes from daily smart-ass red-headed princess-entitlement issues. “Get your water bottle out of the fridge yourself and don’t roll your eyes at me again!” Another 35% comes partly in relation to the first 35% and that’s my own fears and anxieties that my world isn’t a reflection of other homes I admire or other women I respect. “I’m not doing enough, I’m doing too much, I’m not teaching them enough or I’m teaching them the wrong things, they’re being raised by Public Broadcasting and my own pursuits are pushing them away and is turning them into disrespectful disobedient punks and, oh yeah, my carpet hasn’t been vacuumed in weeks.” The final 30% though is feeling like I’m alone in all this in my head and the one person sharing it all with me…literally…his office is down the hall and he hears it all loud and clear…doesn’t get why I’m such a freak. “Just relax, stop stressing about the kids, and let’s jump in the car and take a vacation.” And when I explain that although those words are completely adorable and that I appreciate how sincere and truly loving he thinks they are when he says them to me, each one is an impossibility for a Mother. You see those two extensions of me over there?…as long as they’re around, I physically CANNOT relax (the exception being snuggle time on the couch when nothing else is pending), I cannot NOT stress, and Vacation?…I do not think it means what you think it means. Take all of my normal drama, wrap it up in a car with bags filling every space and containing supplies that have to cover every contingency I can conceive of and displace it to a land beyond my home turf? Not my idea of a relaxing stress-free vacation.

Okay, so he says that he can grant me the semantics of a trip vs. vacation, and I think he chalks my uber-awareness up to being a good mom. Points for me in grammar and caretaking. Still, when I tell him some of the nightmares I have, or when my actions are dictated by some of my anxieties (No, we can’t walk the babysitter home and then stroll back while the baby sleeps! What if we get mugged and the baby wakes up all alone or chokes on something and we’re not there to give mouth-to-mouth?), he gets that look halfway between frustration and disbelief (the questioning whether I’m crazy look) and I know he wonders what happened to the woman he married. I know he still loves me deeply. We talk about it a lot and that removes a HUGE layer of stress that could be bubbling over the top of everything else. I have friends and family who’ve dealt with divorce and infidelity and having those lines of communication open are highly rewarding and comforting. But my addiction still changes the dynamic in the home and that’s the part he doesn’t ‘get’. He tries so hard though! Boy, I love him for trying!

I think we’ve finally found an understanding, and there are a couple of unspoken rules that are helping. When we go on a trip (and we take many of them) there are lots of positive comments about how well I pack, how grateful he is for how hard I work, how prepared I am, how good the girls are in the car, and how much fun we are having. When we get home, I get time to clean and unpack while the girls watch guilt-free Netflix because mommy needs shifted focus to feel organized and back in the groove. He doesn’t necessarily harbor my illness, but he allows it to run its course with good grace. We also have a spoke agreement that there will be vacations in my future. True vacations! A cruise without the children. Days on end, physically apart, while knowing they are well-placed and cared for, and all without jam-packed scheduling. THEN I would be able to lessen the worry and actually relax. A cruise. I’ve seen others do it. That is the goal. If a day gets tougher than expected, he has been known to step in and send me to the store alone, or up to take a nap, and knowing that he is such a good father allows me to do those things. I know my addiction is safe in his hands.

Truly, my addiction is a constant struggle, but I really wouldn’t change it. I guess what it boils down to is the fact that today I found something somewhere that made sense in my puzzle. I read something that shed a little light and made me think. Now, maybe by sharing part of that insight and expanding on it in my own way I can make my own brand of crazy seem a little less certifiable to the people around me that love me…spreading the light to them. I certainly love them for being patient with me, I hope I can make them understand me too. A dear friend said the other day that a woman had yelled at her in a parking lot for how my friend was dealing with an unruly child. It made my friend question everything about herself and started her crying. Once she mentioned the word Autism though, the strange woman apologized and walked away. How did the state of the child alter my friends parenting skills?…not that it was any of that woman’s business in the first place. But, I realized that knowing more makes how we deal with people softer. Judging before you know the whole story is harsh. Softer is better. I would hope that if I were doing something outside of what you think is appropriate, if my percentages of frustration spike, that you might mention it to me. But, knowing me, knowing my addiction as I’ve explained it here, now maybe you’ll think to couch it in a nice way…maybe just offer to babysit for a day and hand me a bag of chocolate to take out the door? If you do that I promise to come back more relaxed, renewed, and ready to shoulder my layers in more balanced percentages.

I really do love being a mom. Admitted Mother Addict here. I promise to work on my addiction and leave some of the fear and anxiety at the doors of heaven. That helps along with the naps and breaks and love and support. I know that I can manage my addiction and be a happy healthy person. Sharing that with you here is proof of that. And, now, I think this ends our group session for the evening. Thank you for listening. See you next week. Sodas and donuts in the back.