Motherly Guilt

I know that every mom feels guilt -- guilt over not getting to her child in time to keep her son from getting hurt, from not keeping her daughter from getting her heart broken by that mean boy down the street, etc. I've done that and probably ten times my share of motherly guilt. But this time of year -- Mother's Day -- when I should be allowing my family to celebrate me and hoping to get lots of praise of what a great mom I am, I, instead feel guilty. I feel guilty because I'm NOT a good mom. I feel guilty because my kids grew up with a mother who fought with her own inner demons to a point that it affected them. I feel guilty that two of my three children suffer from their own "inner demons" and now will have to find a way to cope and make things work in their life as I am attempting to do in mine.

But mostly, I feel guilty that I want my family to celebrate me in all my Motherhood but my husband doesn't have his Mom to celebrate anymore. I feel guilty to even ask him to do anything for me because I know what he will always say, "You're not my mom -- it's not 'wife day.' It's "Mother's Day." I don't have a mom so I don't have to worry about it."

Part of me wants to yell at him that it is a celebration of ALL moms, of ALL the mothers in his life, not just his own. But then I feel the guilt. He's live without his mom for so long that this is probably a hard time for him.

I don't know what to do.

So, I go on with my Motherly Guilt and try to help my husband through it, wishing that his mother was here for him to dote over and hoping that maybe one year, my kids will dote over me.

Happy Mother's Day to all those wonderful Moms out there...

Pepsi, Pepsi, Pepsi!

I want my Pepsi. I've been told I need to cut down on my Pepsi consumption. I drink about a 6-pack (okay, maybe a little more) a day at times. I'm addicted to it. But hey, I quit smoking, didn't I?

To be totally honest, I want my damn cigarettes, too.

There, I said it.

Yes, I said that I am still craving my cigarettes after all this time. I quit smoking after I had to go into the hospital for an emergency surgery and have my appendix removed. I was in the hospital for three days and both my doctor and my husband told me, "Well, you may as well quit smoking -- you haven't had a cigarette for three days now! Keep going! You're doing good!!"

So, out of guilt, pressure (HHHmmm, how coincidental that "Pressure" by Billy Joel is playing the on stereo at this very moment in time!!) and hopes of pleasing my husband and making him proud of me, I caved and didn't start smoking after coming home from the hospital.

Now, you'd think that after not smoking for three days that the hard part would be over, right? Sure! The major "cravings" weren't there. It wasn't that. It wasn't that I wanted the nicotine or that I "Jonesing" for it or something. Okay, well, maybe when I was really, really stressed out I would get those really bad cravings. But the thing that was really hard was that it wasn't my choice!

People quit smoking when THEY want to quit. They decide that they don't want to smoke anymore, that they are done, that they want to quit. That's how my friend did it; that's how my parents did it; that's how my HUSBAND did it; that's how my husband's friend is doing it now! AND, my husband is telling him the same thing I'm saying right now! "You need to know that the time is right for you or you won't be successful. You need to know you want to quit - you have to want to do it."

Well, I was TOLD to quit. I never got to make that decision. It wasn't my choice! So is it any wonder that after all this time -- 8 months on May 10th -- that I STILL want a cigarette!!!??

I'm not saying that I want to smoke again. I'm not saying that I want to pick up a pack of cigarettes and start smoking every day or to get back into that habit. I know its a bad habit. Hell, I'm a nurse! I can list ten reasons why I shouldn't smoke without even thinking about it or putting any effort into it!

I just want to be the one to make the decision. I want to be the one to say "I chose to quit. I quit smoking." I don't want to say that I quit because I had to have surgery or because my husband and doctor told me to -- because that's really why I quit. I want to be the one that makes that decision.

Now maybe this is a bit of a tedious or mediocre -- hell, I'll even go as far as saying it might be down-right stupid -- thing to bitch about, as I know there are people out there who want to quit very badly but can't. But for me to get out from under these cravings -- emotional, mental cravings, not physical ones -- I'm going to have to be the one that breaks the addiction myself, not have someone break it for me. Otherwise, I may be an ex-smoker for five years, but I will ALWAYS want it, always feel I need it, and always crave it. The addiction will always be there ...

So, if it takes me buying a pack of cigarettes, lighting one of them and smoking one more time in order for me to break this addiction for myself, than so be it.

But it's my addiction to break ... before it breaks me.

Am I Allow To Be?

Am I allowed to be mad or angry? I mean, truly, honestly angry, mad?

I never feel like I am. I feel like if I get mad I'm doing something wrong. I'm not supposed to get mad. I'm supposed to be happy, smiling, loving, caring, take-care-of-everyone ... blah, blah, blah. To be honest, it pisses me off right now just to write it.

I was never allowed to get mad when I was a kid. I was allowed to be happy and smile and laugh (as long as it wasn't too loud and it didn't disturb my parental units when they were watching TV, "entertaining" their friends or sleeping); I was allowed to be sad and cry (again, don't do it too loudly!); but if I EVER got mad or angry about anything -- oooohhh, buddy!

Don't stomp your feet, slam the door, raise your voice or anything that showed you were upset or that would make one of THEM mad. And then you were in trouble. Whoever it was would come to where you were, yell at you, ask you "What the hell is your problem?" You may get grabbed by the arm or pushed from behind and by this time, you've forgotten why you were mad and slammed the door or were stomping your feet in the first place.

So, it was better to just not get mad.

But what about later? When I grew up?

Nope! Don't get mad then either!

If you got mad about your husband not coming home until 3 or 4 in the morning, about him smelling like perfume, having make-up on his shirt or finding a girl's phone number in his pants pocket when you were doing the laundry, you better not say anything or show that you were mad! Just keep it to yourself. If you got mad and tried to show or tell him you were mad, he would sit quiet for a moment or two and just stare at you. Then he would start asking questions, like "Where'd you find that number? In my pants? So you've been going through my things?" Or maybe he'd say, "You think I should be home with you instead of going out for a beer after I work hard all day? I bust my ass and then I should just come home and be with you?"

This is about the time that you begin to wonder why you were angry in the first place, think that maybe whatever it was that made you mad wasn't such a big deal after all and wish you hadn't said anything. Within a few minutes, as you hold the ice pack on your face, your hand, or whatever appendage your trying to pop back into place, you can't even remember what you were mad about at all, but you do remember that you won't be telling him the next time you're mad about something.

I wonder if maybe not being allowed to be mad all those years is perhaps part of the reason why I am so passionate with all of my emotions now. When I feel something -- whether its anger, sorrow, pity, fear, happiness, or otherwise -- I feel it with every inch of my body, with every ounce of energy I have, and with ever pore of my being.

Am I overcompensating in some way? I know that there are times when actually feeling things gets me in trouble now, too.

Maybe I should go back to putting my emotions in some type of check ... but how?

Why am I not allowed to be ...