I think that the feeling of resentment is worse than anger.
It took a long time and a lot of thoughtful effort to release the anger I was holding
onto unnecessarily, especially while in college. As an adult, I think that I
have moved onto resentment, which I am finding is a hundred times worse than
the pain of anger, mainly because by nature it involves someone or something
else- something out of my control.
When I was pregnant with Ella I was extremely resentful of
Jeff. I remember Googling “resentment of
husband” just to find out if I was alone (I wasn’t). It was my first real foray
into resentment. I didn’t understand why my life had to change so dramatically
while he just went along status-quo. I had morning sickness, I had to be poked
and prodded by strangers, I had to incubate this new life that sucked every
ounce of energy from me. Let’s just say pregnancy was not all rainbows and
sunshine. It was a full time job and I held onto that resentment for nine
months and it was AWFUL. I would describe resentment as irrational anger and
jealousy laser focused in a particular direction. In this case, my husband was
the target. I am not nice. I fight to kill. I still feel guilty for my behavior
back then- which was also my first experience with feelings of true guilt. But,
alas, that is a story for another day.
Fast forward almost 4 years. Resentment is rearing its ugly
head again. I won’t lie and say that it ever went away completely, but I would
say that it subsided greatly in the past couple years. My husband is no longer
the target of my resentment- my target has changed and it almost physically
pains me to say that my laser is locked on my kids. Yes, I said it. I am (sigh
and cringe) slightly resentful of my two beautiful children. Ok, ok, ok, I know
it’s like a cardinal rule that you are never supposed to feel that way towards
your children- the amazing little creatures that you brought into this world. But,
I do and it is a million times more awful feeling then when I just resented my
husband.
My children are wonderful, inquisitive, funny, happy, fabulous
balls of energy and neediness. They are young and navigating this world to
the best of their ability- and it’s exhausting; physically and mentally
exhausting. I am never alone. I cannot hear myself think over the constant
singing, yelling, chattering and music in the house. I am followed to the
bathroom. I make meals and snacks all day long. I have to get up in the middle
of the night to scare away monsters, clean up puke, administer baby Tylenol, or
just for some reassuring cuddles and kisses. I am like a mommy- on call, all
the time, forever and ever and ever….
I try and plan girls nights, date nights, play dates,
outings, activities…blah, blah, blah. I plan ahead; I try and find babysitters
far in advance. I try to keep the peace, make everyone happy, and make sure no
one feels used. I try to be thankful for the help we receive and dutifully
return the favor. I try, I try, I try! I am so tired. I just want some freedom.
I want to go do something without jumping through a million hoops first,
without packing baggies of goldfish and sippies of milk, without making plans
and backup plans. Just bartending at the restaurant, my one respite from motherhood,
is like an act of Congress. I work one
night a week (if I am lucky) and it involves the coordination of 3 adults, if
not more.
I sound like an ungrateful bitch. I sound whiny, entitled
and selfish. I know. My inner monologue is already pissed at me for writing
this blog. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my resentment. My kids are truly
amazing and I feel like I am letting them down because I am craving some
fucking FREEDOM! I am also proud of myself for embracing my feelings. I know I
am not the only one who feels like this, even on occasion. Parenthood is hard and
instead of taking some kind of prescription drug, I blog. Lucky you.
xoxo
No comments:
Post a Comment