Who we want to be…

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

It’s 3:46 pm on a random Wednesday. An insane thunderstorm just blew through so we are all stuck inside. I sit and write while the youngest two destroy the house I mean make a fort in the living room. I sit and sip a small glass of red wine to calm the anxiety I feel over the clutter and mess. I can’t count the number of times I have said “Please stop throwing the ball in the house” on both hands. Each time, there is a little less patience and understanding in my voice. I know if I have to say it again, I’m going to snap. And I also know that I really don’t want to do that.

I love my children, I do. Parenting is the most amazing I have ever done and, honestly, if I could I would quit my job and stay at home so I could have more time with my kids. And yet…it’s also the hardest thing I have ever done, each day bringing on new challenges that, even after three kids and teaching for over 15 years, I never feel quite prepared for.

I feel like I try my hardest, I really do, but it seems that each night I go to bed cringing at myself for some mistake I feel like I made and a prayer to have a better day tomorrow. For some reason, as confident as I am in my ability to be a teacher, I completely lack most of that confidence in my parenting ability.

Part of it, I know, is the custody struggle that I’m in. I constantly feel like I need to be on my game, radiating perfection 24/7 because someone is always watching. I feel like my parenting is constantly questioned and other people are trying to catch me “doing something wrong”. Let me tell you, this is exhausting.

The feeling of needing to be perfect doesn’t only come from there. It comes from inside too, of course. I have always had the need to control everything, it’s essentially the only way I feel safe and secure. Basically, I need to know it and I need to do it. The anxiety I feel when I am in a situation that I can’t control is palpable. So basically, since having that amount of control when you have kids (and especially when you SHARE kids) rarely happens, you can imagine how I feel almost all the time.

I know the kind of mom I want to be: the kind that is patient and not sarcastic. The kind that is understanding and helpful. The kind that remembers that kids are just that…kids. No one is going to listen all the time. Brothers are going to fight. Toddlers are going to tantrum. THIS IS NORMAL. And I feel like I’m halfway there. I’m more patient than I used to be. I have stopped expecting so much from them all the time. I’m learning to live with a little bit of mess and chaos without completely freaking out.

But I am still growing. I’m still navigating. I’m still learning to stop being a cruise director and let them set the rhythm for the day. And yes, I’m still trying hard to not make a big deal when there is a ton of grass covering the floor because they had an epic water battle outside and dragged it in when getting changed.

And I’m working hard to remember that even if today is a complete shit show, all they need at night is a hug, a kiss, and a promise that I love them.

Quiet Contemplation

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I know it has been a moment since I posted anything on my blog. It’s not that I don’t know what to say, (a million thoughts run through my head every single second) it’s just that I never give myself the time to sit down and write. So, on our last day at the beach, I am giving myself a few minutes while the children are happily ensconsed in their technology.

If you’ve seen me on Facebook or Instagram at any time in the last four weeks you know that I am completing a run streak. I have completed it a few times before, when I first got into running, to challenge myself and see how far I could go. And now I’m attempting it again in the hopes that I can find that self that I lost.

It’s been a few years since I have been able to finish it, always attempting, but usually giving up somewhere in the teens when I decide “It’s just too hard”, or “I can’t do it”, or “I’ll try again next year.” But for some reason I decided that this year is going to be different. I was going to finish. I was going to complete all 39 days and somehow all my problems in life would be solved.

And yet, here I am at day 33, with only one week to go, and I am contemplating not finishing.

There are a variety of reasons that I sit here and try to decide if I’m going to fit a mile into my life somehow today, and really, if it’s even worth it.

Parts of my body are hurting…like really hurting. And I know it’s probably because I’ve done too much, too soon. The run streak was designed to challenge you. And it definitely has done that, but its has also taken it’s toll.

It’s really hard to get this done on vacation. Running around after the kids at the beach and the pool all day, in the hot hot heat is exhausting. And then, to pile a run on before or after that is awful. The humidity here also makes it tough. I’m running a lot slower and a lot shorter distances than I was at home and it’s starting to take a mental toll on me, constantly wondering why I am even running in the first place if I’m going to get worse instead of better.

And I am getting worse, I know that. Because I am NOT taking breaks, I’m running all the time so I am NOT cross training like I should. I’m just going through the motions of getting it done. While this streak started as a motivator, it has turned into a chore. And it is stressing me out. Making sure this gets done every day is causing me anxiety. Being tired and in pain every day is causing me a anxiety. And I know all these things are not making me the best mom I can be.

The best part about the run streak is that after finishing day 32 I know it accomplished what I wanted it to. I am getting back to my life. I am going to keep running.

I just have to decide if I’m going to do it every day for the next seven days. I just have to decide if it’s worth it.

The Things We’re Not Supposed to Say

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I’m supposed to be at the doctor today, 10 weeks pregnant, giddy from the idea of hearing my baby’s heartbeat and maybe getting a sonogram. Instead I’m sitting in my pajamas trying to get comfortable with the idea that I just had a miscarriage. As in JUST. As in this morning. On the day I’m supposed to confirm that everything is ok, it most definitely is not.

We knew this was a possibility. The numbers were low early on. The measurements were slow early on. Everything was being treated with a grain of salt. There was always a 50/50 chance of things going either way. Things could be fine…or not. So for six long and hard weeks we played the waiting game. Always waiting for the next appointment. Always waiting for a definitive answer that things really were OK. Or even that things really weren’t OK. Something more than the 50%.

Because while the 50% may have been a blessing for some, it was slowly and ferociously eating at my soul. Never knowing what was what. Never having control. Never being about to do ANYTHING to help this situation. I cried a lot. And slept a lot. As do most people at the beginnings of their pregnancy. But really it was more than that. It was the constant weight of the wondering and hoping while also trying to be realistic that was crushing me.

But now, it’s over.

This is not my first miscarriage, but it is by far and away the hardest one yet to endure. There was the ectopic before Max. And the miscarriage before Max. And the miscarriage after Oliver on Mother’s Day. And the miscarriage the day Charlotte turned 10 weeks old. This is obviously not my first time here. But this one is different. Not only is it because it is with someone new, someone who I love more than anything, someone who I wanted to share this very special and sacred thing with. Not only because I was further along than any of the others and literally had to feel the miscarriage. Not those things. With each miscarriage before there was always the idea of trying again. That there will be more opportunities. And at this point in my life, I just don’t think that’s true.

And I know we’re not supposed to talk about these things. We’re not supposed to put this shit in the universe. It’s all supposed to be unsaid and hidden, deep down in the core of our soul. But really, why? Because we might make someone else uncomfortable? That’s mostly why I write instead of talk. You can read it if you want. Or not. That’s your choice. But I’m sad and hurting and to me, keeping it inside makes it worse. It makes me feel like it’s my fault. It makes me feel like this is something I should be ashamed of. It makes me feel like I’m alone.

AND. NONE. OF. THAT. IS. TRUE.

So I’m going to pick myself up and put on some running clothes. I’m going to open the blinds and let some sunshine in. I’m going focus on the things that I can do now: a second cup of coffee, hot tubs, hiking part of the Appalachian Trail in April, running, wine, brie, and so many other things. While I know it won’t take the pain away, it will remind me that I’m still here. I have still have things to do. I can still make plans to make my life extraordinary.

And I can hug my three little miracles a little tighter each night knowing they truly are a gift to me every single day.

On the eve of 38

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For the longest time I wanted this blog to have a “direction”.  Would it be a funny diatribe about parenting?  An environmental log of the good we can do in the world? A place to rant, mostly incoherently, about the state of our public education system?  I’ve had this blog since April 2013.  That’s almost 6 years.  And on the eve of my 38th birthday I finally figured out its purpose.  It took me that long to realize that this blog is my therapy.

I write because it’s easier for me to put words down than it is for me to say them out loud.  I write because it’s easier for me to form my thoughts when I can see them rather than hear them.  I write because I’m pretty sure my head would explode if I didn’t get some of these thoughts out of my head.  I write because I feel like when I do I have a voice, even if no one is listening.

And so, on that note, we begin our story, on the eve of my 38th birthday.

I woke up early this morning for no other reason than I just couldn’t sleep anymore.  This tends to happen on mornings when I am “allowed” to sleep in, but such is life.  I went about my morning business, as you do, and gave pause when I noticed that it looked like my “time of the month” was beginning (I realize no one is probably reading this and I could just be blunt, but just in case, a euphemism gets my point across in this situation).  Now normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary for a woman of a certain age.

Except that I’m supposed to be five weeks pregnant.

Now I know it could be “nothing”.  I know it could be normal.  I know it could be this and that.  But I also know what it could be. It could be the beginnings of an early miscarriage.

Because I’ve been to this rodeo before.  Too many times.

I don’t say these words lightly.  I don’t say them to get sympathy.  I don’t say them for shock value.  I say them because they are true and that’s what I need to hear right now.  Something true.  Something blunt.  Something real.

I could be fine.  I could be having a miscarriage.

I found out I was pregnant a little over a week ago when I craved a brownie.  If you know me, you know how insane that is because I haven’t eaten a brownie since kindergarten (it’s a boring story, I promise).  And then I had an ENTIRE meltdown when Charlie was being a typical three year old.  Two entirely different reactions, but when they happened on the same day, they gave me pause.  So I took a test. And it was positive.  So I did what every other rational woman does who gets a positive pregnancy test…I took  2835392 more.  You know, just to make sure.

I found a doctor.  Made my appointment.  Tried to remember what I was and was not allowed to put into my body.  Got a flu shot.  Fought a sinus infection for four days with just low dose Tylenol. Told a few close people.  And tried to calm the fuck down.

And I did calm down.  Until this.

You know what?  I’m handling it better than I thought I would.  I’m handling it better than I ever did the 5 others times I’ve been in this place.  I’m trying to continue to remain calm.  But also, I’m trying to face the reality that this could all be over in a few days.

Maybe not.  But maybe.

So just incase, I’m going to concentrate on some things that I know will help.

I have 3 beautiful and wonderful children, each born after at least one loss.  They are amazing and thriving and HERE RIGHT NOW.  So I plan on making sure I prioritize them and all the love we have between us.

Thinking about having 4 kids made having three so much less overwhelming!  You want to build with your mega blocks right in the middle of the kitchen floor while I cook dinner using both the stove and the oven?  You go right ahead baby!  Because in 9 months we’ll be doing the same thing but I’ll also have an infant strapped to me and that will be really challenging.

When we thought we may have to move because 3 bedrooms and 4 kids doesn’t always equal happiness, I realized how much I truly love my house and my neighborhood.  I usually spend time looking for new houses because #boredom but now I know while this is my house, I’m ready to put in the work and changes to make this my home.

So, on the even of my 38th birthday, I know I’m ready.  I’m ready for this year.  I’m ready for all of the challenges that are undoubtably going to get thrown my way.  I’m also ready for all of the loveliness that will make an appearance too.

And you know what?  In 5 weeks you may see a pregnancy announcement from me letting everyone know that baby #4 is on the way.  Or you may see a picture of me with a giant glass of wine, enjoying adulthood and parenthood and my relationship full force.  While both pictures may be wildly different, never doubt the happiness that each of them entails.  I know I won’t.

Little Victories.

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So I’m going to list the good with the bad. The bad being it was a very rough day in the world of inner city teaching. My teaching team member was out today so It was just me and our ESOL para wrangling up two classes of kindergarteners. That mixed with 9 kids out due to the flu, a new student who definitely needs extra supervision, and one of our fifth graders and his mom being killed on Friday, led to a very somber and overwhelming Tuesday. I was supposed to go to the gym, but honestly I just don’t want to. I am mentally exhausted. And its not something the gym is going to bring me out of. I know after my run yesterday that my body (and mind and soul) need a rest so that’s what I’m doing.

The good news is that as much as I wanted to just throw in the towel and eat out tonight, I didn’t. I made a healthy dinner, tracked all my calories and still came in under my goal. The old me would have just thrown away the entire day, but the new me is going to take whatever victories she can make happen. Today it wasn’t exercise, it was healthy eating and self-care and that’s good enough for me.

Appeasing the Universe

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The other day when it was snowing I made a deal with the universe. If we had a snow day I would run a 5K and clean the house.

I got my snow day. And I cleaned my house.

And then I went to the gym, fully invested in running this 5K today. And I made it about half way. And even that half way was tough.

As someone who ran a half marathon and trained for a marathon (yes, before quitting), not being able to really finish a 5K was beyond humbling. It may have even been a little humiliating.

But at the same time, I’m glad I stopped. I’m just getting back into running and I know if I would have kept going I would have been in pain tomorrow and then yet another workout would not get completed.

So I thought of a better way to appease the universe. Maybe I didn’t have to actually run the 5K today. Maybe I just had to commit to one…really commit.

So I did.

I registered for the Kelly Shamrock 5K in Baltimore. This will be the first race I’ve completed since the Turkey Trot when I was pregnant with Charlotte. Oh, I’ve signed up for a bunch since then, but I haven’t completed a single one.

This is also the first 5K I ever ran the entire race. Granted it was in 2014, but I’m seeing that as a sign.

I’m ready to do this all again.

Choose Joy

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This week’s letter board: Choose joy.

It’s so, so easy to get bogged down with complaining, especially in this age where you can share your complaints with hundreds via social media. 

It’s definitely harder to wake up and actively choose joy. Choose to find the little moments of happiness. Choose to take a different perspective. Choose to send these vibes out into the world instead of the negative ones.
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I read somewhere that if you stress out or complain too much about something before it happens, you basically put yourself through it twice. How true is that?!?!

This week I’m going to work to actively choose joy. I’m going to work to leave the negativity behind.

After all, the only toxic we allow in 2019 is Toxic by Britney Spears.

The Mighty – 52 Small Things

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So, I’m jumping on the bandwagon on week 3 of the The Mighty’s 52 Small Things. Each week The Mighty emails a new self-care challenge to be completed. These things are small: Set a goal, find gratitude in your daily life, etc. The idea behind it is instead of making grandiose New Year’s resolutions, you would make small attainable ones and never stop growing throughout the year.

This week’s challenge is about journalling. I constantly say I want to keep up with this blog better, but never actually do. I think this is the perfect way to reach that goal!

Here is this week’s challenge:

This week’s Small Thing is three-minute journaling. We’re challenging you to spend three minutes writing down your thoughts. At the end of the three minutes, you should jot down at least one thing you are grateful for. You don’t need to go out and buy a journal to do this — in fact, it’s probably better to try writing out your thoughts for a week before you make the investment. You can journal as a Thought on The Mighty with the hashtag #52SmallThings, on a random piece of paper, or on your phone — wherever you feel comfortable. If you journal privately, we’d love for you to still share what you’re grateful for each day by posting a Thought with the hashtag #52SmallThings!

Today I posted my challenge on Instagram, but I’m going to copy and past it over here as well!

Happy Journalling!

The Resolute Quitter

/ Cassie / 1 Comment

Someone once told me that to write I need to write about what I know. Luckily that’s all I know how to write about anyway.

In the past four years I’ve quit every thing I’ve started. You name it, I’ve attempted it…and then quit. Run streaks? I quit by week two. Running? I used to run 25 – 30 miles a week, and now I’m lucky if I even walk two. I’ve signed up (and wasted a LOT of money) on countless 5Ks, half marathons, and marathons only to quit about half way through…when I had decided that it got too hard. Being more environmental? I’m pretty sure I threw away a pile of paper yesterday instead of recycling it because the recycling was full and I just needed it out of my house. Hell, I’ve even quit my marriage. At this point the only thing I haven’t quit is my job, but I did switch schools so maybe that counts?

I wasn’t always this way. As a matter of fact, I used to be exactly the opposite. I would make a plan and resolutely stick with it, no matter the consequence or if it was the best decision in the long run. I was just that stubborn. I would see it through to the end even if it killed me. I used to think this was one of my biggest character flaws, but now I’m not so sure. The tenacity that would once push me over the finish line has now been replaced with apathy and indifference. I would do anything to get it back.

Maybe I’ve spent so much time quitting lately that it’s just what seems normal and comfortable now. I’m used to it. It’s familiar. It’s has the feeling of that soft, comfy shirt that is completely stained and threadbare. You need to throw it away. You want to throw it away. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to do it. As if parting with that one thing is going to increase your sadness even more than it already is.

Fear has become such a major part of my life over the past few years that it is literally ingrained in my soul. The fear of failure keeps me from making the big leaps. The fear of judgment keeps me from making the choices I know I need to make, the choices that are the best for me. Fear of retribution keeps me on my feet at all times…constantly looking over my shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ve spent so much of the last few years of my life being scared that I have barely lived at all. I’ve made so many goals and had so many things I want to accomplish which have all been brushed aside because of fear. And I don’t want to do that anymore.

If you know me at all, you know I love New Year’s. The blank slate, the new beginnings, the chance to start again all resonate with me on a deeply pure and spiritual level. I tend to make resolutions, grandiose goals, and big decisions all to have me eventually quit. I just can’t keep living my life like that anymore. I think this year I’m going to dump the resolutions. The changes I want to make within myself are big. Every single thing I want to change about myself I can control. And I don’t need resolutions or a New Year to do that. I can just do it. Plain and simple. It’s really that easy.

Of course, coming up with the idea to do something is the easy part. The hard part is the follow through…and that’s exactly what I plan to work on first.

The other day, as we were driving through the city on the way home, two runners crossed in front of our car. Joe’s immediate response was about how it was cold and they were outside running and that they were wearing shorts. It’s true, it was about 25 degrees…it was cold. But all I felt was the formidable tug of nostalgia. I remember thinking that I wish I was a runner. Or more clearly, I wish I was still a runner.

So you know what? I’m going to become one again.

The Last Year of Marriage

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There’s a very good chance that this will be the last year that I will be married. Though we have been separated for almost a year and a half, technically we are still locked in union according to the law.  I still help pay his student loans.  He is still on my health insurance.  Neither of us is in a rush to get this thing finished, to break apart a union that is 16 years in the making, but we also know that eventually the cord will have to be cut and ties severed.

Sometimes I honestly don’t know which times we’re harder.  Was is the years we spent distant and cold, simply playing the part of husband and wife, the outside world oblivous to the struggles we were having within ourselves?  Was is the year I said I was leaving, but had to stay, the couch my permanent home, so much hate traveling back and forth between us while our children looked on, bewildered and overwhelmed?  Or was it this year?  The year filled with anger and remorse, both wanting to be with my kids full time and knowing that doing that meant hurting all of us in the process.  I simply can’t be sure.

The only thing I do know is that all of them were hard and all of them have taken an irreversible toll on me.  Anger, guilt, despair, panic, and disappointment and utter sadness have been my constant companions  and some days it takes every effort possible just to remind myself to take in air so I can keep living.

I’ve spent so much of the last year and a half fighting with a person I was supposed to love until the end of time.  He knows how to push my buttons better than anyone else and knows exactly what to say to make me go from quiet and content to a rage filled nightmare.  Sometimes I think he does it accidentally, forgetting how much I look into every word spoken, sure there are hidden meanings.  Other times I know it’s purposeful, and those times are the hardest to bear and the hardest to break free from.  Because how in the hell did we get to this place where we’ve become vindictive and spiteful to each other on purpose?

The other day we texted back and forth about something completely innocuous; a movie quote from a movie I know is one of his favorites.  It was a short, but lovely, conversation simply because it seemed so easy.

And then, of course, in true Cassie fashion, I started to cry.  I wanted to crawl into that conversation and live there because for the first time in a long time, I felt safe in that relationship.  Did I want to get back together?  Absolutely not.  We were horrible as a couple.  Not in the beginning, but in the many years that followed.  Our relationship was passive aggressive at best and self destructive at worst.  We were mean.  And nasty.  And horrible to each other.  And that’s putting it lightly.  Love should bring out the best in two people and for us, it didn’t.  Not anymore.  But that simple conversation showed me something I hadn’t seen between us in a long time.  It gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe one day all the conversations could be like this.  Maybe it will get better.

And while we may not ever really be friends, maybe we would stop intentionally trying to hurt each other in ways we only know how.

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