Ch-ch-ch-changes, Part II

I gave up my writing studio, the one I'd had for nearly seven years. It was a difficult decision, and like most of my difficult decisions it percolated beneath the surface for a long time before it boiled over and became the "final word" on the matter.

I wasn't getting to the studio very often. It was too far away from our new house to make zipping over for just an hour or two a plausibility. And it cost money. So I turned it over to my roommate, who seems happy to have the place to herself, and am dedicating the "saved" money to bi-monthly (is that right? or is it bi-weekly? -- you know, every two weeks) maid service.

This doesn't come without a twinge of guilt. I feel like I should be able to handle cleaning the house: I only have one kid, and I'm home full time. And Henry's at school three mornings a week. But I'm also trying to finish my (damned) degree, and work on my writing, and have some semblance of a personhood beyond Mom and Housewife, and it isn't happening. I'm anxious all the time. I feel exhausted. I don't sleep well. My mind often races. And I'm doing a lousy job of mothering Henry. Lately I've been impatient and short-tempered. I feel like I have so little reserve power that a difficult or stressful day pushes me right over the edge.

My friend Girl Detective has been blogging about her struggle with depression. She recently attended an outpatient treatment program where she learned the difference between anxiety and depression. "Tell me! Tell me!" I begged, cleverly angling to obtain this nugget of information without paying a health care deductible. So here's what she said:

anxiety--tense, worried, wound up, fretful, agitated, yelling, angry,
to-do lists

depression--hopeless, sleepy, don't want to get out of bed, don't want
to talk to people, thinking about death, slow to think

I read the anxiety list and thought, "That's not anxiety! That's my personality! Oh...wait a sec..." I do have moments of depression, but I wake up every morning happy to get out of bed and start my day. Then I think, "It's the same damned thing all over again. Maybe if I make a to-do list, with check-boxes..."

Anxiety. Spot on.

Thinking more clearly about this helped nudge me into making the aforementioned changes, as well as search for babysitters for Henry so that I can have a couple more much-needed breaks during the week. I'm also thinking about, you know, talking to someone. Like a counselor. However, I haven't sufficiently quelled my anxiety over this issue to actually pick up the phone with my trembling hand. I just know that I'm going to get to Dr. Whomever's office and bawl, my face red and contorted, my nose dripping snot, my voice squeaking hysterically...why bother, when I could just rent a DVD of "Wizard of Oz"?

Joking aside, I should probably do it. I know that I can't continue on as unhappy and tense as I've been. So, for now, I'm setting aside the to-do lists and other futile attempts at controlling my life. And stepping bravely into the world of "self-care" and weekly bawling sessions.

Stay tuned.