It’s back to school time. And teachers are FREAKING OUT. Because it is almost Labor Day, and Summer is over. The to-do lists are out. of. control. The parents are already calling. The administration is sending a million memos, some in print, some in digital form, a mixed media medley of messages that are often vague, full of jargon and these many forms of communication do … Continue reading Back to School: A Teacher’s Wish List
Laundry is not a chore I mind doing. It’s something I can do while I’m doing other things around the house. It doesn’t require me to get my hands dirty. It’s not too physically demanding, except when I lug the basket up and down the stairs, but then I can pretend I’m getting some cardio in. I like the way our detergent smells. I like … Continue reading Three Dirty Wash Cloths Can Put A Parent With Anxiety and Depression Over The Edge
Everyone who has battled with depression has their own analogy for it and for me, it’s drowning. I’ve been riding high and dry the last few years but after Baby Grouch Number Two was born, I was swiftly sucked out to sea in a riptide. It happened quickly, a sharp jerk that startled and surprised me. Because, we’re always surprised when it comes back, aren’t … Continue reading If It Ever Gets That Bad (What People With Depression Want You To Know)
The floor is lined with well-oiled machines. They are gleaming models, producing perfect products. They hum, whir, purr. Smile. They are lustrous, polished instruments with safety valves releasing steam, and automatic shut-offs. They are controlled and efficient. But one machine is not like the rest. A single rusty clunker, worn out, broken down, wearing thin. It screeches, bangs, clanks. Snarls. … Continue reading Broken Machinery
She had to hide It somewhere. Somewhere safe. So, she cut herself open, quickly, before anyone could see It. It had to be hidden from view from prying eyes. From her own eyes. The pain of the cut was nothing compared to the pain Exposure would bring. Or so she thought. She shoved it inside her chest cavity, wedged beneath her lung, impeding her breathing, … Continue reading The Secret
The office is the source of hope. But it brings with it, more. Fluid filled, cystic anxiety. Blood soaked uncertainty. Regression, after success. Loss. It brings stomach aches and heart palpitations. Emotions and exposed nerves that are scrubbed raw, to maintain sanitary conditions in the sterile environment. It’s a recurring nightmare that offers the promise of a dream. The office is the … Continue reading The Office Is The Only Hope
At only 1 year of age, Baby Grouch has taught me how (approximately) 8230753 lbs of mommy-love can be squeezed into a teensy, tiny, Grinch-sized heart. She’s also taught me that the equivalent poundage of terror can be packed into that same cubic volume. Like some anxiety-riddled, futuristic camera, my brain captures images of Baby Grouch in worst-case scenarios. It would be easy to … Continue reading Mama Worries About You. Except When She Doesn’t.
She had a monster inside her. He was shadowy and spiny and ran he laps around his home, inside of her heart. His talons took chunks out of her flesh as he stomped his feet on her. In her. The bristles on his back scraped and poked and gouged her insides as he turned and twisted. He dug in. He chomped at her flesh and … Continue reading The Monster’s Comforting Cloak
It’s no secret that Mr. Grouch and I have been trying for Baby Grouch #2. We’ve been “not not trying” since she was only a few months old, and we started seeing our reproductive endocrinologist again back in May. As we embarked on this journey for a second time, I told myself I’d maintain a positive attitude. That I wouldn’t get sucked back into a … Continue reading Secondary Infertility: What I’ve Been Telling Myself
Yesterday morning was a little rough. I never answer my phone when I see a number I don’t recognize. So, it was not out of the ordinary when I ignored my phone after seeing “Restricted” pop up on my caller id. I muted the call and went back to sipping my coffee and singing to Baby Grouch in my horrendously off key tones. Maternity leave … Continue reading Well, Shit, That Doesn’t Sound Good.