This is a hard one to write; to even admit. I am miserable all of the time. LITERALLY. It has gotten to the point even that I forget what happiness feels like. Let me tell you a little secret: Being miserable is NO WAY TO LIVE. (Duh, right?)
The saddest thing about the above paragraph is the effect on the kids. I am fully aware of our sad household. I am fully aware that I set the dial on the happiness meter in our house. It is a huge responsibility and I have failed miserably. I hate myself for it, more than I can even express.
Oh, our family can fake it like the best of them when we are with other people. But the kids don’t know anything else. Owen and Easton sometimes say something to someone else that embarrasses me because it points to our unhappiness, but I think most people don’t really understand the implications of what they are saying. Macy, sadly, is old enough to not point it out to others.
This miserableness has also taken a huge toll on our marriage. Scott hates it and fights against it as best he can by throwing himself into the kids, but it is not enough. I truly hope to repair our marriage someday soon.
About now, I am wondering if someone reading this can really comprehend the true miserableness I am talking about. Because, even describing it, it doesn’t sound real. I mean, how can a family of 6, with both parents and beautiful children who seem happy and well-adjusted, be that miserable? Trust me. It is possible and it is just as sad as it sounds.
I shoulder the responsibility of it. I really do. The saying, “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy” is even more true in the reverse: “If Mama is miserable, everybody is miserable.”
As an example, Macy is actually quite a joyful person, miraculously in spite of her negative home environment. One of the things she likes to do is whistle. All-the-time…. whistling. But it is like nails on a chalkboard to my miserable soul. And I can’t listen to it. It is the saddest, most miserable thing I can think of, yelling at a joyful child to stop whistling. And so I try to handle it and breathe through it and marvel at her happiness, but I can only last a fraction of a minute. So I bark at her to stop and then I hate myself for it. It is like I cannot stand her happiness in the face of my miserableness. It is me bringing her to my miserable level.
Why am I miserable? <Sigh> That is a complex thing. If I had to point to a single thing, it would be because I hate myself and have hated myself for so long. But it is more than that. I am tired all the time. Depressed. Short tempered. Significantly obese. I feel like a failure in motherhood, marriage, friendships, and all other relationships in my life. I feel stupid. I feel like a waste of space. I feel helpless. Without hope. Despair.
How can I not feel miserable when I am feeling all of those other things?!?!
But, I am done with feeling these things. Done. Because I want more. I want more for myself. More for my kids. More for my marriage. More for my family. More for our future. I want more than just existing. I want to contribute to life. I want to participate in life. I want to live life. I want joy. I want hope. I want to dare to make the world a better place.