Especially with the Holidays Hanging Over Your Head

You would think I would know better by now, right? Like I am a “professional” at this by now. Been managing all this adoption crap for over 25 years, yet, silly me, I try to fight it back. I try to keep control. I try to manage.

And I lose.

Which is why I found myself pretty much hysterical crying on the morning of Christmas Eve after a good week of getting pretty much NOTHING done and needing another handful of days to recover – which means mostly laying around in bed watching TV. Good thing I got new PJ’s and socks for Christmas.

Know the Patterns of Your Sadness

See, I should have seen it coming. I did somehow manage to get though most of NAAM, though my quota was up at the end. And I foolishly though my emotional heaveho would settle down with the end of November. Nah, I just pushed it aside for a few weeks more.

And kept pushing it aside.

And kept trying to “get something done” which often turned into mindlessly following links on Facebook all day to silly Unworthy like stuff that .. surprise.. made me weepy. I would curse myself for clicking, curse Upworthy or whatever site convinced me to watch some heartwarming video for view pictures of puppies and sleeping babies, and think “Am I PMSing again?”

Really, I should have just taken my ass to the shower, ran the water super hot and let myself sob it out.

But no. I didn’t do that. I wasted more time on mindless clicking. Which, if you know me, the act of “not getting anything done” is pretty much sacrilege in my book. I do not “relax” well. I feel guilty when I am not producing things, making things, painting things, cleaning, things, commenting with a vengeance, writing, building sites, networking, etc. Yet, I have been waking up past TEN FREAKING AM and then staying IN BED until NOON. Yes, really. WTF.

And that’s what I was doing on Christmas Eve morning. Granted, the presents were bought and wrapped, the food ready for the evening’s festivities at Rye’s Aunts house, the tree ready, the house decorated, etc and so lounging around on Christmas Eve isn’t really the definition of sloth.

Meet Me in St Louis was on TV and in that “it’s Christmas” brain I was trying so hard to complied with, I called up Scarlett to watch it with me. See, then we are having “family time”. ‘Cept, she had no interest in watching “old movies” even with Judy Garland in them! Even if *I* have fond memories of watching old movies with MY grandmother and mother.

So I watch it alone. And then, came on “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and it wasn’t really that song, per se, even though it is a crazy SAD Christmas song if you really listen to it. But the fact that Meet Me in St Louis and that song has a part in another of our “new” favorite movies The Family Stone double got to me. See, The Family Stone is also crazy sad (and has stupid Sarah Jessica Horse Face in it, but she plays a person you kind of hate so I tolerate her woman exploiting surrogate using self in it) as Diane Keaton, the mother, dies of cancer ( like my mother) and there is even a Wild Thing quote I the movie…yeah…. I started crying.

And I could not stop.

Because really, it’s Christmas and I do not WANT to go to Rye’s aunts house. I want to go HOME.

I want to be 9 again and go to MY house on Long Island and sleep on MY bed and wake up tomorrow morning and have 15 presents for ME under the tree ( I was an only child for years and spoiled rotten). And even though my family was crazy dysfunctional and my mother often especially nuts which really DID lead much to Max’s relinquishment; I wanted to go home. Badly.

Which, of course, leads to more guilt because technically I SHOULD be incredible happy as I DO have a wonderful family now and Christmas is supposed to be all about your kids right? Not mom hiding in the attic crying her fool head off and hating the holidays for reminding her of all that is lost.

I am such a Debbie Downer sometimes.

But I am an EQUAL opportunity Debbie Downer, because then I get on my own case and chastise myself for even DARING to feel that way.. because, you know, at least I had the opportunity to miss my own crazy dysfunctional mother as opposed to so many adoptee friends who can’t even pull up such childhood memories.

And then, I manage to completely play into the whole “unworthy” of being mother myself because here I am crying in the attic and telling myself that soon these damn holidays will be over rather than even TRYING to make the super great memories for my kids now. I cannot pull it off. I suck. Adoption has ruined me as a mother. When I should be happy, I am miserable- when I should be miserable, I feel my stride ( really.. give me a challenge, Oh let me fight!)

Mind you, I have no idea at this time if it was adoption grief, or just regular life grief, or a super combination package that was rearing its ugly head at this time. I just wanted to go back in time  (“to where someone loved him best of all”) and be free of all this crap.. with my biggest worry being what I got for Christmas.

Instead I found myself questioning every emotion of my being, crying in the attic and feeling guilty for not making cookies.

So the moral of the story is let the cry out BEFORE you get to the holiday-vacation-big day-whatever.

It’s gonna happen anyway, so just give in and let it run its course rather than try to ignore it.

Yes, I also knew this already, but sometimes the best reminders must be lived through.

I’ll warn you now. I have all this crap floating in my head right now. None of it feels well formed.. which is probably one of the reasons I was reduced to crying. But it has GOT to come out.. so bare with me. I might be babbly for a while. We’ll just have to see where it goes.