Dear Mom,

I’ve learned something about myself recently. I want to be more relaxed. I want to be calmer. I want to be easygoing. I love the feeling of moving on and not sweating the small stuff. I love the feeling when people perceive me as easygoing. I love giving off the vibe that nothing bothers me.

This might surprise you, but I was easy going once. When I was younger. When I had no responsibilities. No spouse. No dependents. Before I became a mom. I miss those days. Life was so fun when I was relaxed. When I could be more carefree.

Now? Holy shit, Mom. I worry so much about my kids! How did you do this? It’s shocking to me how many little, seemingly insignificant moments dig so deep under my skin. I am full of splinters at all times. Tiny fragments of disappointment, fear, worry, regret, sadness, and shame.

When there is any indication of my kids having a difficult time, I am gutted. I will lose sleep. Overthink. Obsess. I will turn my life inside out to protect them. Even when, maybe, it’s unwarranted. Even when I know it’s not worth my energy.

I’m sure this isn’t news to you, but I tend to overreact. I overthink. I pump my veins with worry and concern, and I approach the tiniest inconveniences as if they were a direct assault on my children. I know that about myself. But on the flip side, maybe I’m not always overreacting. Sometimes I’m simply reacting. And maybe I actually need to allow myself to react more.

Last week, I had an experience that has helped me view these moments in a new light. It had to do with Scotland getting some news that wasn’t necessarily bad but still somewhat disappointing. News that I struggled to process at first. In fact, I barely slept that night as I laid in bed considering all the steps I could have made as a parent to change the outcome. All the ways I could have done better. All the ways I could have avoided feeling as if I’d failed her.

Luckily, the next day I had a therapy session.

I told my therapist how I was feeling and even the simple act of putting words to my concerns showed me the flaws in my thinking. Of course this wasn’t my fault. Of course it had nothing to do with me. But, of course, I want what’s best for my child. I want my kids to never feel disappointed. I want them to never suffer.

And, of course, I know that’s unrealistic. My kids will get lots of disappointing news throughout their lives. Life won’t always be fair. I know this. However, my therapist gave me some advice that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. She said, “Allow yourself to sit in the muck.” She told me to not be so quick to brush off the feelings and look for the silver linings. To give myself the opportunity to fully process the disappointment. I must allow myself to be upset. To kick and scream and stomp and curse and be pissed. And more importantly, my kids must see me process these emotions. They must know that their mom can be angry and they must see that their mom can get over it.

I tend to get stuck in a loop when something doesn’t go as planned. This time was no different. I barely slept as I tossed and turned going through all the made-up scenarios. All the different outcomes that could have been. I obsessed and overthought and drove myself a bit crazy. It now occurs to me that maybe if I had allowed myself to sit in the shitty feelings a bit longer, instead of immediately turning to the what ifs, I could have enabled myself to avoid my usual rabbit hole. Going forward, if I face the anger and disappointment, perhaps I’ll be able to move on in a healthier way. Instead of avoiding the feelings until they are pent up within me and I eventually explode. Because I am allowed to be upset. I am allowed to vent. I don’t have to lose sleep over it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the best, most efficient ways to do this going forward. How do I face the disappointment? How do I cry all the tears and soak up the anger? How do I sit in the muck? Fully, without holding back?

In the past, I’ve turned to exercise. When I’m feeling big feelings, I tend to go on a run or swing a kettlebell or go on a long bike ride. In the past, I’ve managed to get through my big emotions by sweating it out… alone. But it’s now occurring to me that running around alone doesn’t actually work. And this time showed me that. After I spoke to my therapist, I also spoke to a few moms who understood my feelings. Others who’d gone through the same experience as me. Sharing information and swapping stories helped more than running a marathon could have.

I think I’m now realizing that I want to process the emotions with someone. I want to kick and throw shit with Scotland. I want to scream into a pillow with Idris. I want to cry into Jeremy’s arms. I want to find community in my misery. I don’t want to process by myself. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

I’m not sure when I learned in life that I should keep my concerns to myself. That I should privately battle with my emotions. Maybe it simply happened after you died. When my sounding board and confidante, the one person I could call at any hour for advice, vanished from my world. Mom, when you died, I lost a piece of myself. I see that now. I lost my ability to feel the really big moments. I learned to tuck it all away. To save it for later. For a more convenient time and place. I taught myself to hide my grief. To push through and pretend I was fine.

But I know it didn’t work. After you died, I’d hold my shit together all day and then go home and fall apart behind closed doors. I think I learned to hide my emotions. To only explode in a safe space where no one would be bothered by my tears.

I’m tired of hiding. I want to allow myself to be upset and show my emotions when I’m feeling them, no matter who sees it. If I have the urge to fall apart in public or start weeping in front of my kids, I’m going to allow it to happen. Why should I stop myself from fully feeling in the moment? Who is that benefitting? Certainly not me. And certainly not my kids.

I’ve become too familiar with repressing feelings. Too familiar with feeling bad about openly sharing my emotions. I’ve been pretending to be comfortable with politeness. Pretending to be easygoing. And maybe I do wish I could let things go and stay relaxed but I also recognize that I’m human. As a human, I need to feel the bad moments too. I need to allow myself to ride the emotional roller coaster that is life. And for the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to the entire ride. I’m looking forward to reaching the highs and I’m also looking forward to riding the lows. No holding back. No judgement. Hands waving in the air above me as I scream in the wind.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel