Sometimes you just need a little pity party.
Women are notorious for feeling like they always have to hold everything together. And I count myself among that breed of women. So yesterday, when the construction superintendent told us our house was delayed yet another month (totaling 7 months of delay and counting) I just about lost it. I excused myself and walked out of the meeting. I wanted to shed my tears in peace. I stormed out of the unfinished kitchen and out into the yard which is currently made up of sandy dirt, and started preparing mental lists of what needed to happen now.
Push back the closet install, reschedule the guy who is doing the finish work on our bathroom, reschedule the delivery of Andrew’s furniture and our sofa, postpone the installation of the blinds on the windows, pay for another month of storage, and possibly delay our renters. My thoughts then turned to the piles of boxes in our closets and garage that have been packed, some of them, for almost a year. Because at the time we thought we only had a few months left here and knew we’d have a newborn to deal with. So away the things went. Furniture was sold, pictures removed from the walls, books and toys put away. “We won’t need this before we move.” I said to things like our baby push walker, play table, and a host of other 6-12 month toys. Things that we shoved in the back of the storage unit thinking they would see the light of day long before we had a baby old enough to use them. Ha!
That’s what this boils down to. A great big, giant, headache of inconvenience.
Lack of control.
That’s what makes this just about one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve ever had. If you know me you know I like control and being at the mercy of someone else makes me insane.
So I had my pity party. A completely immature mental implosion complete with some mental foot stomping, anger and frustration that I expressed in the form being generally worthless for about 24 hours. I didn’t sleep well and I woke up grumpy.
And then the sea of guilt flooded in, the guilt that threatened to drown me from within. A voice of anger- not at the situation, but at myself. “You’ve had your pity party now it’s time to suck it up, buttercup.” That’s what my inner voice said to me.
So you can’t move for another month. So what? At least you have a place to live and it’s true. I do. At least you have food on your table. True as well. You have clothes to wear and healthy children and a good education, and a job, and a loving husband, and on and on and on thoughts flooded my mind. How dare I be so selfish, so thankless?
But two things choked off my anger faster than anything else. I thought of two married friends who said good-bye to each other yesterday as one went off to war. I thought of another friend who will spend her first mother’s day tomorrow without her precious baby in her arms. And I felt small and insignificant for complaining when I have nothing at all to complain about.
So my house is taking longer. It sucks but I’ll live. I’m back on track. I’m strong. I can do this. Everyone needs a little pity party now and then and that’s fine, just as long as when the time comes you know how to get up, brush yourself off and count the blessings you do have because life could be far worse and it is far worse when you’re not thankful for what you do have.