I don’t know what happened. I was on a pretty decent trajectory. Working out, eating right, sleeping, going into work with some degree of confidence and then…
I’m guessing it’s a combination of things but the headline is a work deadline for a quarterly project that kicks my ass every single time I try to execute it and while I work at it, all of my daily responsibilities get the short end of the stick, if they get any stick at all.
All of the sudden, the following things occur:
- I’m barely working out four times a week.
- I’m short with my husband.
- I forget to call my dad or I forget to call him after he leaves a message or it takes me 24 hours to return a phone call.
- Since I’ve “been back,” (as comics put it), I haven’t a new joke that truly works, though Steve and I are getting up about three times a week each, which is a vast improvement.
- I feel awful at work. Awful about myself, my work, my competence, my productivity. I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with one of my bosses for weeks and I’ve been a real pansy about it. I’ve gone from working 50-60 hours a week to barely 40 but my workload is the same. My job, even after ten years, feels less than secure. I’m sure that I’m a real joy to be around as well.
A month or so after Layla was born, Steve said –
“I feel like being a parent has made me a better person. Don’t you?”
” I do.”
And I do believe that. I’m calmer, friendlier and more human, as a coworker put it. The calmer part might be due to fatigue, if we’re being honest. I’m generally more forgiving, less hypersensitive (though still plenty sensitive, as folks who know me well will agree). The desire to be a better human being is there. I want to set a good example for Layla. I want her to know how to be a decent person. She needs to know to say good morning to people, to look them in the eye and ask them how they’re doing. Please and thank you and I beg your pardon and I’m sorry. To chew with her mouth closed. To not burp out loud. To care about others and their health and well-being. To make a living that gives her enough to be self-sufficient and to give back. To love. To hope. To care. I think about how I hope she’ll treat people and then I look at my behavior and try to gauge how I’m doing, where I’m lacking.
Layla sees everything.
Maybe I’ve just had a shitty week or two and in a few days, this deadline and this crap feeling will pass. I want to be the best version of myself that I can. For her. For my family. For everyone.