Smiling Through the Shit
Yesterday I wrote a facebook post about having a shitty day and (gasp) it was Mother’s Day. I don’t know why I posted it, I could have said any number of positive things and left the shitty part out or I could’ve said nothing at all and let the day go by without any record of it on my facebook page. For some reason I felt like it was really important to say what I did, important enough that without understanding why I needed to I said this “Happy Mother’s Day to all the mums out there- especially the ones who are having a less than happy/special/amazing day! We have many shit days in this house, Mother’s Day was bound to fall on a shit day eventually”. I followed it up with some emoji’s and a photo of my five year old and me smiling through the shit.
As I hit post I felt a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure how people would respond or if they would at all. I watched and waited until the likes started to come in followed by a few comments. Nothing negative, nobody told me to get back in my box and stop whinging, nobody accused me of being ungrateful or ridiculous but I wondered if the people who had scrolled past without liking or commenting had thought those things. If they had responded, like my husband had with a pained look on his face and a “that’s a bit of a full on post isn’t it?” I’m sure at least some of them had and without taking it personally I wanted to understand why. Why it’s ok to share when I feel happy or excited about something but not when I’m feeling shit. Why people want to see the good but not the bad and why I knew I would get that reaction and felt the need to post it anyway.
There are four people living in this house including myself. Individually we all have good days and bad days, funny days, cranky days and all sorts in between. Collectively we have all sorts of days too because there are infinite variables and combinations including the ones I call shit days. They are the ones where we are all exhausted and irritable at the same time. When I don’t have the energy to see the funny side of things and my husband doesn’t have the energy to snap me out of it and then of course the kids catch on and put all of their energy into their very best ‘annoying and infuriating children act’. They fight and they back chat, they demand and sulk and then fight some more until we just can’t deal. These are the days I call shit days, they are not traumatic or life-changing days, they are normal days when the stars align in a crazy, messed up, wrong order.
Yesterday happened to be one of those days. From the minute we woke up (the very early minute) there was crankiness in the air. By eight-thirty I was standing in church with hot tears stinging my eyes as the boys ran a noisy muck outside refusing to listen to my pleas for them to behave. I was embarrassed and mad at them and upset that this was my mother’s day. Upset that I should have been relaxing and being spoiled and feeling blessed and grateful for my beautiful children and I just wasn’t. Where had that expectation come from? Who said this day should be perfect? Hallmark? Maybe my facebook post was a bit of an “F U” to Hallmark. I was actually feeling shit on this day only because of the unrealistic expectation I had had for it. In reality, my reality, it was a day like any other. It was a day when I needed to run a household and manage two very active and spirited little boys. It was a day when I didn’t feel like I could do those things let alone do them with grace and gratitude whilst also relaxing and being spoiled.
After church I took myself outside and sat by myself for forty minutes with my eyes closed. I sat there at first feeling guilty for needing to be away from the family I was supposed to be cherishing and celebrating but then I got over that and allowed myself the space I needed to settle. When I did go back inside I went inside to a normal day where I happened to be feeling tired and unmotivated. I did what I had to do, left the rest and I absolutely did not put pressure on myself, or the day, to be perfect. The day actually got worse before it got better with an hour-long meltdown preceding rest time but I didn’t feel worse. Admitting to my shit day and accepting it for what it was (to myself and to facebook!) had allowed me to stop feeling ripped off and guilty about it. It just was what it was.
I captioned the photo I had posted with “Of course even shit days with my little people are a blessing”. It was not ‘put on’ gratitiude, it was not backtracking or softening the blow of what I had said before, it was and is the truth. I am grateful for my life including the shit days. I do not need to sugar coat them or find a silver lining where there isn’t one to be grateful. I don’t need to find a positive spin to make myself or others feel less uncomfortable. I can look a shit day right in the face, see it for what it is and know that my life is wonderful, not despite the shit but including it. I do not need to be perfect or pretend to be perfect. I do not need my days or my life to be perfect either. A shit day, or any day for that matter, is what it is and I think that is what I was trying to say with my post. That is why it felt important to say.
