Angry ~ CookingFood.Org

I have found myself, lately, feeling very angry. I can feel the anger running around in my head like an animal held captive. Pacing.

I have spent the last few days trying to track where this anger stems from. Why my heart beats out of my chest some mornings, raging in my ears, making everything around me appear fuzzy.

I am nervous to blog about this. Mostly because this is so real. And also because anger is frowned upon in society. It's acceptable to be sad. It's acceptable to be anxious. But anger? Anger in a woman? That's unacceptable.

But, I am angry.

I don't like it.

But there it is.

I am angry that a handful of people have made me feel less than. Through innocent conversation my worth was put into question. I am undervalued. And in response to that I began to wonder if it was really those people I was trying to answer or myself? Do I wonder if there's more out there? Do I wonder if it's all worth it? If I am what's best for them? Do I wonder if by choosing SAHM status I've let go of being regarded as smart? Or capable? Or educated? Does my SAHM status reduce me somehow?

I don't think I feel that way, but I feel that as a perception of others.

I am less than. "Just a housewife."

"Just" nothing!

I bust my ass here!!!

I am instilling in my kids the character traits they will need to thrive & succeed later in life. Can't we all just accept each other and our choices? How odd that as a working mom I felt judged by SAHM's and as a SAHM I feel judged by working moms.

I am mad that the numbers on my scale mean so much.

156.6 is a very, very happy day.

But 158.2? That is a very, very angry day.

I am angry that I have to exercise or watch what I eat. I am angry that I let my body get like this. I am angry that even if I do all the work and get to my goal weight, my body will still never be what it was. And don't feed me a line about how stretch marks are beautiful. My stomach is destroyed. And while I wouldn't trade it for my children, I would like both. Some women have both. A stomach that is flat and unwrinkled, as well children. I am angry that when my body was youthful, firm, beautiful, I didn't appreciate it.

And above all, I am angry that I missed out on Logan & Jack's first two & a half years. This is the one I keep coming back to. I did some reading, and "they" say that most anger is rooted in pain.

Boy, is it ever.

It's like when I was living it, I was able to pretend & ignore all I was missing. But now I am home. I am experiencing exactly what I missed the first time around, and it is breaking.my.heart that I wasn't there. I had no idea the number of moments I missed.

I was feeding Wyatt snack yesterday and I opened my mouth as he shoveled a Cheerio in his, and instead of feeding himself, he fed me. Then he smiled, looked at his empty hand and grabbed for another one off the tray. I don't know why, but this felt like a profound moment. The interaction between mother and son so beautiful, so sacred, so fleeting. And it made me feel hollow.

I know that when I was home, I was fully there for those boys. I know I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt, but I also know that I need to recognize and acknowledge that loss in my life. It is real. That is time I can't get back. On the other hand, I don't want to waste the time I do have wishing I had the time I missed. That doesn't make any sense. I can never replace what has been lost. I have to accept that the past cannot be any different than it was, forgive myself any mistakes I've made and forge a new future as their stay-at-home mommy.

But this being angry about it? It's so uncomfortable.

I am much more comfortable being sad. Crying.

Or anxious, breathing unsteadily, feeling as though an SUV is sitting on my chest.

I wrote my sister-in-law Julie about my anger, and she reminded me of some of the amazing things I have done this year. Umm, like moving to the middle of nowhere without so much as a store or a girlfriend within 400 miles. Oh, and the seventeen pounds I have lost.

But the most important thing she said?
Eating too much is not who I am.
I cried.

She's right. I am so much more than my labels: SAHM, writer, emotional eater, blogger, wife... We are reduced by our labels. I adored her honesty, and the way she so clearly sees my journey.

Why is it we can't see in ourselves what we see in each other?