I started having nervous breakdowns about 3 years ago. I don’t know if that’s the proper terminology, I haven’t been diagnosed with anything officially. Everyone I talk to, whether it’s a medical professional or the cashier at the grocery store always says the same thing.
“You must have your hands full!”
Which is the biggest “duh!” on earth. Of course I do. You know what’s not full? My sanity level. Or my wallet. In addition to my hands being full, so is my bladder. Cause I keep forgetting to go to the bathroom. Yeah, for those of you without children, that’s a thing us moms actually forget to do. And I only have three kids. I don’t know what people say to those that have more than that. Probably something just as obvious. People lack originality these days.
I don’t have a schedule for these nervous breakdowns, they just kind of appear. Usually every few months or so. Sometimes they coincide with my time of the month which really sucks. Hormones are a BITCH!
But I get very emotional. I cry. I don’t want to get out of bed. I feel so overwhelmed with everything that I just give up for a day. I used to beat myself up over it. But now, I embrace it. Not that I enjoy this happening to me, but I look at it as my mind’s way of telling me that she’s had enough and is shutting down. I’m only one person and I can only stretch myself so thin that eventually, I snap.
My husband is usually supportive of these breakdowns. He understands that I need to just be alone and sulk through my feelings. What he doesn’t seem to get is that if he actually took some of the weight off of my shoulders, I might not have the need for a nervous breakdown. It’s strange, because he’s a reasonably intelligent person. Except when it comes to our relationship. Go figure!
We have somewhat of an old fashioned arrangement. He goes to work and everything else is on me. When I go to work, he stays with the kids. He feeds them. He will administer medicine, give showers etc. but only if I remind him to. He will occasionally help out with homework. But for the most part, it all falls on me. On the weekends, he pretty much lazes around the whole time. When I’m not working, I’m doing the domestic chores and entertaining the kids. Sometimes I feel like our home is time warped. 2016 on the outside, 1950 on the inside.
So yeah. I have breakdowns. A person can only handle so much of this bullshit before she says “I quit!”
I keep holding onto hope that someday, the proverbial lightbulb will click with him and he will realize that he needs to get off of his lazy ass and actually participate in his family. But I tell you, with every breakdown I have, that hope keeps slipping further from my grasp.