What a complete and total load of hot, steaming, stinking donkey dung that statement is.
At least that’s how I’ve been feeling of late, so imagine my surprise when I found out the origin of that statement is the book of John in the Bible. Uhhh. Sorry J.C. I guess maybe you said it, but today, in my reality, it’s crap.
And yet, I’m a fan of truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth. And objective correct answers. I don’t like sugar coating (though if salt coating were a thing, I would be oh so down). I value authenticity, loathe disingenuousness. Absolutes are my jam.
It feels oppressive, not freeing.
Mostly because I feel like an anomaly in my love of truth. It seems most folks are more content with sticking their heads in the sand; and truth be told, they seem like happier, freer (freer is a word, who knew?) people than I am. By leaps and bounds. I am jealous of them. I want to stick my head in the sand, but I just can’t seem to figure out how to do it. The answer is probably yoga. Increased flexibility, quieter mind, blah, blah, blah.
This is, of course, all in the context of parenting teenagers. I’m currently very hands on, more so than I’ve ever been as a parent. To outsiders looking in, I am senselessly paranoid. And to some extent they’re probably correct, but let’s face it: my family isn’t like all the others. We’re weird. And mental. And we have some extenuating circumstances which make it logical for me to pay closer attention than perhaps most parents need to. I wish I could explain them all to you and those most critical of my parenting, but it’s simply not my story to tell on the world wide web. If you really want to know, PM me and we’ll make a coffee date. The takeaway from this paragraph, I think, is that I’ve officially become that parent.
For those of you who haven’t had the joy of being the over-involved, over meddling lunatic parent, let me share with you some adjectives of what it’s like. Frustrating, relentless, exhausting, emotional to the max, worrisome. I know things about my kid I don’t really want to know. I know things about other people’s kids I really, really don’t want to know. And sometimes, when trying to do the right thing, I share things I shouldn’t and there’s fallout for my kids; and on those occasions I would very much like drink all night and sleep all day and throw in the towel on trying to parent. Or perhaps run away from home.
Do not be alarmed. I am not taking those courses of action. But there are instances when I feel like I suck so badly at this that my kids would be better off without me. I don’t believe that in my head, but I sometimes feel it in my heart.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll probably say it a million times more: parenting is hard. Parenting teenagers is trigonometry/analytical geometry hard when I really never quite understood anything after basic algebra. And the past week has been calculus hard, which is a class I never even took.
But, it’s a week we made it through. Another one in the books. I like to think it’s not going to get harder, but I’m sure it will. For lack of a better course of action, I shall keep slogging through and telling as much of the truth as I’m able to. All the while incessantly repeating my mantra, compliments of Saint Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.
I hope you’re right, Saint Julian. I hope you’re right.