When I called an astrologer in August to get some hope that my 'stuckness' would end eventually, I got some. She said that things should already be getting better but around January the house thing would finish up. I was stuck with a house that wouldn't sell, stuck in a crappy small apartment which led me to be stuck with children who were not potty trained, unable to cook them real meals, or for myself either. I was stuck in my life, feeling like I couldn't work out, eat right, do paperwork, be the mother I wanted to be. I was stuck in my marriage, trying to work in a hopeless situation where neither of us had the space we needed nor the private time together we needed to have a healthy relationship. I was stuck in the same old routines, probably depressed and just waiting for everything to change.
In December I emailed my astrologer asking her why I was still stuck in total misery, suffering physically and mentally the worst week of my life I can remember during the week of Christmas, when she had said things were supposed to be going my way. She wrote me an essay in response which I still retain and truly mean to read word for word, but between my pink eye swollen lids I skimmed enough to gather that I had to be the change I wanted. I couldn't just sit back and have it happen, planets aligned or not. So I cleaned my closet. Voila! The house sold.
I moved into my new, beautiful house three weeks ago. The events leading up to the move were exhausting, frustrating, and infuriating. Nothing happened the way it was supposed to, in the time frame it was supposed to nor as well as it was supposed to. But my children have beautiful rooms, a fantastic mural and I have a peaceful haven of a bedroom to collapse into at the end of a day.
But the reality of change is that it is hard. I wanted to wake up here day one cooking breakfast for my children every morning and cook healthy full meals for my whole family, be the mom who has craft projects ready for every rainy day, take the kids on hikes in our new property, participate in my kids' days more energetically and enthusiastically, potty train all of them at once, get on the treadmill every day, and so on and so forth.
The move knocked me flat on my face. Whether I kept all my feelings bottled up these ten months I was trapped in that apartment and was actually depressed back then, or the move itself just kicked me harder than I could take in my fragile state, I am down for the count. Sure I get up every day, eat breakfast with the kids and spend the time with them I am supposed to. But their meals are still what they were in the apartment, frozen things, easy to prepare meals. I still stick them in front of a movie too often when it rains, although I did try two craft afternoons and I suppose it wasn't my fault they failed. Who knows what a 3 year old will be interested in and that I have the only 1 year old on the planet who has no interest in fingerpaint.
But I feel like a failure. I actually feel like it's possible that the ways in which I sucked as a parent in the apartment had nothing to do with the apartment. Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I am not cut out to be a mother of 4 full time? Maybe I will never cook meals regularly, maybe I would rather have me time than create a craft for the kids for the afternoons. Maybe I'd rather sit and watch my kids watch movies because it's easier. Maybe I really really suck as a mother.
Or maybe I'm depressed. I sure hope its the latter, because there are 4 children with no choice as to who their mother is and I sure hope to live up to their expectations. And I hope those planets kick in soon.