READER WARNING: this post makes no sense and is long and rambling–so you can probably skip it.
Yesterday was I guess what I would call a “bad” day. I put that into quotations because in all honesty it wasn’t that bad. But it was tinged with an emotional state which made it nearly impossible for me to appreciate the beautifulness of it all.
Skip this post if you believe PMS is a crutch that women use to justify all kinds of behavior and emotions. A lot of people get uncomfortable when someone blames PMS for things. Not me. Because PMS is so real. I’m wicked in touch with my body/mind/soul connection and for the few days a month when my hormones are acting up there really is not much I can do other than turn the whole day over to God. When I am in the throws of hormonal imbalance, I am 100% aware of the fact I am not in control. And so I put it all into an imaginary box with a pink ribbon and hand my little day over to God saying, “Here you go. I can’t makes things work today. You take it.”
Yesterday was this kind of day. I was so weepy all day. I worked a few hours on site for a client–well, not really a client but a marketer who sub-contracts with me to do social media for her clients—who then took me out to lunch. Because of my herniated disc issue in my back, sitting for extended periods of time really starts to hurt. So, I was in physical discomfort. Plus, she was asking me questions about my goals for my business and career. Since I’m in a mid-life thing with that aspect of my life, I did what I always do to dodge serious things; and I just talk, talk, talk about everything and nothing until the time runs out and it’s time to go.
So, after I left lunch, I sat in my car and cried. I felt so unsettled and useless. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. My whole career was in sales but that was an accident—I do not have the salesperson personality but I unfortunately am still pretty good at it. So, I’d sell, win the awards, bust past my quota, and then go home and cry.
I’m in the process, over the last 12 months, of transitioning from sales to marketing. I love marketing—there is so much writing involved in marketing. And a lot of the persuasiveness of marketing is through the written word: social media, blogging, twitter, press releases, special event planning, content development. Love this stuff! And right up my alley.
But I suffer the confidence factor—who would want to hire me? My clients–who have come through referrals, connections with friends– over the last year have raved about my work. And I’ve been able to get prime media coverage for some pretty obscure local businesses, which I am excited about; but I still lack the confidence to go out and try to get more clients.
I stick to local entrepreneurs–those that normally wouldn’t do the “background” check on me. With rehab and a DUI on my record I usually don’t apply for corporate gigs. With bigger resources and departments, they will probably Google me, find out I’ve got all sorts of baggage. I’m not proud of my baggage.
I think most people have baggage but not the public kind. Maybe they were in a bad relationship and overcame it. Maybe they had Cancer and recovered. Maybe they grew up in a broken home. That’s a different kind of baggage. Mine is public record. And then here I am adding more publicity to my baggage by blogging about it all! What is up with that?
I guess I’m trying to face my fear and in the process of sharing my story, hopefully help others. In doing so, I have to let the insecurity over my baggage go. I have to wrap it up in a box and a bow and give it to God. He can do with my baggage what He thinks is most useful to His plan.
Back to PMS. After lunch with my client/contractor I had a doctor appointment for my back–an evaluation which is the pre-appointment to getting the shot that will help ease the nerve pain. I drove up and down McGinnis Ferry Road looking for this Emory Johns Creek Hospital and couldn’t find it. I used GPS, which never helps me because I can’t determine which way is East and which way is South. So when it tells me, “Go East on blah blah blah and then turn Left, I usually guess– and guess wrong–and end up on the other side of town looking for a road out West that was actually East.
So, I cried. Sobbed. I’m driving and cryin’ (which happens to be the name of one of my favorite bands from my college days in Athens, Georgia: Drivin and Cryin’). And, I called Husband, in tears,
“I can’t find it!”
In the middle of a hard deadline and client pressure at work, he doesn’t have time for this, but he can tell I’m upset, “What can’t you find?”
“The doctor’s office.” sob, sob
“Can you call them?”
“Yes. Ok, I will call them.” sob, sob
“Ok, bye (sobs).” And I hang up.
So I pull over, Google the office number and call–apparently I had gone too far down McGinnis Ferry and had to backtrack. Finally I found it, parked and had to walk what in my emotional state felt like “100 miles” to the front entrance–I called my husband, still sobbing, “I found it. But it’s so far and my back is really killing me. And, and, and..”
And he again stops what he’s doing and tells me everything will be okay. So, I say okay and good-bye again.
After waiting over (more sitting) an hour I finally got called in; and the doctor did all the doctor things–I said, “I’m sorry I’m just so weepy today…tears welling up in my eyes.” And she told me it was okay. And we scheduled the appointment for the shot for next Friday.
The doctor seemed generally relieved I wasn’t there to ask for pain medicine—I don’t do narcotics, obviously. But I get the impression all these back pain doctors get a lot of folks shopping for opiates–she seemed genuinely surprised I didn’t need pain medicine. I just wanted the appointment to get the shot that would make this pain go away.
Sob, sob, sob… purchase a pack of cigarettes–and I had quit for 2013 New Years resolutions— and they actually did help. That nicotine buzz helped, I’m embarrassed to say—yes more baggage-I smoke! Sob, sob. Good, well-adjusted people don’t smoke, sob, sob…
I got home, just in time to meet the kids from carpool, and called my sister. The one that always knows just the right Catholic, God thing to say. Sob, sob.
I took Ben to his baseball game and FINALLY I began to feel normal again. In this hormone thing, we/I can get so caught up inside myself. And the baseball game took me out of myself. My brother-in-law came to watch Ben play, and I was so touched by this. On a Friday night he came all the way out to Macedonia to watch my son play baseball for 2 hours. Of my five brother-in-laws, he definitely gets the Brother-in-Law of the Month award. And talking with him helped take me out of myself.
And then Ben hit is first home run!!!!! He was so proud, head held so high, that humble smile on his face, that lift in his step afterwards and all the high-fives from his teammates. He even got a skinned knee sliding into home which made it even more exciting! I was so thrilled for him. What a feeling to hit a home run for a 12-year-old boy! And I was there to see it. And he got the game ball afterwards!
And I was sober and present and grateful to God that I didn’t have a thermos filled with beer in my hands. I was fully present and that enabled the joy. So yay! And I was grateful that my PMS would soon pass, as it always does each month. It’s so annoying, but it does humble me. At least once a month I am able to see my powerlessness and turn it over to God. I am so powerless over PMS.
Anyways, sorry for my guy followers — you can send your prayers to Husband who has to bear with me every month.
Make it a great day!