"Confessing" Too Much

What I'm about to type will not surprise you.  In fact, after you read it, many of you will be saying, "Well, duh, Catherine.  You didn't see this coming?"

Nope.  I didn't.

I'm going to use that dreaded word should - you know, the one my therapist keeps telling me I need to abandon.  But I should have seen this coming.  I should have known better.  I should be more prepared for this kind of stuff.

But I'm not.

The last few weeks have been kind of hard.  No, wait.  They've been extremely hard.  I don't think I've had a stretch this tough since Brad's been gone.  And you guys have seen me through some rough moments.  So that's saying something.

This should be a time I'm enjoying.  I should have my shit together.  This should be a celebratory moment in my life because I've worked so hard to get here.

Okay. Enough of that.

~

January 7, 2014.  That's the day I've had circled on my calendar for over a year - the publication date of Confessions of a Mediocre Widow and the day I felt sure my life would change.  This last Christmas passed by in a blur.  New Year's was a non-event.  It was all just a lead up to January 7th because it was a day I worked pretty damn hard for.

And it was great.  The book launch was well attended and we sold out of books.  The days passed as I heard from more and more readers who truly seemed to like the story. 

"I know now I'm not the only one who goes through all of this stuff."

"I feel less alone."

"I cried on one page and laughed on the next."

Every review and response I received was exactly what I'd dreamed of.  People got it!  They understood what I was saying!  They felt like reading the book was like talking to a new friend - one who really understood them.  If I could have listed my goals with this book...those responses were it.

"Enjoy the moment!"  I kept telling myself.  "Soak it all in!  This is your time!"   More book signings and speaking engagements, emails and congratulations.  Everything that I had been looking forward to for years was finally happening.

Never once did I allow myself to feel sad or overwhelmed, never acknowledging that while getting a book published is a wonderful thing...it doesn't have to make me happy all of the time and that this is somewhat of a heavy load to carry alone.  Any time I felt those negative emotions creeping in, I'd tell myself, "A ton of people would give anything to be where you are now.  What the hell do you have to feel bad about?"

And then my body basically just stopped and said, "I'm sorry.  I can't take this anymore.  Your lack of self-awareness is pissing me off."

And no one was more surprised than I was.

~

I know, I know.  I should have seen it coming.  But the thing is, I don't feel like I was moving at a break-neck pace.  I didn't feel like I was constantly on the go or physically exhausting myself.  The problem is...I don't think I took into account the mental burden I was carrying.  That I had looked forward to this moment so much and it was finally here was one thing.  That I felt like I needed to be "on" all of time, responsive and there for everyone was another.  And, let's be honest, that I was telling my story again, over and over in such a public way, has probably had something to do with it - even though I thought I'd gotten past the point of that bothering me anymore.

I've started feeling uncontrollably dizzy - like I have vertigo.  This has lead to nausea which has then lead to panicked breathing and more dizziness.  The best way I can explain it is that my body goes into "fight or flight" mode, which then leaves me completely exhausted.  I think my anxiety has been building, even though I've done my best to roll my eyes at it and tell it, "I don't have time for you right now" - and now it visits me in a way that can't be ignored.

For someone who has always been a people person and loves going out and having a good time - this has been a terrifying and somewhat life-stopping experience. 

~

I am now, I hope, in what I consider recovery mode.  Back in therapy (which I was foolish to give up).  Making doctor's appointments with people who I'm hoping will help me work the physical part of this problem out.  Actually saying no on occasion and not feeling guilty about it.  Not checking my email at 10:00 at night.

This last week, I basically turned myself off.  Because I really had no choice.

Here's the thing.  There are so many people out there who talk about writing their story but, to be honest, very few people actually do it.  There is a reason for that.  

It's HARD.  

I've had many people ask me if writing Confessions was therapeutic.  And you know what?  It really wasn't.  It was difficult in every sense of the word.  What was therapeutic about it was that I created something that I wanted when Brad died.  And that is what has helped me.  It wasn't the writing, but the purpose behind it.

But sometimes I wonder if I focused so much on how this book could help others, I didn't take into account what it was doing to me.  And as we all know, when your mind won't acknowledge something, your body will take over in a way that can't be ignored.  And so all of that "I should be enjoying this" and "I don't have time to feel bad" has lead up to this point in my life.

And now I have no choice but to feel it all.

Single on Valentine's Day and the Box of Candy that Taunts Me

There is a box of Russell Stover candy that keeps mocking me.

Like most boxes of Valentine’s Day candy, it’s red, heart-shaped, and has shrink wrap that I can envision tearing off in a fit of unbridled, chocolate-loving passion.  But unlike most boxes of candy, this one costs around $40 and is almost the size of my 8-year-old daughter.

Every time I walk past it in the grocery store, pushing my cart with one wobbly wheel carrying maxi pads and cat food, I briefly daydream about sitting in the middle of my bed late at night, this heaping heart-shaped box of sugary comfort taking up my entire lap, and flipping back-and-forth between the two channels that always seem to show Will & Grace reruns.

If you haven’t guessed already…I’m single.

Single on Valentine’s Day.  I know I’m not alone.  And while some people are indifferent, some people like being unattached, and some people are slightly annoyed at their current relationship status, I belong to a large demographic that absolutely despises Valentine’s Day...in a take-a-bow-and-arrow-and-permanently-end-things-for-cupid kind of way.

That’s because I’m part of a group that I lovingly refer to as “involuntarily single.”  Or, in other words, widowed.

But if I’m being completely honest here, I really haven’t looked forward to a Valentine’s Day since before I was married.  Oh, I know that sounds negative, but it’s true.  In elementary school I was always anxious for the afternoon party to start, my decorated shoebox just waiting for the thirty cards with scotch-taped lollipops to fill its empty cardboard belly.  In middle school, there was always the possibility that someone might slip a card in my locker, maybe even unsigned, which would give my girlfriends and me something to talk about for months.  And by high school, there was usually at least one boy who might hand me a wilted rose or at least buy me a Slurpee.

The Valentine’s Day excitement continued into college when I met my soon-to-be husband at the beginning of my freshman year.  By that winter, Brad and I were a serious item and he dutifully presented me with a teddy bear and a dozen roses that he had driven through a snow storm from his college to mine to deliver. 

Two years later, we were married.  And that’s when the Valentine’s Day magic came to a screeching halt.

“I don’t like Valentine’s Day,” he told me that first February after I’d committed to him and couldn’t take it back.  “I never have.”

Knowing that Brad never liked to be told what to do (which made his military career interesting), I shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn’t all that keen on the greeting card industry demanding that he buy me a card every February 14^th.  I did, however, feel duped.

“But what about the last two Valentine’s Days when we were dating?” I asked in disbelief.  “You’ve always been so thoughtful!”

“Yeah, but I’ve got you now,” he said with a devilish look.  

And while I was a little bitter about that sudden end to romance, I had no idea just how cheated I would feel when he was gone and I had no one to shoot dirty looks to over my Valentine’s Day pizza.

Like most widows out there, Valentine’s Day has become the holiday I dread the most.  Sure, Christmas is hard, Thanksgiving is no picnic, and I feel a little deflated around my birthday.  But there is nothing that screams “YOU’RE ALONE” like Valentine’s Day.  Going to the store on February 14^th and seeing all of those men running out the door with bouquets of flowers and panicky expressions makes me slightly bitter now that I know I can’t even anticipate the disappointment I used to feel when my husband would show up empty-handed or with a “You know you’re a redneck when….” Valentine’s Day card.  All of those commercials that say “Every kiss begins with ‘K’” (although I disagree – most kisses begin with a pitcher of beer), make me want to smack someone.  And that bright red aisle at the grocery store that has as its centerpiece that enormous box of candy is almost too much to bear.

It’s not the being single part that’s hard – that I can handle.  It’s the absence of something I used to have that still shocks me and takes my breath away.  Sometimes, I just want a deep, sweet, unbreakable kiss so much it’s painful.  Sometimes I want someone to just call me and ask about my day.  Sometimes I want someone here I can turn to and say, “Hey.  The pipes froze last night.  Take care of that, would you?”

I don’t miss them all at the same time. I don’t need someone kissing me, listening to me, and fixing my plumbing all at once (although if a man came to my door who could multitask like that, I certainly wouldn’t ask him to leave).  And I know I can function without those things – I’ve been proving that for years.  But sometimes I do wish I could have those little pieces again – the ones that, together, make up a committed relationship.  I wish that, even though he might have come home empty handed on what should be the most romantic day of the year, I could go back to the days when just coming home was gift enough. 

So, if you see someone standing in the middle of the Valentine’s Day aisle with a mixture of sadness and panic written all over her face and nothing but cat food and feminine hygiene products in her cart, press $40 in her hand and say, “Go for it, girl.”

That could just be the most romantic thing she has to look forward to this year.

Why I'm the Best

That's right.  THE. BEST.

The last few weeks have pretty much passed by in a blur.  As much as I've been trying to "live in the moment" and "soak it all in"...a book release is not the glamor and glitz you might think it is. 

Oh, I know that you all must picture me sitting in my office in yoga pants and a tiara, but you're only half right.  Despite the fact that I've had several people say, "You must be raking it in" and even my children have asked if we can go to Disney World (to which I've replied, "No, but maybe you can go to college"), book earnings are usually nowhere near the lottery winnings that everyone apparently envisions.

No one sneaks into my house to roll out the red carpet, leading from my bed to the stove so that I can make my kids breakfast every morning (I thought that was in my contract?).  There have been days when I have been locked in my office so long that my shower happens around 3 PM, just so I don't have to hear my kids say, "You didn't shower?  Again?"  In fact, aside from the extra set of Sharpies I've had to buy myself, everything has pretty much stayed the same.

Yesterday I had my second book signing, which took place at BookPeople in Austin.  As was the case at the Tattered Cover here in Denver, I panicked for a solid week, picturing empty chairs and one, lone store employee slowly clapping at the end of my reading.  But, as was the case in Denver, I was surprised to see seats filled and people actually paying attention to what I was saying (something I'm not used to as a mother of three). 

But there was one person there who actually seemed to think I was the best.  One pair of eyes that never glanced at his phone while I spoke.  One person who stayed until the very end to soak up time with me.

My dad.

My dad has been in Austin all month, looking after my grandmother who is slowing down quite a bit (and who I was so happy to visit a couple of times while I was down there), which was part of the reason I scheduled the signing when I did.  Between the twists and turns of the Austin streets, the detours due to construction, and pedestrians who seem to be more confident in their invincibility than in any other city I've ever seen...if my dad hadn't been there I would have either shown up to my Saturday signing on Tuesday, or I'd be in jail for hitting one of the many bearded jaywalkers wearing a "Don't Mess With Texas" t-shirt.

But my fan club doesn't end there.  Because before I could even book my ticket to go, there was one person I had to clear my schedule with.  One person who makes what doing what I do possible.  One person I call immediately not matter what has happened - the first person I called when Brad had been in his accident and the first person who called me when I made the local bestseller list.

My mom.

Not only did she watch my kids, she went through all of their closets and put together a huge bag of clothes to donate (something I haven't had time to do in months) and had dinner and a homemade pie waiting for me when I got home.  Since I've been a single mom, she has offered to take the kids at the drop of a hat (something that, believe me, I appreciate every day), take me out to lunch when she knows I've been stuck in my own head for too long, and boldly tells me that I need to go in for a therapy tune-up when she sees me slipping.

For those of you who have read my book, you know that beyond my kids and me, my parents played the largest roles in my story.  Part of that was because they were always here, present, waiting for me to tell them what I needed.  But part of that was also because they have been my biggest fans, champions, and the people who had no doubt that I could do what I've done - even when I stopped believing it myself. 

They were with me at my lowest and support me during my best times.  They have shared in every moment of this process - talking me down from the ledge when things weren't going my way and celebrating with me when they did - and will continue to be my constant as I go into this next phase in my life.

Make no mistake.  I could not do what I've done without them.

So, even though I am constantly plagued with self-doubt, there is a little part of me that knows that I will actually always be the best.

Because to them...I am.

PLEASE NOTE: My parents look nothing like the people in the picture.  I just thought those two looked like they really wanted to be used in a blog and I couldn't let them down.  Actually, now that I look at the picture again, they kind of look like a couple with bladder control issues.

If you want to see what my parents actually look like...you'll have to come to a signing. 'Cause they'll be there.   ;)