Every guy I’ve dated since becoming a single mom has told me, “you need to relax” or “you never relax” My reaction has been the same each time. I stand there and kind of stare at them while scratching my head and then try my like hell not to ask them what the think chill out means. But after the third or fourth guy gave me the “chill out” line I realized that perhaps they had a point.

When I was in high school and college my form of chilling out included downing six Hornsbys and then maybe doing a keg stand or two. I don’t drink nearly as often anymore, maybe once every two weeks. And parties, what parties? Are you kidding me? Unfortunately I was not trained by my mother, who is constantly stressed out herself, in the fine art of chilling out, taking a load off, resting one’s feet up in the air and just reading or staring at the wall. Taking a break or chilling out was not in my household vocabulary as a child. That sucked. But not to worry, I am very aware of this fact and so is my therapist.

Then I had Benjamin. He wouldn’t stop crying during the first 11 weeks. If he was awake he was crying and if he was asleep it was only for a few hours at a time. Somewhere along the way his father lost his job and refused to find another one. It topped off our Miserable Marriage Pie quite nicely and I left him. Now, three years later, I am just beginning to taste the freedom of being able to take a shower without feeling that nervous “what if he swallows a poison chemical and dies while I’m in here” sensation. Yes, I can shower again world and it’s amazing. No, I lied, it is exquisite.

Maybe I was a high strung mother when he was a newborn and toddler but I was alone, I still am (for the most part) and it will take me a while to chill the fuck out. It will. The one thing about being a working single mom that no one – absolutely no one – can understand is the constant 100%, no break whatsoever part of the job description. Going out one night a week for two hours does not constitute a break, especially when you have to pay for it. Having an ex-husband take your child away for one night a week, on a work night, does not constitute a break. Even getting five minutes to yourself in the shower does not constitute a break because if shit really hit the fan, if you just needed a week off you would have to do this: call all of your friends and family and arrange for a multi-tiered super complicated babysitting schedule. Even taking a vacation is stressful.

I can only imagine, they say.

Yes. You can only imagine because there is nothing like this and I am not going to apologize for being the way that I am because I did what I had to do to survive and get us through to the other side, this side – which is actually the happy side. With that said, I am probably more stressed out than most of the general population. I hate it but I like being who I am. So I’m not quite sure how to make it go away or how to balance it all so everything fits in a nice, tiny, little happy package.

I am trying my best to learn how to chill out. I really am. I am actually concentrating and focusing on it. Not working a day job is helping tremendously because when I feel an intense bout of stress coming on I can walk away from the computer and go for a walk or a run. (Yes, a run – I have actually been running here and there). It helps to be doing what I absolutely love. I can’t even begin to describe what it feels like to work for yourself, it is one of the most liberating feelings.

I am taking baby steps to reaching a nice, balanced and healthy mental state. I am also vowing to myself that I will try to accept the help of others more often. But it’s so damn hard to ask. Why is that by the way? And why can’t I just be one of those happy, normal, go lucky girls who knows exactly how to chill out? I hate those girls. Well, I don’t hate them – not really – but I wish they’d teach me a few things.

Oh, and…

Did you know I haven’t had a pedicure or a manicure in over four years? After this eBook comes out (now over 120 pages btw) I am so getting both and a massage.

UPDATE:

Just watched this episode of Momversation on Me Time and it made me feel worlds better, especially when Heather B. Armstrong (Dooce) gives a shout out to single moms.

Related posts:

1. Toddler-free (for one week?)
2. There’s a man in my bed.

Today sucked. Everything caught up with me.

Working full-time, being a mom, trying to date – mix all of that with a good dose of self-doubt and you’ve got the ingredients for one grumpy mama. I’m also dead tired.

Last night Benjamin kissed me good night and prounced off to my bedroom, jumped into my bed and curled up on my pillow. I caved when I tried to move him and he said, “NO! I go nigh-nigh Mommy.” He’s so independent. So fiercly adorable. I had to respect it and besides, he was passing out. Seemed like a good idea.

But then he kicked and stirred all night. Bad idea.

Because of my hazy, foggy day of dead tired doom – Benjamin got ice cream for dinner. Yep. You heard me. Ice cream for dinner.

On the sidewalk in my little urbanized neighborhood, the happy couples are out in force.

Some are at the start of their relationships… flawless outfits, perfume and cologne dripping out of their pores and sheepish gazes. They’ve found each other – a different kind of haze.

Then there were the veterans. The happy married couples. They’ve been in their haze for a while. Their eyes are different. The spark isn’t new but it’s there – gleaned over time, so wise, so sure. Each holding one of their children’s hands. The kids say hello to Benjamin while their parents smile at the strange little boy pushing his stroller- swerving through people, avoiding curbs and silly potted plants. He can’t see over the top and has no idea where he’s going.

He’s shouting too, “I wok to muh house, see? I wok! To muuuu (crescendo)hhhh house!!! Bye!” And his mom is snapping pictures like a dork. Because I love this stuff, have to capture it. Can’t let it go.

Across the street is the bar patio where Benjamin’s father kissed me for the first time.

We were on our first date. They’ve replaced the old iron tables with shiny, metal tin things. The building is one of the oldest in the neighborhood but, like the tables, the people on the patio are young and fake looking.

Drunk laughter is seeping into the air just like the cigarettes they’re dragging. The single and childless. So free. I used to drink myself into tears at that bar or run upstairs to dance to live music. If I didn’t have Benjamin tonight, after a day like today, I’d be there. Commiserating with friends, chasing something or momentarily forgetting all of my worries. The place where Benjamin started.

And then he snaps me out of it. No longer the feeling after a kiss or a distant soul I have yet to meet. He’s here. And he’s about to push the damn stroller into the street.

While balancing my steaming hot mocha, I grab his little body with my free hand and use my leg to pull the stroller back onto the sidewalk. Not a drop spilt and my son is still alive. Single mom reflexes, either physical or emotional, are a force to be reckoned with.

But even bad ass single mom reflexes can’t save me from the occassional bad day. 

Today was one of them. I needed someone to care. Someone to try to lift my spirits because I couldn’t lift my own. Annoying thoughts. Pointless thoughts. Then – after the ice cream, after the stroller and after his bath – an amazing thing happened. I was crashing on the chair in Benjamin’s room when he pulled out an Elmo book, smiled at me and then played one of those musical buttons. He looked at me with a wry little smile and said, “C’mon mommy! Sing!” Annoying songs were sung. Tickles were freely flowing and all was right in the world.

Bad day is over now. Thanking the world for Benjamin. And don’t worry about me, this funk will be lost in my dreams and as soon as I hit publish. Writing it out, sharing it – seems crazy – but it really helps.

Cheers to tomorrow and to single parents – because this shit ain’t easy. May we each find our way, whichever way that may be and no matter how tired or grumpy we may be when we get there.

If you liked this post, check these out too: 

• My Worst Enemy (the grocery store)
• The Case of the Missing Tomatoes

Related posts:

1. The long weekend, firefighters and iMacs – a video story.
2. Can this city girl handle the burbs?
3. The test for any single working mother: the morning wake up.