Dan has been traveling for work for the last few weeks, which means I have been a single mom to our critters; a very independent and low-maintenance kitty and a ridiculously needy doggie. My regular weekly schedule for working-out, working and playing tennis has been tough to sustain while tending to the needs of our attention hound.
The last few weeks have brought back memories of the years when I was a single working mother (to human children). Then (as now) I was fortunate to have access to good day care and had family in the area to provide an occasional helping hand. Even so– I remember the near-continuous sense of being pulled in multiple directions at once–there simply wasn’t enough of me to go around.
I recall the evening when son Ben announced at bed time that he needed 5 pounds of salt-clay for school…. tomorrow; and mediating disputes by phone at work, because ‘Ben is such a butt-brain’. I honestly miss those days.
I recall the married co-worker with one child, who had returned to work part-time. She told me how hard it was to cope with all the demands on her time. I stared at her in wonder and (it must be said) some jealousy, and retorted that if she subtracted the husband, added a child, and added another 24 or so hours to her work week, then she could commiserate with me.
In other words, I was a complete jerk. Misery isn’t a contest… There is no prize for the person who has the most difficult life circumstances—-except for (maybe) a split-second of nasty smugness. More importantly, we never truly know what a person is going through, even if we are familiar with their life circumstances. Fast forward another 5 years and this same co-worker was a divorced, unemployed alcoholic. Dang.
One of my personal mantras when I start feeling sorry for myself is “You can visit Pity City, but you can’t live there”. This mantra has served me well, but for those suffering from debilitating mental illness, depression, addiction or other affliction, there is a deeper sense of despair that does not have a quick fix and cannot be remedied by a pep talk.
Guzzy’s eating disorder and recovery taught me a great deal about not judging others, being empathetic, and being grateful for small things.
Today – I am grateful that Dan is home for the weekend, and that no one needs any salt clay in the morning.