As you could probably tell from my recent posts, I am living in a state of anxiety. I'm fine (mostly) and feel embarrassed even to admit it because a) I hate declaring such a weakness and b) the things that are inducing my stress (a remodel, a movie, a growing baby) are so eye-roll worthy in light of world events. But it's my reality, and I believe a big part of the blogging community value lies in being candid.
Two things were suggested to quell my rattling spirit: therapy and exercise. Both suggestions came from my sister, who understands what I'm saying before I have to say it.
I have only seen a therapist once in my life, also during a time of extreme joy and stress. Also, now that I think about it, this time of year.
And I've never been one to exercise much. Lately I like to take walks, usually with the baby, but my body would really benefit from a little yoga to release it's tension.
But here's why I don't pursue either of these avenues: I have help with the baby for five hours three times a week. When we originally set that schedule with the nanny, I thought that was PLENTY of time for me to get some things done plus a little break. It turns out that I fill and overflow those fifteen hours a week.
If I were to use that time to see a therapist or attend a yoga class, here's how it would break down. Assuming both sessions are fifty minutes, then adding in the drive to and from the session, I would have spent two of the five hours I have help with the baby. I do not, at this present time, have two of the five hours to give.
I know the argument that I have to take care of myself first in order to be an functioning and pleasant wife and mother. But the "taking care of myself" part comes at a cost I can't pay right now.
And then I think, with wonder, so this is what my married mother friends have been talking about all this time.