There's a side to parenting that no one really discusses. Sure people talk about the poop and pee stains, the zombie-like state due to lack of sleep, and the film of powder that perpetually coats that corner of the kitchen counter where you store the formula. They tell you to make sure you communicate with your spouse, to shower the baby with love but not too much, and that you really do need to soak in every single moment because it all moves so quickly. But no one dares mention the soul-crushing anxiety that can encompass every waking moment if you let it.
As a type-A, OCD-diagnosed, perfectionist, have-to-do-it-myself type of person, fatherhood has been difficult at times. Don't get me wrong. It's filled with wonderful moments when he looks in my eyes and grins the gummiest, sweetest grin you've ever seen; when he coos so loudly when I sing to him my favorite vocalises (momma made me mash my m&ms, red leather/yellow leather, et al); and those blissful moments when I tell him I love him and he sinks even deeper into my arms. At that point, I know that I am doing at least one thing right.
But then there are the moments when he literally will not stop screaming, despite the fact that his diaper is clean and his belly is full. There are the moments when you just want one moment for yourself in a slightly selfish way. There are times when you are so determined to be so over-the-top great and do-it-yourself that you do all the things and end up hurting your wife's feelings because she only sees herself as a warm body in the church routine. There are moments when your tunnel-visioned self literally cannot think of something as simple as standing up and walking to assuage the crying, and when your wife finally does that for you, you break down in sobs. It. is. so. hard.
And then there's the issue of dealing with all of this. Yes, I take my me time to run almost every day while I train for my next half, but sometimes that just doesn't do the trick. I've always been one who struggled with voicing my feelings, but I could easily write about them. But lately, not only has it been hard to put my feelings into words, I've struggled with the way I am perceived. It seems that my intent is not always clear on my blog, and I have turned some people away. If that is true for you, then I am sincerely sorry; this is my voice, and it's the only one I know.
Say what you will about millennials needing a safe space, but shouldn't everyone have somewhere where it's ok to speak your mind in a low-judgment arena? I don't claim to be an expert in parenting at all, or really in any area of my life, so the observations I've recorded have just been that - observations. I attempt to add humor to them to defer the anxiety, but then I wind up being misinterpreted and turning more people away. And this leads to more anxiety because I worry about how I'm going to get all these frustrations out {some of you are probably thinking a journal, right?} while still seeking some consolation that it's all going to be ok. It's a vicious cycle.
And it has to end. Parents, we HAVE to stop burning each other at the stake for every transgression that we notice about each other - whether it's recorded on social media or not. Parenthood is tough enough as it is; we don't need to be at odds with each other over the way our babies are posed in a picture, the number of times we feed our babies, or whether or not we post about our babies on social media. Do we see what's happening here, y'all? We are missing out on our blessings because of adults who are acting like children, and we are experiencing more anxiety ourselves as a result.
So here I am. An imperfect dad who struggles with the weight of this burden of raising a God-fearing son in our society. A man who loves his wife fiercely but doesn't always show it in a way that honors her. A friend who worries about the way his friends perceive his heart in all of this. An anxiety sufferer who hopes that at least one of you find comfort in these words. A child of God who prays that He receives the honor & glory in all things.
