Yesterday was Mother’s day.  I am one of those very lucky women who has only had positive mother figures in my life.  From my own mother, to my grandmothers, mother in law and aunts. I still had one of those days. I didn’t even call my mom, and I felt like garbage about it.  I had a few text messages from friends, didn’t respond. Nothing.  I can’t tell you why I feel this cloud that has made me a selfish slug, but here I am. I read many accounts on Facebook from friends and family of how they were either so happy with their wonderful mother’s day gifts/activities/memories or they were so sad for their lost mothers, lost children, lost opportunity.

I often wish that it was as easy for me to bask in other people’s joy as is for me to jump into their sorrow.

Mother’s Day weekend is also the time when the photo memories from the Market to Market Relay appear.  When I ran that relay race in 2013 I was not yet pregnant and still at one of my healthiest weight and activity levels of my life. I felt fat and uncomfortable in a group of gorgeous fast women, but I was there.  What I wouldn’t give to be where I was then in my mind and body. I obviously wouldn’t give up sugar, beer or sitting on my ass.

I think about my behavior, and how some days I do only what I need to do to be employed so I can come home and crawl into my bed. Sometimes I yell. A lot.  Sometimes I ignore everyone and play on my phone, or shut myself in my room and watch Netflix.  Sometimes I cry for no reason, or shut out my friends and family.  I wonder about my kids now, and what they think of everything they see from me.  I hope that when my kids are grown, they won’t spend mother’s day thinking about how dysfunctional their mother was.

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