I AM sure that Stevie Smith's poem "Not Waving but Drowning" doesn't make a lot of appearances in Mommy Blogs. It's been running through the English Major part of my brain for several weeks now, the one that's rapidly losing ground to the Wiping Sticky Things part of my brain and the Use Your Nice Voice or You'll Get Room-Time part of my brain. The critical website where I looked it up to make sure I had the text right called it a "twelve-line punch to the gut." It gives me chills, and not the good kind.
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Drowning is a good way to describe feeling overwhelmed, isn't it?
We use it a lot.
"Oh! I can't believe I said I would organize this year's Junior League Fundraiser dinner on top of homeschooling the kids and training for my next half-marathon. I feel like I'm drowning!"
When circumstances improve we say: "I feel like I'm getting my head above water!"
Motherhood gives one plenty of opportunity to play with the much-overused metaphor. I've never met a mom who said she didn't struggle to find balance. Just when it seems I do, my almost-three-year-old virtually stops napping, my toddlers learn how to climb out of their cribs, car seats, and virtually everything else they weren't already climbing before, and I realize as I'm standing in line to buy more Benadryl that the last time all five members of my family were well was definitely before the ball dropped for 2013.
If I briefly manage to get my act together, I savor the moment. It won't last long. Sorry to sound so negative. I'm not trying to invite you all to my pity party. The opposite, really. Ask me how I'm doing on the street, and I'll tell you I'm livin' the dream and I mean it. Really. If I feel like I'm drowning, or when I do (again), help is always close by.
When I confide to my mom that I'm too sick to get my shopping done, she shops for me and sends things 2,500 miles so my girls have new Easter dresses and I don't have to drive an hour each way to Kohl's.
My best friend takes a week off work and flies redeye to Florida to go to Disney World with us, bringing the ratio of tiny people needing constant supervision to adults down to 1:1 and making it possible for us to go on all the rides.
Craig comes home from work, sees the look on my face, and decides to take all three kids for a walk so I can have a rest. Yes, a neighbor asks where I am and he replies that I'm home in bed crying, but he's only telling the truth.
I breeze into Bible Study five minutes late, holding my arms closely by my sides because I've left the house without remembering to refresh my deodorant and EVERY day of my life is a heavy workout. When it's my turn to share I say I'm too tired to remember any Bible verses and I've had a hard week and I can't get my eyebrow to stop twitching. Nobody flinches, or worse, looks up 'complaining' in their Bible app so they can come up with a pertinent verse to tell me how to get it together. Everyone smiles back. Most of all, they listen. Then I listen. I'm not the only one who's struggling. We pray. Best of all, I pick my kids up from child care and they're not the frenetic and irritated three I dropped off. They're refreshed by the new surroundings and pleasantly tired from playing with their friends and I can tell that dinner and bedtime will be a quick and opposition-free affair.
In the middle of a rough day, or seven in a row, I can call someone, send a frustrated text, or even walk to a neighbor's house.
I'm not alone. I've been so blessed with a support system.
Not every mom has one.
That makes me sad. The very thought of someone doing this monumental job alone. Putting in the insane hours and struggling with the long nights, wishing there was someone nearby to call when things get rough. Bringing home a new baby and waiting for the phone to ring for someone-- anyone-- to call, visit, or bring a meal. Maybe picking up her kids from school or standing in line at the grocery store, surrounded by people and yet too isolated to ask for help. Maybe even venting her frustrations to her husband or her friends that don't have kids, getting met with a blank stare of incredulity. What? It's really so hard to sit on the couch and watch TV all day while your kids play on the floor? They have medications for depression now! Get a grip! Unable to make those around her understand because they're not livin' the dream. All exhausting twenty-hours-a-day of it.
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
As it turns out, Smith instinctively nailed a now well-known fact about drowning people. It's called the Instinctive Drowning Response, first named in a paper by Dr. Francesco Pia. Everyone who has kids and spends time around water should read up on it, but not late at night.
Drowning people don't call a lot of attention to themselves, like they do in cartoons. They don't flail, splash, and scream for help, even if it's only a few feet away. As their bodies struggle to get enough oxygen, they become more and more still. Most of the time, a drowning person doesn't make a sound.
I'm fortunate to be surrounded by people who know me well enough to see that I'm drowning even when I don't call for help. They can read the (not so) subtle signs: an edge in my voice, the Coke I need every day around 3 pm, or my ridiculous right eyebrow.
It makes me thankful. It also makes me ask myself: who around me feels the same way?
Do I see it?
Do I care?
As I'm going through my day, I'm trying to be more aware of the people around me, not just the kids in the cart. To pay attention to the other moms at the park, the checker at the grocery store, or the extended family member who calls up to chat about the kids and always has nice things to say.
It's not that I've ever been reluctant to give someone encouragement.
It's just that I may not have been able to recognize someone drowning.
Right next to me.
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Drowning is a good way to describe feeling overwhelmed, isn't it?
We use it a lot.
"Oh! I can't believe I said I would organize this year's Junior League Fundraiser dinner on top of homeschooling the kids and training for my next half-marathon. I feel like I'm drowning!"
When circumstances improve we say: "I feel like I'm getting my head above water!"
Motherhood gives one plenty of opportunity to play with the much-overused metaphor. I've never met a mom who said she didn't struggle to find balance. Just when it seems I do, my almost-three-year-old virtually stops napping, my toddlers learn how to climb out of their cribs, car seats, and virtually everything else they weren't already climbing before, and I realize as I'm standing in line to buy more Benadryl that the last time all five members of my family were well was definitely before the ball dropped for 2013.
If I briefly manage to get my act together, I savor the moment. It won't last long. Sorry to sound so negative. I'm not trying to invite you all to my pity party. The opposite, really. Ask me how I'm doing on the street, and I'll tell you I'm livin' the dream and I mean it. Really. If I feel like I'm drowning, or when I do (again), help is always close by.
When I confide to my mom that I'm too sick to get my shopping done, she shops for me and sends things 2,500 miles so my girls have new Easter dresses and I don't have to drive an hour each way to Kohl's.
My best friend takes a week off work and flies redeye to Florida to go to Disney World with us, bringing the ratio of tiny people needing constant supervision to adults down to 1:1 and making it possible for us to go on all the rides.
Craig comes home from work, sees the look on my face, and decides to take all three kids for a walk so I can have a rest. Yes, a neighbor asks where I am and he replies that I'm home in bed crying, but he's only telling the truth.
I breeze into Bible Study five minutes late, holding my arms closely by my sides because I've left the house without remembering to refresh my deodorant and EVERY day of my life is a heavy workout. When it's my turn to share I say I'm too tired to remember any Bible verses and I've had a hard week and I can't get my eyebrow to stop twitching. Nobody flinches, or worse, looks up 'complaining' in their Bible app so they can come up with a pertinent verse to tell me how to get it together. Everyone smiles back. Most of all, they listen. Then I listen. I'm not the only one who's struggling. We pray. Best of all, I pick my kids up from child care and they're not the frenetic and irritated three I dropped off. They're refreshed by the new surroundings and pleasantly tired from playing with their friends and I can tell that dinner and bedtime will be a quick and opposition-free affair.
In the middle of a rough day, or seven in a row, I can call someone, send a frustrated text, or even walk to a neighbor's house.
I'm not alone. I've been so blessed with a support system.
Not every mom has one.
That makes me sad. The very thought of someone doing this monumental job alone. Putting in the insane hours and struggling with the long nights, wishing there was someone nearby to call when things get rough. Bringing home a new baby and waiting for the phone to ring for someone-- anyone-- to call, visit, or bring a meal. Maybe picking up her kids from school or standing in line at the grocery store, surrounded by people and yet too isolated to ask for help. Maybe even venting her frustrations to her husband or her friends that don't have kids, getting met with a blank stare of incredulity. What? It's really so hard to sit on the couch and watch TV all day while your kids play on the floor? They have medications for depression now! Get a grip! Unable to make those around her understand because they're not livin' the dream. All exhausting twenty-hours-a-day of it.
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
As it turns out, Smith instinctively nailed a now well-known fact about drowning people. It's called the Instinctive Drowning Response, first named in a paper by Dr. Francesco Pia. Everyone who has kids and spends time around water should read up on it, but not late at night.
Drowning people don't call a lot of attention to themselves, like they do in cartoons. They don't flail, splash, and scream for help, even if it's only a few feet away. As their bodies struggle to get enough oxygen, they become more and more still. Most of the time, a drowning person doesn't make a sound.
I'm fortunate to be surrounded by people who know me well enough to see that I'm drowning even when I don't call for help. They can read the (not so) subtle signs: an edge in my voice, the Coke I need every day around 3 pm, or my ridiculous right eyebrow.
It makes me thankful. It also makes me ask myself: who around me feels the same way?
Do I see it?
Do I care?
As I'm going through my day, I'm trying to be more aware of the people around me, not just the kids in the cart. To pay attention to the other moms at the park, the checker at the grocery store, or the extended family member who calls up to chat about the kids and always has nice things to say.
It's not that I've ever been reluctant to give someone encouragement.
It's just that I may not have been able to recognize someone drowning.
Right next to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment