Losing control (a.k.a - the damn towel rack!)

In the weeks after Harper died, I got a lot done.

It was control freakery at its finest. I was manic, I was sleepless, I was determined to escape from the pain, I was going to impose order in a world out of control if it killed me.

My closets were incredibly clean. My projects were done. And it soothed me. My whole world was falling apart, but at least I could look around and think, well, there's this.

I could do that because I was on a break from my previously ordinary life. No one expected me to be anywhere. There were no demands on my time, except those I imposed on myself. I had the space to mourn and be as absolutely obsessive convulsively crazy as I wanted to be.

I threw things away. I straightened. I donated. I organized. I exercised. I had contractors stop over and give estimates for projects we hadn't even decided to do. I was on a first name basis with the staff at the county dump, where I dropped off a load of detritus at least once a day. I remembered to water my garden.

Even as the emotional typhoon raged within, my external environment was where I wanted it to be. I couldn't fix Harper, I couldn't bring her back, I couldn't make myself feel better - less sad, less angry, less hopeless - but I could have the neatest basement playroom east of the Mississippi.

But that was then, and this is now.

Pregnancy, the holidays, news of other SLO babies, the never shortening to-do list - the cacophony of anxiety inducing things is getting louder. And suddenly all I can think about is the list of house projects that need to be done. The workouts I should be tackling. The normal mess that inhabits any house occupied by a three year old feels like it's closing in. My to do list has taken on the weight of the ten commandment tablets.

And I long for that false sense of control I felt over my house, my sanctuary, after Harper's death. The safe place I created for myself to mourn.

Except I can't recreate it.

My time is no longer disconnected from the world around me. I've returned to real life. I have a son and husband who need me. Pets to care for. A job to focus on. A social life to enjoy. An upcoming baby to plan for.

My body is no longer driven by the manic energy that drove me out of bed and frantically moving from one project to the next. I am exhausted, and I just can't do it.

Even if I could, there are better things to devote my energy to. My family. My job. My friends. My spawn.

But I want to. I want that sense of control back. And the fact that I can't have it is driving me nuts. So I don't sleep, I can't sit still. And I'm more exhausted. It is, as they say, a vicious cycle.

I try to distract myself with enjoyable, relaxing things. Fun with Shea. Events with friends. Movies. Books. Cooking.

The end result? Mild self-flagellation for doing those things when I should have been working on [fill in the blank project here].

One of the projects on the list seems symbolic of the way I feel right now. The damn towel rack in our powder room keeps falling off the wall. No matter how many times I re-install it, it just keeps falling off. And every time I walk into the room and see it down, I want to scream. I just cannot fix it, and it refuses to fix itself. Just when I think I've solved the problem, it re-emerges.

Is it urgent? No. Do any of our infrequent guests care about the state of our towel rack? Probably not. Should this be high on my priority list? Nope. Is it worth losing sleep over? Absolutely not.

And yet.

And yet, it is one small thing among many that I clearly have no control over.

I have no control over how the spawn is doing either. Or the random jags of emotions I feel about Harper. I'm not stupid, and I've spent lots of time talking to therapists and grief experts in the past year. That's what this is really about, of course, just a manifestation of what I can and can't control in the world around me. I can logically and rationally understand that.

But that doesn't really make the stress any less real.

This too shall pass. It will all get done. Or it won't, and that'll be OK, too. For now, I find myself wishing that house elves really existed. Or that Mary Poppins magic where she snaps her fingers and things fall into place. Or that I could manage to sleep through an entire night. Or make the days long enough to get more done.

And, meantime, I ordered a new towel rack.