Passions

3 Reasons I'm Glad I Wasn't Born In The Victorian Age

1. Indoor Plumbing

2. Central Air Conditioning

3. Lobotomies

The first 2 seem reasonably self-explanatory, so I'll move on to #3.

I have long contended that had I been born in a different age, I would have been institutionalized for "nervousness". Possibly a lobotomy would have ensued.

I am a woman of passions.

My passions are what propel me to make an entire wardrobe of skirts for Bella instead of just one or two at a time.

They drove me to sell over $1000 worth of furniture and belongings over the summer, leaving not a single drawer, closet or space in our home untouched. Then I redesigned every room of our house on paper complete with measurements and source lists.

My passions make me create and sew an entire arsenal of tools, a veritable sweat shop for a trip with the girls.

They inspire me to create Lola's Legacy, a charitable service in honor of my first child.

However-

These passions also caused me to break down in dramatic sobs at Timm's family reunion last summer when I was totally overwhelmed by the closeness and chaos of 31 people in one house.

They drove me to a lot of illicit and ill-advised behaviors in response to my first diagnosis  with depression.

My passions make me physically recoil from another human touch at the end of a long day with kids.

These passions drive me to way too much thinking, circular and obsessive.

That's the thing I've discovered- you can't have one without the other. Not with me, anyway. With the spark and ignition of inspiration, ideas, extrapolations and sympathies comes anxiety, mood swings, despair and "nervousness". I have long blamed myself for these polarities in my personality, even using them as evidence of unworthiness and believing that I could somehow control it, or turn it off if only I were better. My inability to do so only furthered my beliefs that I was fundamentally 'bad'. Unlovable. Unworthy. Crazy.

And this is me on meds. Seriously. 

But I have this crazy plan to try and accept the good with the bad. Roll with the punches and be grateful that at least I have these passions. To appreciate the thrill of inspiration when it hits and endure the lows that will inevitably come, knowing that they are both parts of the sum.

And the sum is me.

Not good or bad.

Both.

A figurative crazy jumble of good intentions, strong opinions, varied emotions and a little too much introspection and self-derision.