How to Throw an Awesome Pity Party


I’ve been feeling down lately. I mean, really down. Like so far down into the turnpike of the blues that all I want to do is cry, sleep and zone out with mindless TV. I know I’m not alone. I mean, I feel alone. I feel like no one cares and that my purpose in life is questionable. But, I know that I’m not special in this feeling. Others have felt this way a billion times over. It’s not a condition unique to me.

But it’s dumb. It’s not like I have a real reason. No one in our family is dying. We aren’t refugees forced to flee our home. No one has been indicted for a crime they didn’t commit. Heck, at the moment, I don’t even have a hang-nail, a paper cut or a neck spasm (which is rare for me, truly). But even though times seem fortuitous and everyone in my house is clothed, sheltered, fed and in good health, I just can’t get out of this funk.

So, despite all of this, in the thick of such deep emotions, I have felt it necessary to have a party. A pity party, no less. And, since I’m throwing one on a semi-daily basis, I thought it would be helpful to put together a “how-to” guide for all of those awesome people who have never indulged.

 ***

Step One: Make a mountain out of a molehill 

Now, for those who don’t already know, molehills are small and mountains are big. So, your goal is to take something really tiny and make it the size of the sun. But, make sure there aren’t any cracks in it or the mountain won’t maintain its height. And, you’re going to need that height in order to scale the madness like a martyr and make a non-issue into an issue.

Step Two: Read between the lines

So, there are things that people say. And then there are the words, hidden between parsed lips, that hold the real meanings to what they have said. Learn to differentiate between the two. For example, when one of the insanely involved PTA moms says, “What have you been up to lately?” she is really asking, “Why haven’t you volunteered more, you lazy cow!?” Understanding the subtleties of hidden language and learning how to decode it is key to the pity party process.

Step Three: Make connections where none exist

Remember last Tuesday? Some of your friends were talking about a yoga class they all attended en masse. And they didn’t even think to invite you! Clearly, it can only mean one thing – they hate you. But that’s just the beginning.

The book you’ve been trying to get published has been rejected, again – so, you are a talentless twit. A thoughtful meme you posted on Facebook didn’t get a single “like” – you have no friends. Your house has been on the market for five months and hasn’t sold – the universe must hate you, too. Your kid didn’t get a part in that school play – you failed them on every level. Be sure to notice how one thing has a cross-connection with something else. Always. And, even though, in a court of law, your opinion could not be backed with any traceable form of proof, you feel like it’s right. So, golly, it must be!

Step Four: Hold unreal expectations

This is a great step because it is really the key to having an epic pity party. Maybe you always dreamed of being a CEO by the time you were 40, but instead you’re 38, pregnant and folding your family’s towels for the 9,077th time. Maybe you feel like there is some unspoken rule about iPhone etiquette in the presence of company that your friend just doesn’t follow to your liking. Or perhaps you think your husband should finally, after 20 years of marriage, know where the Lysol resides in the cabinet. But he doesn’t. And he never will. Holding on to unreal expectations, in any setting, can bring about the biggest disappointments in life (read: the best fodder for the blues).

Step Five: Dwell on the negative

This is the final step, and without it the party would not be complete. Hold on, with vigor, to all things morose and grim. When something good happens, wait for something bad to take its place. When something bad happens, wait for things to get worse. And if they don’t get worse, keep waiting. But, while you’re waiting, reflect on all of the other bad things that have happened to you. Ever. And try to go back to step three, just to see if there are any new, negative connections you can make that haven’t already been visited before.

 ***

After having done all of these things, let me assure you, a pity party will be epic and unavoidable. Probably the best one of your life. And, by best, I mean ABSO-effing-LUTELY worst. Party. EVER! So, go solo. Bring a box of tissues. Hang out in your comfiest pajamas. And cry until you’ve gotten it all out of your system. And then, when you snap out of it, maybe you can throw a party. For real.

Advertisements

Am I My Child’s Bully?


bullyEach day I pray to become the kind of mother I idealize – gentle, kind and understanding. However, each day I seem to fall short. In some way or another, I encounter every one of my daily tests with more anger and upset than the last, seeming to only disprove the idea that practice brings about perfection. If such things were true, I would by now be the master of sensitivity. But, I’m not. Instead I yell like so many fascists before me, barking orders, screaming rants, going off on tirades about one thing or another. I make a fuss over things that don’t really matter. And, worst of all, the one who feels the brunt of my upset is my daughter, the sweetest six-year old one could ever imagine. So, what’s wrong with me?!

That is a question I ask myself quite often these days. Why do I yell at my daughter so often and so loudly even though, clearly, she is a good kid? After taking a strong, hard look at myself in the mirror, I uncovered some pretty terrible truths. I am ashamed to admit it but, honestly, I yell at her sometimes just because I can. Because she is there. Because she is sweet and little and can’t fight back. In other words, I am her bully.

As all mothers do, I have feared the presence of bullies in her life from the moment she was born. One of my greatest wishes for her, when she was a baby, was that her life would be free from such pains, lined instead with the happiness of rainbows and sunshine. Reflecting on my own childhood, however, I know that too often this is not the case. I remember the emergence of bullies in elementary school and the helplessness I felt, being beholden to the cruel whims of my school-yard tyrants. Sometimes I would come home in tears, wishing that those monsters would dissolve with the hands of time. And, eventually, they did. For me. But now the tears resurfaced when I realized that a monster had returned. Only this time, I was it.

It didn’t happen overnight. No one wakes up in the morning and affirms that they want to be this way. Situations that make us feel powerless or overwhelmed often lead to this despised state. Sleepless nights, a failed soufflé, a long line at the DMV. Or worse – unemployment, divorce or death. The quality which shows a difference in people, though, is the way that these situations are handled. Some carry on with gentility and composure while others scream and yell. It’s a choice. And, so far, I have been making the wrong choices.

One morning, when my daughter spilled breakfast on her school uniform, it was my choice to scream about it. It was my choice to belittle her, enforcing the notion of her carelessness, causing her to feel bad enough about herself that she stared at her shoes for two minutes. It was my choice to carry on about how many loads of laundry I had to suffer through each week. How little time we had. How often this seemed to happen. Instead of just chalking up the spill to gravity or remembering the fact that I, too, spilled spaghetti sauce on my shirt just the day before, I took out my frustrations on her. And a little bit too easily, I might add.

When I think about it, it seems that I often yell because I am a mother and I think that somehow justifies things. My mother also yelled and she did so for what seemed like my entire childhood. So, I figure, since I still love my angry mom I know that my daughter will still love me regardless. At least that’s the hope I’ve always clung to. However, as the years consume her innocence and age increases her awareness, I know that I may be fooling myself. In the end, yelling may not be so excusable. In fact, these actions, these choices I have made, may be shaping her to become a person who is no quicker to forgive or understand than I am. And what’s worse than being a bully? Creating another one!

So, where do we go from here? If it’s all about choices, and I have made the first step in recognizing the error of my ways, I suppose what comes next is simple: TRY HARDER! Though it might seem like just another thing in my long list of “to do’s,” it is truly one of the most important tasks I could ever accomplish. I mean, I’m a mom. A stay-at-home mom, at that. This is my job, but it’s also my joy. It’s my life and it’s also my daughter’s life. It won’t count that I was an awesome housekeeper, able to keep dust off of counters and organization in underwear drawers, if my child grows up to be unhappy. Yes, I am tired. Yes, I sometimes feel that there is no “me” in my life. And, yes, I often get overwhelmed by my endless workload, the fact that I don’t get days off, and I have no co-workers to commiserate with about my experiences; but, none of that excuses a short fuse. And nothing justifies my tirades.

So, enough is enough. From here forward I aim to try harder. Do better. Allow for mistakes. Listen with an open heart. Laugh at gravity. Love beyond the good moments. Care for her, cuddle her, applaud her. Treat her, each and every second, exactly as I would like to be treated. Set a good example for who I would like her to be, and in so doing, be the Mommy I want to be – gentle, kind and understanding. After all, my daughter will soon find out that the world is a cruel place, but home should always be her refuge and I should always be her biggest supporter, building her up instead of tearing her down. Because I’m a mom, not a bully.