Why I Skipped Pilates to Rage Blog in a Gas Station Parking Lot
A Tale of 2E AuDHD Parenting and Cursed Fitness Obsessions
TW: Swearing, dissociation, emotional flashback
The Universe Doesn’t Want Me to Go to Pilates
There are two types of people that go to Pilates classes. Pilates people and people who do Pilates. Most people start as the latter and overtime transform into the former. I am of that rare Pilates breed that does the opposite.
My first introduction to Pilates was when I trained to be an instructor. I signed up for the teacher training purely to complete my continuing education requirements for a higher-level certification in clinical health management. But it was obsession at first sight. In the span of 36 hours, I became a fully devoted Pilates person.
The thing about Pilates, however, is that the trainings and the classes are illogically expensive. It leads its passionate followers along a fine line between ‘absolutely worth it’ and ‘being broke because of it.’ I quickly discovered this reality the hard way. Seven months after receiving my training, the gym cut half their staff.
Fine. Cool. I’ll go get a new job. Who cares if it’s 2008 and people keep saying we are in a recession.
I got a job as an assistant manager at a new gym and started teaching Pilates there as well. Three months in? Car accident left me unable to teach. Eight months after that? The owner of the gym decided he didn’t like owning a gym as much as he liked owning restaurants.
After two years, and a couple medical and career bumps, I went from being a Pilates person to a person who never wanted to see a Pilates reformer ever again.
We went our separate ways for over a decade. Me, happily doing anything other than it; it growing more expensive by the month. Soon it was well out of my financial grasp to even afford a mat class. Which was totally, completely fine. I was too “fit” for Pilates anyway.
And then I went ahead and had multiple abdominal surgeries, recurrent internal bleeding, and months of respiratory distress that led to massive deconditioning.
Before I knew it, I was back in a dark, mirrored room with black leather and oak wood all over the place — the decor and music sitting somewhere between ‘trying-too-hard-to-be-zen’ and ‘definitely-not-emulating-fifty-shades-unless-you-like-that-in-which-case-yes-we-absolutely-are.’
Things were fine at first. I started to actually consider getting back into recertifying. Maybe becoming a trainer again. And hey they needed a new manager at one of their offices. They found out about my past career and got VERY excited. Heck, I got very excited as well.
But once again, no Pilates for me. The Universe put another kabosh on it. More subtle this time around. But none-the-less effective.
Day after day, things like this started to crop up:
Monday
10:30pm
Go to bed and take half a dose of my prescribed insomnia medication to ensure I fall asleep but can still wake up and not be groggy. Why? Well…
I am currently doing dog daycare and boarding for a dog at our house. Tonight is one of his overnights. He and my dog get along great. Normally very quiet. Generally sleep through the night. Last night not so much.
And tonight?
Tonight is daylight savings.
Tuesday
3:00am…wait, nope 4:00am
The dogs start whining to go out for some inexplicable reason and I wake up shaking. Yay for daylight savings.
I get up to open the bedroom door so they can get out and I return to bed.
Brain feels foggy and disconnected enough to fall back asleep. So I give it a whirl and yay! I’m already dropping back into asleep.
My cPTSD: Hi, there. Back already? Hold on then, just one moment please, while I reset the stage.
Me: Oh ffs. No. No flashbacks!
The dogs proceed to wake me up a minimum of three more times that night. They weren’t trying to go outside because of daylight savings — they were trying to get “sleeping” me to not enter flashback mode.
I wake up each time, but not enough to pull out of the flashback fully, insomnia med has me half-groggy stuck in it. Not enough oomph to get out, but not enough zzzz to truly get rest.
7:15am
I don’t remember turning my 6:45am alarm off. I also don’t remember turning my 6:55am alarm off. I vaguely remember snoozing my 7:00am alarm at 7:07am. I finally wake up to the snoozed alarm going off again at 7:15am. Fucking yay for daylight savings.
I take a deep breath and stare at the ceiling.
My brain: “Ok, glad you could make it. We have woken up late. I need you to grab your phone and read the news.
Me: “What? No. If I woke up late, I don’t have time for that protocol. It’s a school day. Initiate get out of bed mode.”
Brain: “I highly encourage you to engage ‘scroll through phone’ protocol.”
Me: “Dude, fuck off. I don’t need to distract myself this morning.”
Brain, sighing: “You haven’t processed fully, we can’t connect to the system until — ”
Me: “NOW.”
Brain: “As you wish.”
Mental mode shifts to sensing mode and I enter the “now.”
I tell the system that I will now be getting out of bed to go wake up the kids, so they won’t be late for school.
Body: [physically resists which triggers a nausea swell that is translated by brain] Can’t we ask husband?
Me: NO. Husband slept in the guest room after a late night working from home and was probably up way past midnight working even longer and has ANOTHER long day today and another dev goes live tomorrow.
Body: [escalates my physical symptoms — tears hit eyes, nausea builds, building sensation of an iron rod being jammed through my spine, a scream threatens to leave my throat].
Me, irritated but determined: Body, get the fuck over it and get my lazy ass the fuck up.
Body: [releases instant brain fog and more tears].
Brain: [retreats from sensing mode at a full sprint, unwilling to translate as a stored memory reaches out from our core like black tentacles. They shoot up in an attempt to claim the brain].
My awareness is pulled away with my retreating control center and I return to the gray zone, far up in the back of my head. The tentacles fade into the dim distance between me and my body.
This is the same place my brain retreats whenever our physical system malfunctions like this. The place of disconnection. Safety.
Brain: I warned you.
Me: This is pathetic.
Brain: Yes, well. I don’t know what to tell you. Body’s flashback mode is stuck, memory and all sorts of feels are running rampant down there. You saw it, we stay down too long and soon I will be stuck as well.
Me: Right. Fine. Give me my fucking phone then. You should have told me all that to start with.
Brain: I did. And since you refused, I was under the impression that we were attempting the ‘shame will carry us through,’ protocol so I followed along.
Me: Yeah, well it didn’t work. Shame is always offline when the despair octopus is already feeding off the feels. You know that.
Brain, zaps me in irritation: I do know that. When I am not compromised by the body being stuck in flashback already!
Me: That is… a fair point. Sorry.
7:20am
Five minutes to anchor my emotions onto something external that will piss me off enough to make my internal rage feel validated into pacificity — or funny enough for brain to be distracted long enough for me to strong arm my emotions into suppression — and to get body out of this physical and emotional flashback.
Body begrudgingly lets me roll it on its side to grab our phone with my promise of dopamine.
Scroll, scroll. Games?
No. Too dangerous right now. I’ll get stuck in that.
Email? Nope, not yet, logic isn’t online, and reactive impulse is trigger happy at the moment. Anger + impulse = disaster.
Reddit? Hmm… maybe.
“Explaining Late Stage Capitalism to apologists.”
Perfect.
7:23am
This was either a poor choice or a genius one.
It has woken internal scream. And she is gaining strength.
I save the article to appease scream with the dopamine appetizer of getting to read it later. Scream retreats. For now.
Luckily, scream shifted things enough to create internal change. Flashback has weakened to despair’s level and the first fringe of numb has settled into the edges of my nerves.
I quickly switch to scrolling for guaranteed dopa-gems mode, trying to find anything that can make me feel something strong enough and long enough that I can leverage it to shove the despair back even further into it’s trunk, and then use the stronger emotions to kick it all back to the back of my throat before I dissociate.
My brain won’t allow us to connect to body until I can properly balance our system otherwise we will trigger more debilitating, large-system malfunction.
Scroll, scroll. What to rabbit hole, what to rabbit hole.
r/Archeology. Great. The users intelligently discussing the subject of a post with respect and passion rather than trolling or patronizing.
Feels: Yay, humans DO care about things.
Me: Strike 1!
Brain: Yes, very impressed.
r/Weird. The users discuss finding deer bones on a trail and respectfully debate the proper way to preserve, clean, and save them for display on a string.
Feels: Lol, wtf. Everyone knows you bleach them in the sun. Humans are fucking weird.
Me: Ha! Strike 2!
Brain: On it. We got a lol people! That’s a valid strike 2! Go go go! Initiate foot out of sheets!
r/cute. Cats.
Feels: Awwwww!!!
Me: That’s a strike 3!! Go!! She’s out! Go, go, go!
Brain: Now!
Body: UGHH! FINE!
Feels then switches back to engaging properly with Body which reconnects Brain to Body — which gives the wheel back to Me.
7:26am
Me and my kids need to leave at 8:10am to have a normal morning.
Me: Too much of a stretch.
Brain: 8:15 for a late morning?
Me: No, better just accept that we need an 8:20 goal. Engage absolute rush mode time since leaving at 8:25 is a guaranteed tardy for them at school.
Brain: Rush mode initiated. Connection Confirmed. Feels are online and fueling healthy levels of positive anxiety. Thoughts are online and providing positive motivation. Long term memory malfunctioning. Engage short term memory. Patience and logic impaired. Processing speed impaired. Body functioning at 70% with a strained junction and a high risk for disconnect. Proceed?
Me: Get out of the fucking bed.
Brain: woohoo! It worked!
7:28am
I go to the boys’ rooms. Neither boy woke up from their two alarms. I wake them up and spend a good 5 minutes getting 6yo to get dressed and stay in a good mood, because his brain is typically the largest vat of cement we wade through in the morning during rushed moments.
He actually does incredible.
8yo then promised he was ready to hurry and would get dressed right away.
Brain: Wot?
Me: I know right?
Brain: Let’s not question it. Kitchen! Quickly!
8:03am
I slam leftover oatmeal and berries into the microwave for breakfast.
Me: Yay me for making too much two days ago and using it before it went bad!
Brain: Dopamine boost!
Me: Hmm… fridge is 80% empty.
Brain: Dopamine drop.
I have to make kids lunches instead of getting free lunch at the school due to food sensitivity problems and my kids texture sensory issues.
Me: I should just say screw it. They can just deal with it for the day.
Brain: Oldest would get guy problems again at school, which would mean nurse call and then it would mess with his sleep.
I grab the last green pepper, an almost empty bag of baby carrots, PB, jelly, a single partially stale raisin bagel from the back of the fridge, pumpkin seeds, and pepperoni slices.
Me: It’ll be fine.
Brain: Dopamine unaffected.
Me: Perfect.
I yell for 8yo to come eat. No response. 6yo hasn’t come out yet.
I yell again, “If you come out in the next two minutes I’ll give you both a piece of chocolate in your lunch.”
6yo is intrigued, “Okay!!!”
8yo, no response.
Pull oatmeal out of microwave, chunk it into some bowls. Go to grab lunch trays from dishwasher.
Me: So glad I ran it last night.
Brain: Dopamine…
Me: Fuck. No I didn’t.
Brain: … drop.
Grab oversized, broken-hinged, back-up lunch trays.
Me: It’ll be fine. I’ll use the small ice packs.
6yo comes out all dressed, “Tada!!”
“Great job bud! Now go to the bathroom.”
I yell for 8yo, no response.
I throw together snack trays of cut apples and bagel chunks. Throw rest of bagel into a used ziplock laying on the counter for me to eat later so my pills don’t wreck my gut, and take a bite out of an apple.
6yo comes to the kitchen counter. The hallway is silent.
“Nope, go flush and wash your hands.”
“I did.”
I look at his dry hands, and still hear nothing from hall bathroom.
“No you didn’t.”
“Uuuugh. Fiiiiine.” 6yo stomps off.
I go to make PB and J. I have two heels of bread and two middle pieces. Make PB&J and I give one heel and one middle to both kids.
Me: If there is a God, they won’t notice.
Brain: Even if there IS a God they will absolutely notice and probably won’t eat them.
Me: We are trying optimism. School has free lunch if they get desperate. It’s fine.
I throw the last of the carrots and some haphazardly cut green pepper slices in one of the small partitioned spots. Put sandwiches heel side down in large partition. Pour pumpkin seeds and a handful of pepperoni in the last small partition.
Me: Lunches look sad. *sigh*
Brain: Making a mental note to order groceries or stop at store after Pilates.
Me: Oh fuck, I have Pilates…
Grab leftover valentines chocolates, throw some in 6yo’s lunch while yelling for 8yo. 6yo requests HE pick the chocolates out not me, remembering the sandwich heels, I agree.
I yell louder for 8yo and finally get a response, “aaaaarrrgggh!!! I’m getting dressed already mom!!! Geez!”
Brain: Dopamine drop.
Me: 8yo will not get chocolate.
Brain: We get his chocolate.
Me: Done.
Brain: I was joking.
Me: oh…
I attempt to close lunch boxes, wrestling with the broken hinges, and when they partially lock shut I curse myself for putting pumpkin seeds in there and pray they stay inside the box.
Brain: They will not.
I grab the lunch bags and find the small first aid ice packs. I praise myself and the boys for the ice packs actually being in the freezer.
Me: Boys did what I asked yesterday?! Yay me! Yay them!
Brain: Dopamine boost. 8yo gets his chocolate?
Me: 8yo still hasn’t come out.
6yo, “Can I open this?”
He is holding junk mail from a pile of mail I meant to sort yesterday.
Brain: Dopamine drop.
Me: When did I last check the mail??
I breathe and squeeze both lunches into the smaller lunch bags. No room for water bottles.
Brain: Make mental note to fill water bottles and put them in side pockets of backpacks before leaving.
“Moooom?”
“Yes, if you eat your breakfast.”
“Eee! Hehe!”
6yo starts opening the junk mail on the counter instead of finishing his breakfast. Asks for fake credit card from a bank offer. I tell him he can have it if he finishes breakfast and gets shoes on.
“Yay!” Grabs next piece of junk mail.
Me, “Eat your breakfast!!”
“There is only one left!!”
“EAT!”
“…fine…” takes a bite while I walk to the hall.
Brain: Red flag. That is the second time we have yelled loud, losing our temper. We haven’t taken our pills.
I hear paper rip and giggling as I walk into my bedroom.
Brain: Dopamine drop.
I stare at my pill bottles.
Me: Didn’t I take them already?
Brain: Um…
I grab a bottle and empty one pill into my hand.
Body: [sends message to brain saying that this feels unfamiliar enough to confirm I hadn’t].
I take my 5 different pills for my five different thing. I go to pull on some Pilates friendly clothes.
6yo walks in while I’m changing my pants. I forgot to close the door.
“Hi! I’m done!”
“Good! I’m getting dressed.”
“Ok.”
He stands there watching me.
“Bud, I want some privacy. Please go get your shoes on if you are done with breakfast.”
“Ok!”
I close the door. I grab an old shirt of my husbands. Martyr mode starts to engage as I realize he is still sleeping in the back room. Memory starts to come online. I shut both off as I put on shirt.
Me: I love this shirt.
Brain: Husband is perfectly fine to sleep.
Me: He needs it.
Stupid daylight savings.
8:15am
I go back out to the hall. 8yo is eating breakfast. Hallelujah.
I go pack the lunches in the back packs.
Body: [stomach gurgles and lurches]
Me: Fuck. I didn’t eat quick enough.
I go to press the van key to get it started in case it is cold out. My keys are in my desk. I press husbands van key instead. Before I hear the confirmation beep, 8yo comes asks in his worried voice,
“Hey mom.?”
“Buddy, please eat.”
“I did.”
“Ok, then please go out socks on and brush your teeth.”
“I’m TRYING TO BUT MT TOOTHPASTE WONT OPEN!”
“Use the other one.”
“That one isn’t good. Am I just twisting the cap wrong?”
Starts twisting the crap out of the entire small tube of travel toothpaste.
“Bud, just use the other one.”
“No, it doesn’t work good. And it tastes horrible.”
“FINE.” I grab the tube barely twist to make lid come off and slam it back on counter.
Body: [Stomach gurgles urgently again].
Six-year-old comes over from where he had been playing with shoes before finally putting his shoes on.
“Done! Now what!?”
“Grab a water bottle and brush your teeth.”
“I don’t have a water bottle.”
“Yes you do there are three like right there.”
8yo starts grumbling from the bathroom and I hear something drop. Decide to ignore it.
“When you two are done, get your coats and shoes on and grab a water bottle. I’m going to the bathroom and then we are leaving.”
8yo, “Can I go to the bathroom?”
8:17am
“Yes, but no time for pooping.”
“Oh. Fine.”
I get to the bathroom in time. Gut attempts to leave my body. I pull myself together and suppress the urge to vomit.
Me: It’s okay. I’ll eat that stale bagel on my way to Pilates.
I get back out to the kitchen, and grab my shoes. 6yo who was fully dressed with shoes coat and backpack on is beaming at me…. Holding his swimming kickboard for some reason.
“Have you grabbed a water bottle buddy?”
“I don’t like those ones.”
“Dude we don’t have time for this.”
I grab a bottle and hand it to him.
“But I don’t like that onnnne.” He pops it back on the table.
“Because the handle? Here.”
I grab the identical but non broken lid from the one next to it thinking that one is empty.
It is empty, but the straw isn’t.
Water everywhere.
Me, “Oh come ON!”
Brain auto shuts off all modes that would make me give a shit about the water.
Me, “Uuugh. Whatever. Here.”
I hand 6yo the newly capped bottle.
“But I want a fuuuulllll one.”
“6yo, you can fill it at school.”
8yo, “I’m done.”
“Dude! Where are you socks?!”
“Oh.”
“Socks! Shoes!”
8yo lumbers off slowly in 8yo lumbering off mode.
“6yo, what are you doing?!”
6yo is pouring water from a third bottle into his bottle. More water everywhere. Luckily the swimming kickboard he’s inexplicably leaning against is keeping the water from spilling on him.
Brain: Auto-shutdown failure. Patience mode has expired.
“Oh my god you guys. Stuff like this is why I ask you to hurry! We don’t have time to be picky about toothpaste and water bottles!”
No response. I open the door to let them out to get in the car. Trying to block the dogs as the kids run out under my other arm.
I glance at the clock.
8:21am
Me: It’s ok. We’ll be ok.
Brain: Uh, Just a heads up. The kids are standing outside the van staring at it.
8yo, “Mom!!! The doors won’t open!”
I get there with rage in my throat and find that the van’s doors are frozen shut. The key fob hadn’t worked.
Me: I shouldn’t have used my husbands.
Brain: You do know it doesn’t always work like ours does.
Me: Shut up.
I walk to 8yo’s door.
“Watch out.”
He doesn’t move. I sigh loudly and yank on his door. Nothing. He then steps closer to look. I yank again. Nothing.
8yo, “I can see it’s not opening.”
“Yeah, I know bud. Watch out.”
I try to shift him over with my arm so I can try the driver's side door. He doesn’t move. Just looks at me while I try to squeeze between him and van. There is an entire empty parking space behind him.
Brain: Auto-shutdown fail —
“OH MY GOD 8YO. Please. Watch out. Watch out means move!”
Brain: Aaand we’re yelling.
I get my door open and hit the automatic button for 6yos side.
“Go use 6yo’s door!”
Body: [tangles of grief and shame in my heart mix with the frustration and incredulity]
“Uuughh fine!!”
I try opening 8yo’s door again from inside but it barely moves.
8yo starts yelling at 6yo for getting into the van before him because he couldn’t walk over his legs. 6yo stands up and let’s him past.
I can’t get 8yo’s door to shut all the way now.
Me, “Whatever. It’s fine.”
I close my door and buckle in. 6yo is still standing there next to his seat.
“The window is frozen.” He points to the windshield.
“Yes it’s fine, get in your seat. I’ll fix it.”
I try to use windshield fluid on the front and back windshields to clear them, but our windshield wiper fluid light is on and I’m only getting spurts.
Me: Forgot about that light. I should have fixed it.
Brain: Making a note to fix it. I don’t have high hopes we will remember. We are entering a limbo state by the way. Not that you are listening to me.
Now I can kind of see out of the windshield.
“Is it frozen because of water?”
6yo asks this, still not in their seat.
“Yes, and seriously! 6yo omg get in your seat!!!”
I try to get the side windows to roll down while I back us out and get to the road.
6yo, “I don’t like it when you are yelling at us.”
Body: [heart contracts]
Me: I’m making things worse.
Brain: Ah. There she is. Now fix it.
“I’m sorry, I’m yelling. This is just frustrating because things like this is why I needed you guys to hurry.”
My voice is still raised and I try to calm it more.
“I just don’t want you guys to be late because we slept in a bit late.”
“Why?”
We are now at the road and although my window has rolled down the goddamn passenger side hasn’t.
Since it’s a busy morning I don’t dare trust the shadowy view to show me that it is clear to drive, I grab a Kleenex from the box on the floor and open my door while I start to answer.
“Why don’t I want you to be late? Do you know why not being late is important?”
I run over and hand scrape the passenger window with the kleenex while a bunch of cars drive by. Run back around to my side and briefly yank on the slider door again.
No luck. I jump back in.
“If you are late to school you are marked tardy. If you are tardy three times you get kicked out of school.”
Brain: This seems obviously unreasonable and can’t possibly be true.
Me: Yeah, and I am still not back to my normal voice.
Brain: You do realize memory mode has turned back on and we are in an emotional flashback panic. Yes?
I cringe. What I am saying is an echo of past screams that were aimed at me. I start driving. Thanking the possible God that I only adopted the volume level and not the content.
Me: Breathe. Okay. Brain? How bad is it?
Brain: Better now. You’ve entered awareness. And are now re-entering emotional reality.
Me: Reality check on that last claim to the kids?
Brain: The boys will likely get actual consequences, there is a tardy count, so it is important. And they do need to work at it. But.
“I’m really sorry you guys. I love you and I shouldn’t be yelling. I just get really, really frustrated when we are late and I didn’t want me waking up late to be the thing that made you guys late to school. I don’t want you to get into trouble for something if we could adjust and hurry enough to avoid it.”
Brain: Okay, that’s a bit convoluted. They are 8 and 6. Maybe —
“If we just got out the door on time and you guys did what I asked when I asked you to do it, we wouldn’t be late. It’s 8:24 right now. You will both need to RUN to not be late. You are supposed to be IN class at 8:25 and if you get there after 8:30 you are tardy. I don’t want to yell at you guys. I just don’t know how to get you to do what needs to be done when we are in a rush.”
Brain: Oh my god woman. You need to stop talking. This is only marginally better than the yelling. What are you doing???
“I’m sorry that I woke up late, you guys might be late because of me and that also makes me upset.”
Brain: Okay. Done. You are done.
Me: Maybe it will be fine?
“It wouldn’t be because of you,” 8yo starts to say.
Brain: Jesus Christ.
Me: Fuck on a stick.
Brain: Now, Cayse, don’t go and make this worse by —
“Not entirely no, but I know that you guys don’t always get up with your alarms so I feel like I should have made sure you both did. But, yes, I shouldn’t have to. You have your alarms. Should I have to come in and yell at you guys in the morning to get ready because you ignore your alarms?”
Both, “No.”
8yo, “My alarm didn’t work though, so I wouldn’t have woken up.”
“Well, I’ll reset it at home.”
“No, it’s set. It just doesn’t wake me up.”
“Then you must be turning it off.”
“No. I don’t know how to turn it off. I just stay asleep and when I wake up it isn’t on.”
Me, knowing full well that his alarm wasn’t going off when I came in to tell him to get dressed and hurry up, but also knowing with embarrassment that I had done the same exact thing and knew how hard it was.
“Well bud, I know I woke up late because the dogs kept me up. Maybe you should stay up so late reading.”
8yo groans and says, “okaaaay.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry for being so grumpy and for yelling while explaining, but being on time is just really important. And it’s not easy for us. To get better at it you guys need to start caring about it more.”
6yo, “Why?”
“Because the world doesn’t like it when you are late. There are tons of consequences for being late. And since it is hard for our brains to be on time, we have to try REALLY HARD to be on time so we don’t have to miss out on things just because we have trouble with time. We need to work at it and to do that we need to really try. And that means when me and Dad tell you to hurry, you really have to HURRY.”
Brain: Well, at least you didn’t end it like a whack job who is putting all of the responsibility on their two elementary school aged children. Cause that would just be insane.
We pull into the school drop offline. There are five cars in front of us and three behind us. The last of the normally massive line. The drop-offs of shame.
8:27am
They get unbuckled.
I apologize again and say I love them, and promise I will calm down and make up for my yelling tonight after school when we can have fun together.
“I just really care about you guys learning to not be late. It is something that was drilled into me as a kid and even though I didn’t like it either and it was hard for me too, my parents were right. It is important.”
Both, “Ok.”
Our turn. Boys get out and I shout I love you, as they run to the front doors. They say it back. My heart breaks.
As the electronic door closes. I remember the other slider. I go to unbuckle but the car in front of me starts moving.
Me: Make a mental note to stop and close it before going to Pilates.
Brain: Yes, your majesty.
Me: Knock it off. You can give me back the flashback voice.
Brain: Thank goodness. It does not feel right for me to wear that.
Me: No. But it is useful that you can sometimes.
8:28am
I take a deep breath. Pilates is at 9:00. I can make it if I rush.
Exit line is slow. As I wait I notice the frost is gone, every thing is wet and the sun is out.
Me: It will be muddy when I get home, but I can fill the washer fluid.
Brain: The washer fluid light isn’t the only one turned on now. The gas tank is on empty.
Me: Fuck.
Line is still taking forever so I check my Pilates app, my class is in a studio 8 minutes further away than my normal one. Double fuck.
8:32am
Finally my turn to leave the school parking lot, I start heading to the closest gas station.
Me: Ugh. Husband will be seriously upset if I get gas at Shell, but I don’t think I have time for Fred Meyer’s.
Brain: Are we sure that husband will be mad about that?
Me: I don’t know. Yes? Probably. Right? Seems irresponsible of me. But…Is it more important to get gas at a cheaper price or get to Pilates in time to not get charged the $10 late fee? Shit! What is the right answer?
Brain: Calm down. Let’s check maps.
Me: Okay, sure Brain. Let’s do that. Can I get to Fred Meyers gas before Pilates? No. Can I get to Costco gas before hand? I don’t have our card on me, so that won’t work. And to make matters worse, traffic is slower than ever.
Brain: Breathe. Please. My. God.
8:34am
I then hit the light by the middle school right as it turns red. Slow cars and slow speed.
Body: [rage of a thousand suns builds within my bones]
8:37am
Me: We have to get gas at the Shell at this intersection if we have any chance of making it to Pilates.
Brain: Okay, just get a little gas at Shell and explain it to husband later. Even though I still don’t think husband will care that much.
Me: No! It matters!
I pull into the parking lot of the store next to the gas station first so I can close the half open slider because I won’t be able to while the gas is pumping since it is on the same side as the tank.
While still parked, I grab my purse to get my card ready so I can avoid getting all panicky when I inevitably can’t find my card when the attendant asks for it.
I always hate that moment because I have to try and find it while the attendant stands there staring at me and half the time they try to make conversation which I don’t have the brain power to handle politely at the moment and they definitely don’t deserve my snark. So, I grab my card.
Brain: We should use our other one because I don’t think we’ve met the gas cash-back for it this year yet and if we’re buying more expensive gas we should definitely use it.
Me: I wonder if we still have that perk. Make mental note to check that later.
Brain: That card isn’t in wallet.
Me: It should be!
I start rummaging through the crap in my purse assuming it must have fallen out when I got gas or something last time.
I find a frenectomy pamphlet from the dentist and realize I haven’t told 8yo or husband about the appointment I scheduled for him.
Me: I don’t remember when it is.
Brain: Making a mental note to check that.
Next I find my calming watch buzzers from EMDR that I let 8yo and 6yo use when they got flu shot. They didn’t work.
Me: 8yo is going to freak the fuck out when he goes to get the frenectomy. I hate myself for paying a deposit already.
Brain: Making a mental note to talk to husband about it and call the dentist to warn them.
Empty my entire purse and check my wallet again. Card is definitely not in my wallet. What IS in my wallet is a note about setting up eye appointments for the boys with the phone number for the clinic closest to us.
Brain: Ah. So, the “past due eye exam texts” we received from the clinic yesterday?
Me, groaning: Yup. They WERE due to ME forgetting to call and schedule. Not because the clinic hadn’t contacted me back.
Brain: Ah yes, that’s right. We wrote the note when we called them last month before a Pilates class when we arrived 10 minutes early.
Me: Oh shit.
8:42am
Pilates is at 9:00.
I check maps. I will be 2 minutes late if I leave immediately.
Me: But I haven’t even freaking managed to get gas yet!
Brain. There is a line. It is smarter to just go home.
Body: [hesitates, sends sensory discomfort memories of muddy daycare dogs, back pain, pent up anger]
Brain: Home means muddy daycare dogs, $10 Pilates charge, explaining to just woken-up husband why I wasn’t going to Pilates when I need to for my back pain —
Me: and then feeling guilty about wanting to complain to him about this morning and not getting to go to Pilates when he has busted his ass the last few days at work because daylight savings and manufacturing software hate each other. And he’ll have woken up to the house being a disaster from both the muddy dogs and my lunch making tornado. And FUCK! Did I even FEED the dogs?
Brain: No. So, they will be extra muddy because of wrestling whilst hungry and because the grass is dead.
Me: which is because I got sick this last spring and summer and didn’t finish reseeding the grass.
Brain: Us complaining about any of this to husband will not be helpful right now.
Me: Nope. And besides, it would probably make him go “we shouldn’t have extra work with daycare dogs being here then.”
Brain: Which is valid —
Me: But I’ll be frustrated because I enjoy it and because daycare dog keeps our dog occupied while I try to work on my book which was what husband and I agreed I should finish editing this month.
Brain: Hmm. That does seem somewhat logical. And the doggo is fun to pamper.
Me: Husband seemed irritated last night when I was talking about editing the book…
Brain: Did he though?
Me: He is probably upset I’m not done yet, and I can’t work on my book tonight because our dog has puppy training class.
Brain: Oh, we are out of treats.
Me: Shit. And we are out of food.
Brain: But we will be grumpy when we get home if we haven’t worked out. Then again, we also don’t want to burst into tears in the middle of Pilates.
There’s my escape hatch.
I collect myself and call the Pilates club to ask about late arrivals, no one answers. Leave a voicemail instead apologizing for not coming today and to let me know if there is any trouble with the late fee.
Me: Make mental note to check cost of just getting a gym membership instead.
Brain: Veto. We wouldn’t use a gym membership because we wouldn’t prioritize it because of moments exactly like this. Remember how we used to help others with this exact problem before our chronic illness kicked our ass and having two 2E kids broke me? Your brain?
Body: [tenses, sends signals to prep for crying]
I consider crying in the car in the parking lot.
Feels: [pounding from the chest much closer to me than I had thought they were]
Brain: Yeah, so we are still stuck in an emotional loop and have had a half flashback moment already. Which means I’m spiraling because I’m still triggered from the dreams.
Me: So, you are still stuck.
Brain: Yup. I took on Body’s stuckness. We need to process this morning, not bulldoze forward through the day in an angry panic only to then pick up the kids grumpy which is what we promised not to do.
Me: You’re dismissed.
Mentally start to dissociate.
In a pure state of disconnect from my body and self, I grab my phone and start writing this out so I can stay present instead.
10:11am
I’d be halfway home from Pilates right now if I had gone.
Me: Maybe I’m not meant to do Pilates.
Body: [sighs in relief]
Brain, from somewhere distant: you think?
Author’s note:
I wrote the original draft for this entire story in my minivan while sitting in the parking lot between the bank and the gas station, bawling my eyes out.
I sent the story to my husband after writing it. He sent me a heart emoji and asked me to come home. We talked, I cried. He confirmed that he would not have given a shit about the gas station and told me to wake him up next time. He had also fed the doggos and cleaned up the lunch stuff before I even texted him.
My boy’s came home and we talked and discussed what happened that morning some more. Oldest shocked us both by admitting he was deliberately trying to not go to school that day, due to anxiety. He just didn’t know how to talk about it. Seeing my frustration was enough for him to finally fess up about what was going on.
Not the best way to get a confession but it did make a lot more sense.
Two months later I had to stop going to Pilates due to internal bleeding.
I admit, the Universe might be on to something.
❤️😭❤️