i am titling this blog entry what i just googled, hoping to find someone with a similar experience. i know i am not alone in this.


how did my life come to this?

taking full responsibility for the design of my life, how did i come to this?

why have i not innovated my way out of this?

how do i do so?!

in response to my musings about having another child, tonight A said: not knowing how i feel about him at all right now, he would not permit another child. he doesn’t care to be a combo sperm donor/babysitter/ATM.


(this is the first time he has said that. previously, it was always: he is good either way. it is up to me.)

(and me has always basically not been able to commit, b/c god/dess knows i struggle with balancing my needs with the needs of just one child.)

this morning, he said i was in his dream last night. there were bad guys. he said ‘down! down!’ to me and went down himself. i did not go down. i took a gun and slammed away bang bang at the bad guys. kicked some ass.

“me” has been pushed down, put on hold, for a good month.

i am dying here.

i may as well be the living dead.

all i am is an irritable, irritated bitch.

everything A says and does irritates me.

i am not finding enjoyment in family time.

i am not finding enjoyment in kid time.

my life is just an unending pushing down of myself.




this morning i slept in ‘cuz i needed to.

so no yoga.

A says he wants to get to work on time and of course to walk which means leaving at 8:12.

he gets on a f*cking conference call at 7:45 and wants me out of the room. surfing is OK. not typing.

i exit. it’s too late to do anything else, i determine to at least go for a 25 min. walk.

he leans out the window and says, ‘stay. what if anja wakes up?’

i give him the finger inside. ‘she won’t. call me then,’ i shout up.

8:00, he calls me: ‘she is saying mommy mommy.’


i am sorely undernourished.

i need time with my spouse in companionable silence. HIS silence. so i eventually can begin to f*cking share about my internal landscape.

self-righteous-better-than-thou-assh*le-that-he-is, he says “internal” means there is internal/external, which means bifurcation, which means self-contraction.

last night when i expressed i was experiencing “excruciating boredom” at everything coming out of his mouth, and shared i was not enjoying time with him & anja, and was realizing i really needed to get out, he responded with “boredom is self-contraction” & that he could not remember the last time he had been bored.

f*ck him.

i have not had any movement time.

i need to design life so i have regular Authentic Movement time.

R has not been available and i have not created another resource for myself.

THAT, is important.

i need solitude time.

that has been SORELY missing for a month, from Grandma A’s arrival & transition, thru vacation, thru these last 2 weeks with ‘school’ ended and ‘camp’ not yet begun.

sometimes A gets me, in his own way. the other night, he shared with me a section on being an artist parent in “My Struggle”, Book 1, By Karl Ove Knausgaard, that i related to. (bolding below is mine:)

I have always had a great need for solitude. I require huge swathes of loneliness and when I do not have it, which has been the case for the last five years, my frustration can sometimes become almost panicked, or aggressive. And when what has kept me going for the whole of my adult life, the ambition to write something exceptional one day, is threatened in this way my one thought, which gnaws at me like a rat, is that I have to escape. Time is slipping away from me, running through my fingers like sand while I… do what? Clean floors, wash clothes, make dinner, wash up, go shopping, play with the children in the play areas, bring them home, undress them, bathe them, look after them until it is bedtime, tuck them in, hang some clothes to dry, fold others, and put them away, tidy up, wipe tables, chairs and cupboards. (pp. 35)

….In such situations I am probably as far from the person I aspire to be as possible. I didn’t have the faintest notion about any of this before children. I thought then that everything would be fine so long as I was kind to them. And that is actually more or less how it is, but nothing I had previously experienced warned me about the invasion into your life that having children entails. (pp. 37)


i am feeling better having written this blog, & having gotten some crying out of the system.


that current beneath is strong


it demands

‘me’ time,


Authentic Movement,

art & altar & connection time.

at least i recognize that current is there

demanding i rebalance,

demanding response,

demanding innovation.





3 thoughts on ““mommy artist going crazy”

  1. hi all, just want to add, the above was a totally temporary state, remedied by 2.5 hours solo today, so pls. don’t think what you read is the Truth now, when the moment has passed. xo.

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