I’m A BLT
If I were a sandwich I think I’d be a BLT. I would be well done bacon, just short of crisp, with a little bit of chew. The tomatoes would be fresh from the garden in early August and I would use iceberg lettuce because it has the best crunch. I would use just a tiny bit of mayo on rustic boule fresh from my oven. Years ago, I worked with a woman who used cream cheese instead of mayo and added pepperoncini, too. I tried it that way once or twice. It was tasty, but I’m more classic than that.
The reason for all this sandwich talk is because I have sandwiches on the brain. The sandwich generation, that is.
I worked on a project for work, years ago, before I became a mama, and learned about this concept as it applies to long term care and aging. Essentially it refers to middle aged adults, mostly women, who are caring for their own children, while also caring for their own parents.
That’s not me yet, but for the first time I realize that I’m close. It’s weird, you know? I see photos of other women my age and I feel like they look so much more adult than I do. It blows my mind that I am responsible for molding two little minds when I am still so active in shaping my own. And now my parents ask for my opinions on various matters like I’m some sort of grown up with my shit together. I mean, I am, I guess, but it feels so strange to be experiencing a shift in the relationship. I’m not just their child anymore. I’m a real, live adult. And I know things! I know a lot of things about a lot of things!
Here’s an example of what I mean. My kiddos and I spent a few days of April vacation in Florida, visiting my parents. It was planned to be a low-key trip with lots of lazy time around the pool, and Doritos in every flavor because they were BOGO at Publix. But then both of my parents fell ill. First my dad, and then my mom. They were wiped out and climbed into bed for some rest. While I worried about them, and taught them how to use their new thermometer, Luke barfed all over his bed after drinking too much pool water. I tried to keep Max from eating several boxes of popsicles at a time and staying awake into the next day, to no avail. So naturally I coped by pouring a [big] glass of wine, eating a bag of barbecue potato chips, and binging on Netflix in bed.
Fortunately, in this story, nothing was too serious and the troubles were limited to a few days. But the storm is coming. I know it is.
According to the American Psychological Association:
“Mothers in the ‘sandwich generation,’ ages 35-54, feel more stress than any other age group as they balance the demanding, delicate acts of caring for growing children and their aging parents. And while nearly two-in-five men and women in this age group feel overextended, more women than men report experiencing extreme stress and say they manage their stress poorly…It’s not surprising that so many people in that age group are experiencing stress. The worry of your parents’ health, and your children’s well-being as well as the financial concern of putting kids through college and saving for your own retirement is a lot to handle…Mothers often put their family needs first and neglect their own.”
You don’t say.
But don’t fret! The APA also offers us strategies:
Identify stressors.
Recognize how you deal with stress.
Find healthy ways to manage stress.
Take care of yourself.
Ask for professional support.
So it seems then, that the pro tip for managing stress here is to, uh, not be stressed? Cool cool cool. Got it. Consider it done. This is very similar to how when I’m feeling super heated about something, and someone tells me to relax, I very easily transition into a relaxed state. Grrrrr.
My intention with this blog is not to complain. It is not to offer helpful tips. It is simply to let you know that I see you - much like my eating disorders blog, or my overwhelmed blog, or my safe place blog - know that if you are feeling the feels as you experience any of these things, I am with you. I see your struggle. I know it’s hard. That’s all I’ve got today. ♥
