My Own Little Tempest in a Teapot

It’s happening again. That dreadful, awful thought happened last week for the first time in months and I feel like I’m back to square one.

What thought? you may ask, because you are a thoughtful reader who cares that I sound like I am freaking out and because I am freaking out.

”I’m losing my mind.” That thought.

Ugh. I’m fever-pitch-tempest-in-a-teapot-mountain-out-of-a-molehill freaking out.

As a primer, this was happening to me specifically when I was experiencing the painfully embarrassing perimenopausal side effect that I affectionately call ”losing my freaking mind,” as in I cannot find anything I am ever looking for because for some odd reason, I never put it where it belongs.

I lost my keys. I could not, for the life of me, find this one black dress that I needed. I had to use the home phone to call my cell phone because I couldn’t find it. I lost our library card, which I had only used like the week before, but I did eventually find it in the pocket of a jacket I hadn’t worn in months (can someone please explain that one to me?)

It came to a head when yesterday afternoon I was on my way out the door with the big scalawag for a walk so that he could tell me about the storyline for his newest blockbuster movie, when I reached for my keys and they were not in the basket where keys live.

But I just had them this morning!

Panic. Turning of the apartment into set piece from the Poseidon Adventure. (Incidentally, not unrelated to the storyline for my scalawag’s movie idea.)

I called the lady who drove me to church that morning, in case I had left them in her car. Then I realized that my jacket was missing too.

Don’t worry. My jacket was found in the closet where I throw my stuff before I grab a microphone when I sing. My keys were in it. It must have been warm enough when I went to leave that I didn’t give a second thought to reaching in just a half inch further to that closet for my jacket.

But this I only learned once someone who works at church could go check for me this morning.

And I spent at least thirty minutes of my eldest son’s space-themed Poseidon Adventure knock-off thinking, ”I’m losing my freaking mind.”

The Wandering Womb. Again.

I was supposed to, instead of ruminating on my incapacity to remember where things were, say, ”Ahaha! It’s just my wandering womb again.”

That was the deal, Lily Fields.

The idea of the Wandering Womb came from the ancient belief that any kind of woman’s ailment was simply that her uterus was wandering in her abdomen, making her behave strangely. This is a joke, of course, and not true. I mean people used to think it was true. That’s why I can joke about it now.

What it really is is my hormones on a roller coaster giving me the attention span of a goldfish, the skin of an adolescent boy and the neck of a Thanksgiving turkey.

It’s more fun to just say that it’s my wandering womb vagabonding again.

But I used to have techniques for dealing with this. I was supposed to be happily creating habits and routines that help future me.

Which I did do. And now I need a little shot in the arm to take a better look at those habits and routines, and why it is that the ones that I did have are failing me right now.

Singing with My Feet

The rubber needs to hit the road on this. I can’t flutter about as everyone’s favorite Fairy Godmother if I don’t have grace towards myself when my mental health, my hormones and family life create a trifecta of Wicked Stepsisters to attack my magic.

So. I need to give myself a pep talk, Fairy Godmother style:

Hey. Lily Fields. Remember how you always used to say that you can’t start whining about routines until October 1, because everyone needs time to get used to the new schedule each school year? Well guess what. You have another two weeks before you can start complaining. Perk up. You can’t possibly be crazy quite yet.

Also, Lily Fields: everyone in your family has a million places to be and it’s normal that you are a little distracted. You’ve set all your reminders, you’ve checked your calendars. All you need to worry about this week is drinking enough water and getting enough sleep. The rest will take care of itself.

Also, Lily Fields: please take one morning this week and do absolutely nothing with it. Be a lazy bum. Your brain will thank you and your family might too.

Lastly, Lily Fields, please: every single time you put your keys somewhere, say out loud, ”I am putting my keys in the…” Do the same with your phone and your bag. I know the whole mobile office thing stinks, but saying out loud, ”I am putting my keyboard in my backpack” will help you. Just try it.

Episode 31: Mental Health Sing With Your Feet

Talking Points: Rage; Sublimation; Mental Hygiene. Episode 31: Mental Health is part of our series on the Ideal Life Categories. The series began back in Episode 15: The One About Our Bodies, in case you want to get caught up. Links: The Great Bathrobe Refashion: https://lilyfieldschallenge.com/2021/05/18/the-great-2021-bathrobe-refashion/ Rage Refashioning: https://lilyfieldschallenge.com/2021/05/27/rage-refashioning/ Sublimation: https://lilyfieldschallenge.com/2021/06/09/sublimation/ You can contact Lily by email: lily@lilyfieldschallenge.com. A great big thank you to Seven Productions here in Mulhouse, France for the use of the song "La Joie" as the intro and outtro to the show. Thanks also to Matt Kugler who sang it and Claude Ekwe who wrote it.
  1. Episode 31: Mental Health
  2. Episode 30: Contentment
  3. Episode 29: Commitments
  4. Episode 28: Lucidly Ever After
  5. Episode 27: Passionately Curious

Published by Lily Fields

I am passionate about contentment. This is a challenge, because I am equally passionate about progress. I get up at 4:00AM to chip away at a solution to this monolithic problem: how to make progress on my contentment. Born and raised in the USA, I married a French philosophy teacher in 1999. We have lived in France since 2007. We stayed young and carefree until life threw us two curveballs in the form of little humans one after another in 2015 and 2017 respectively. Now I am a slightly older, slightly more exhausted version of myself, but with mystery stains on my walls and a never-ending pile of laundry.

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