It's Hard To Explain

Maybe I will try to explain.

I don’t know how well I can explain something when I don’t understand the math.

In 2001, I became a traditional housewife who hung out with toddlers and children. I could act freely with my children. I could walk my normal weird walk without them noticing it was weird; I would break into song, and no one would ask if I was okay.

Winters we spent doing running soap opera improv—we'd introduce new characters and sometimes kill old ones off. Mr. Billinghassle came back as a teddy bear hamster. We’d go into the woods looking for moose. I would list birds and dog breeds for them for days. I went to the zoo three or four times a week. I could play my music as loud as I wanted, and babies would dance with me. I collected Calico Critter sets under the guise of “new toys for my children.” I filled the sets with tiny, clothed animals. I made baby food, I cooked, I baked, I cleaned, I organized and paid bills, and I drove my kids to classes. I drove my husband to the train station and picked him up. I knew there was always something wrong with me. No one suspected a thing.

In 2011, from my house in Calgary, I wrote a book, sold a television pilot, and a film. My husband suggests we move to Los Angeles.

My first appearance on the book tour was an 8 a.m. interview with Matt Lauer on the Today show. I wore an outfit by Carven that I didn’t like at all but quickly bought the night before as Barney’s was closing. I didn’t do my makeup or hair. I met with PR and had media training. Two minutes into the training session, I began crying, overwhelmed with how to look, smile, and answer questions. ”Try again?” they asked. I declined. I felt insane.

And that was that. I went on air. I couldn’t shut up. I was messy.

Within a few months of our move to LA, my husband said he wanted to go back to Alberta. The kids and I loved Los Angeles and wanted to stay. I’ll write about what led to the divorce when the kids are over thirty, but it was worse than I’ve admitted, and I asked for a separation. He filed for divorce and left the country. Losing my partner in raising our kids was the most devastating blow to my life, and it's been strange to learn about my neurodivergence so late in life. Every decision was made without understanding my own brain, and everything changed for me after understanding it.

It’s hard to explain feeling like your weirdness is uncontainable when you’ve spent your entire life doing a fairly good job at containing it.

I'm only inept in deep fear. I'm fairly fearless, except with my children. Teens trigger my fears about my strengths. I know what I know. I know movies, music, art, how to keep multiple children alive, clothing, makeup, and dog breeds. I don’t know how to be the best mother and friend. I want to be the best mother and friend. I spend a lot of time trying to perfect everything I can. I study the amazing mothers I know; it doesn’t come as easily to me. I just want to hang with my children, listen and show them interesting things. Instead, I have to perform “serious and punishing mother,” “always prepared mother," and “good at ironing mother.”
I know a mother’s doubt.
I am a mother's doubt.

Permanent Retrograde is my third job.
If everyone reading this paid for monthly or yearly subscriptions, I would need one job.
This is math I understand.