The fog is slowly lifting, and so are my spirits. I've decided that in this last year of my 30's I'm giving myself the gift of anxiety reduction! Hooray for me! Part of this means hanging out with people more, continuing my spiritual pursuits, reading more, exercizing, and accepting what is rather than what is not.

It also means acknowledging the fact that yes, stillness allows us to hear the voice of God more. But it also makes me a terribly cranky person. There is nothing wrong with me for not wanting to be a full time housewife or mother. It’s not where I’m meant to be. I’m accepting that I owe it to my kids to be there for them, but I also owe it to me to be happy. 

My true dream? To live in a high rise in New York City. To go down to the lobby every day and have coffee with interesting people. To wear fabulous outfits. To write my television show or play. To go to museums. To walk through Central Park, and even better, to live above it.

 Can I do this now? No. I’m where I need to be for my family. But I can certainly plan a trip there. Or go back to work full time once Pip is in kindergarten and keep those creative juices flowing. Just thinking about getting back into my old field makes me smile. And that is something indeed.

 What about you? What’s your dream? Are you living it? Do tell!

* Photo taken ten years ago at a Rude Awakening party. I was a staff writer and pretty darn excited to just be dating Rex and hitting the big time! LOL. Hey, where is that girl in the photo? I want her back!


More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.





 



 
 

Might have been a bit premature.

But I'm still seeking Jesus. Hopefully He will find me in a relaxed state as opposed to a zombie-like cat crawl who spends all day with dry mouth avoiding sex.

If you really think about it, it's shocking Jesus did not need either anti-depressants,  anxiety relievers or over the counter meds. All that walking on water without Cold Eaze? All that persecution by scary men with funny hats without Xanax? All those people demanding his attention for boils, blindness and the occasional carafe of vino without a shrink to talk him down the ledge? If anyone needed a boat load of Lexepro, Jesus was it.

I know, I know... I should fill myself with God. And I am trying. But while I'm waiting for divine inspiration, I'm giving my brain a small dosage of divine stimulation.


I'll let you know how it goes.


More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.





 
 

 

In my ever searching quest to find myself and not annoy the general public at large, I’ve been trying to be quieter. Trying to not randomly open doors into other peoples’ Mercedes. Not leaving ten empty spaces ahead of me at the pharmacy line, making cranky eighty year olds in line for Viagra refills put their arthritic middle finger up at me. (Since nothing else is going up, apparently.) Not getting to the front of crowded Starbucks lines and taking ten minutes deciding between latte, soy and that overpriced holiday drink that smells like cinnamon but tastes like a faux version of J-Lo’s perfume mixed with diesel bought at TJ Max for $1.99. That kind of thing.

So today, while at my daugher’s preschool, I let all 6’1 of me hunker into a chair in the lobby. I didn’t look up. I didn’t engage in conversation. I didn’t catch the eye of my favorite assistants and ask about how their bunny rabbit who got in a fight with a skunk last Tuesday at 9PM was doing. I just filled out my teacher appreciation cards.

But some people gave me the stink eye anyway. You know, those moms. The ones with kids named after streets or cities. The ones with hair-do’s flippier than Jennifer Aniston but not quite as bowl headed as Carol Brady’s. 


“No, I’m just being insecure,” I thought. “Stop it, Andrea! You are not doing anything out of the ordinary.”

 
After what seemed to be a rather long stare from a woman who looked like Barbie crossed with Angelina Jolie’s lips (or that Octuplet mom’s), I finished up my last card, grabbed my cup of coffee from the table next to me, and started to leave.

 That’s when I noticed the thing in my hand that had these good Catholic women snickering.


More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.


 
 

something is not the same..."

Some of you might know that song from Wicked. Some of you who read me at BabyCenter are most certainly sick of me talking about this damn show. But I'm telling you, every time I hear that musical - which is at least once/day (the kids love it also) I'm struck by the truth of what it sings about...

"I'm tired of playing by the rules of someone else's game..."

Some of you, perhaps many of you, have never struggled with people pleasing issues before. Or faith issues. Or relationship issues. You just take what is and are fine with it.

Or you struggle, but eventually give in. Or you are in a constant state of panic.

I'm somewhere in between. I am trying to not be a perfectionist, but at the same time, never give up on who I am. I am seeking to find my comfort in God, and yet don't want to divide myself from others who do not find comfort in that way.

Ah, but isn't that getting back to the people pleasing thing again? Of course it is. Because if I was really that secure in my faith in God, why would I care what others thought? Wouldn't I just shout it from the rooftops like so many other religious bloggers I know? And atheists for that matter?

But maybe God likes me the way I am - the person that can see both sides of the fence and love all the views. It certainly makes life more interesting.

But life would be more peaceful with one home only. One view. One steady panorama to fill my soul.

So, to be clear, here's where I am in the grand scope of it all:

* Those fence posts sure put splinters in my butt. (Wait, not that)

* I have no doubt that there is indeed a God (You're not going to convince me differently on that account.)

* I am leaning toward Jesus Christ because that works for me and I like what He has to say. I also feel more peace when I pray than in anything else I do. I have seen prayer work in my life - and in my gut - it just feels right. I am tired of ignoring that pang.

* As a Catholic, I find incredible peace in the mass and the ritual. It allows me to seek God in a way that is comforting to me. I know that many non-Catholics are adamantly against "going through the saints and Mary" and prefer the straight channel to God. If that works for you, I think that's awesome. But I'm sticking with what works for me right now. But who knows! Try and convert me to another church. But first, let me figure out where I stand in Christ first.


Other stuff?

* I am willing to forgive my husband for not being the ideal image of what I thought I was getting when I had no idea what marriage was about. (And I was married once before - now that's saying something!)

* I forgive my children for not being my mirror images who never make me upset, angry or frustrated. Not even when they throw their entire closet of clothes down the stairs because I have the audicity to get online for 20 minutes.

* And through my faith, I hope to one day forgive myself for being so hard on myself. Because I am far from perfect. (There's a lot of you out there rolling your eyes with an expression that can only be seen translated "Duh.")

You're going to see a different side of me over here at Pass the Zoloft that you might not have seen before. (No, I'm not going to become some Jesus Hippy blog, but I'm not going to shy away from stuff that really moves me or that I question. Because that is what being an authentic writer means - whether it's material others like or not. You have the choice to read or not. But I'm hoping you'll stick around!)

I ask you to be gracious, but honest, with your comments. Any degrading comments will be deleted - I don't care if you believe in Jesus Christ or the Zulu God of Paxil. We are all at different places in our lives and I'd like to see respect. If you want a cat fight, just visit my blogs at BabyCenter.

In closing, I must comment on this non-Zoloft thing. It's awesome, but it sure makes emotions a bit more ominous than they used to be. It was so much easier to just drug myself up and blame everything on my husband.)

For those interested in Catholicism, this woman writes more beautifully than I could ever hope to. Check her out. She's amazing.

More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

 





 
 

Unlike a quarter my husband swallowed when he was a boy, I did  not walk around for days with a plastic dish, waiting for a shiny object to fly out my ass.

I have, however, passed the Zoloft! For two months I've been happy pill free. I have two things to say about this:

1. I am, indeed, quite a bit more content. Turns out walking around like a zombie is not good for my libido, nor was it 100% necessary for my happiness. What began as a temporary crutch to get me through an excruciating television season ten years ago morphed into "This is just something my body needs."

Um, no. Drinking six diet cokes a day, straying from my spirituality, swigging coffee into 2am and not sleeping (not to mention not moving my body) is no excuse for chugging giggle pills as some sort of narcotic mood chaser.

2. My tolerance is lower than it used to be. This includes screaming children, whiny adults, pissy drivers and monster parents - you all know who you are.

The end result of going off the America's favorite addiction is going to have a few results: Either they'll find me head first in a bargain bin at The Salvation Army - quivering in a panic induced fetal postion or... I'll simply have to be more direct than I ever was before.

Wish me luck. Actually, I wish you luck. I'm back!

 More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.