Becoming overwhelmed can lead to plenty of ugliness and mistakes. Did you know it can also affect your health? I have been a victim of “feeling overwhelmed” a few times in my life. In this particular story, I became so overwhelmed and so argumentative that I made a negative impression on my children. I scarred them for life.
Now I am staring at a blue screen with time slots and empty lines moving across the T.V. in the church foyer. I turn to my friend and say, “Oh, hey. What’s this?” The T.V. was previously rolled in on a metal stand with a power chord bolted to the side and placed at the wooden door near the chapel. “It’s the sign-up schedule for the Crèche in a few weeks. You can sign up to play or sign in 30-minute time slots. Do you want to sign up?” she asks. “I would love to. My fingers are rusty but I would like to improve my skills. It would be a great experience to have my kids sing a few primary songs.” I say with almost a nervous twitch. She responds and points to the number, “You can call to put your name on the list and there are several days you can pick from as well. Good luck!” She walks away as I wave, “Thanks, See you later!” I stand there looking at the blue screen wondering if I have the talent and the nerve to play in front of a live audience for thirty minutes. I hesitate as I punch the number into my phone and text the message, “Hi, this is Dari Edwards, I would like to sign up for Friday night at 6:30 to play for the Crèche.” I stare at the message I typed into my phone and I push the green send button in the bottom corner. I get a response back, “Okay, great! I’ll put you down.” I have sealed the deal. I have secured my fate. There is no going back now! My heart starts to beat in arrhythmia and my palms are already clamming up in anticipation for the upcoming performance.
The following evening I gather the children around my black, out-of-tune, chipped, old piano. I explain, “You guys are going to be a part of the Crèche next Friday night.” Britton looks at me and says, “What is that?” I look at each of them, “It is the Nativity and it’s an awesome community event. They gather lots of different kinds of nativities from around the world and place them beautifully on tables in the gym. We will be performing live in the chapel while people walk around and look at the different nativities. I am so excited to be a part of it all!” They all look at me and say in unison, “Do we have to sing?” I responded with a fervent, “Yes!” I think about their question for a moment. Are they asking because my piano skills are not up to snuff or because they don’t want to stand at the mic in front of everyone all alone?
We start practicing the three Christmas songs I have picked out for them. Their portion of the performance will take about five minutes and I have to fill the rest of the 30 minutes with piano music. Right now I am kind of getting ‘The Jackson Five’ vibes…or maybe more like ‘The Edwards Three’! I am so excited for our performance. All I have to do is practice, practice, practice. I need to figure out a way to get rid of my performance anxiety.
Even though there will be flaws, the kids’ little mistakes will be naturally cute and adorable over the mic. I start to think of my inaccuracies, wrong notes, and incorrect timing. I imagine there will be giant blunders echoed throughout the entire building. I can just see it all now as someone rudely yells from the low-lit gym, “Get off the piano lady. Who let you in here?” As people start booing and hissing and throwing the miniature glass figurines of shepherds and goats towards me as I fumble through the next Christmas song. I reassure myself that it is going to be okay and I will get through everything just fine. I plan on being super polished by Friday night.
Finally, Friday night arrives a little too quickly. I start shaking around three o’clock in the afternoon as I drive to the school to pick everyone up. I brake too hard and I about catapult the baby to the front seat. I nervously move the turn signal switch the opposite way that I am turning. Whoops- I just about hit a pedestrian at the crosswalk. I put the car in park I use the steering wheel as my piano and I strum the notes over and over on the tan worn driving wheel. The kids open the side door to the van and they jump into their seats. I didn’t even realize they enter the van as I am absentmindedly pounding notes out on my imaginary built-in piano. My son yells from the back of the van, “Mom! Let’s go. I’m hungry.” Surprised, I look in the rearview mirror, “Oh, hi guys. How was your day at school?” They each respond excitedly about their day. They are relieved to be going home.
At last, I gather the kids around the piano in their Sunday best and we rehearse one last time before we head over to the Creche. “Addy, could you please give us a prayer that everything will turn out okay tonight?” She nods and continues to pray for all of us and our performance at the nativity. Everyone jumps into the van and I wish that I could have nerves of steel like my kids have. I am so nervous I have to count my steps across the front porch so I don’t zigzag into the bushes. I have to mentally coerce myself to get into the van and drive the short distance to the church. We arrive a little early and the building is beautifully decorated with hundreds of nativity sets and twinkling lights. The big blue glaring screen is placed at the entrance to the chapel. I scan the different time slots and I see my name at 6:30 p.m. I automatically blush and I get a tingling sensation churning inside of me. I walk into the chapel where the piano, mic, and choir seats are. There is a large iridescent blue material that hangs from the ceiling. It separates the chapel from the gym where the majority of the nativities are placed. It sways and it sparkles in the soft light.
I hate my performance anxiety. I have dealt with it since I was a child. I would botch the pieces at recitals and performances. Here I am again thirty years later trying to improve myself. I want to slap myself across the face and knock the nerves right out of me.
I grab the baby in the carrier and we walk up to sit at the piano. Sidnee, Addy, and Brit stand at the mic and we do a quick check of everything. I put my baby next to me at the piano and I give the kids a count of five before I start playing their introduction. I accidentally give them a false start and they start singing. I hurry to catch up to them as I motion them with my eyes, ‘Keep singing…keep singing.’ We make it through the first song and I play a rough interlude as I bring them into their second song. Finally, I roll them in on their last song and it ends up being not too shabby. They finish singing in the mic and Addy walks over to me and asks, “Mom what happened on that one song? We didn’t know what to do.” I nod as I point to the mic that is on next to the piano keys. I put my finger to my lips and I motion for her to go sit down where I can see her in the choir seats. I take a deep breath and I command my hands to stop shaking as I start to play my piano solo Christmas songs. A few people wander into the chapel and sit down in the pews. My heartbeat starts beating at a pace I can’t control as I see people staring at me in the audience. My hands randomly jump to the wrong notes and I seem to have lost a portion of my agility.
I look up from the black and white keys and look over the light-grained piano. I notice a red blur moving in my far peripheral vision. I see my son in his red sweater and a bow tie bobbing up and down on the light blue choir seats placed around the piano. Again I try to pull my eyes from the music for a split second and direct him to sit still. Inside my head, I am telling him, “Sit down right now!” My nerves must be interfering with my superhuman mom’s powers because he doesn’t seem to get the message that I am transmitting from my brain waves into his brain. He jumps up and starts running through the choir seats. He turns and looks at me and waves with a sly smile. I am fumbling through the song I am playing as I try motioning with my head for Addy to go get Britton and sit down. She just stares back at me and shrugs her shoulders. I play a few more notes and now Britton is circling the choir seats at full pace. I can’t speak, I can’t express myself and I can’t help my kids right now. I am using gestures and body movements to try to get my oldest child’s attention to help me. Unfortunately, my hands and feet are busy at the moment. All I have is my voice yelling inside my head, an angry tilt of my head, and a jerky eye movement.
Britton is at full speed whirling around me and the seats in the choir section. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to hide out of view of the blue iridescent curtain. I am chained to this stupid instrument for the next 15 minutes. I play the music in front of me as it rests on the music shelf. I try to direct my kids to help me! Addy finally jumps up and starts chasing Britton around and around. Finally, she catches his red sweater and he screams out loud. She lets go of his shoulder and the chase begins again. I am begging Sidnee to please help me. I can tell she is contemplating what to do. If she chases Addy and Britton it could turn into chaos and the mic could pick up three baby elephant sounds running around the piano. The chase continues as Sidnee decides to join in. No one can catch Britton. He makes a bold move and turns to run behind me. There is a rest in the music and I lean back to swat him from behind the piano bench. I can’t catch him! I lose my place in the music and in full frustration, I pick a random note in the song to start playing again. While the girls are trying to coral him and trap him in his own game. The chase continues.
I lost all of my grace and dignity in the middle of a concert.
Finally, Sidnee gets ahold of him and I motion with force to get that kid out of here! I am almost finished with my horrible performance and the next performer comes in five minutes early. She probably notices my red blotchy eyes, my twitching hands, and my right foot that is glued to the damper pedal. She kindly and quietly offers to take over five minutes earlier than expected. I nod my head in appreciation. I walk out of the chapel and I am like an irritated mama bear on the hunt for my insolent and ill-mannered cubs.
I hold my tongue until we are in the car and the windows are sealed up tight and the doors are locked. There is no escaping my wrath that I am about to lay down. Outside the rain plops quietly on top of our van as we make our way to the top of Eighth Street. The night sky is beautiful with a brilliant array of stars shining down on the black asphalt. Inside our old red minivan the tension is rising and the serenity of the night is absent. I lose my cool at the turn-off of Blaine Street and I come unleashed. Britton unrolls the middle window and says, “Mom, stop yelling, all the neighbors can hear you.” I respond with fury and a few tears, “I don’t care if the @#$# neighbors can hear me. If you did to them what you did to me they would be yelling too!”
I pull into the driveway with force because of all the adrenaline and anger pumping through me. I march my three older children like a sergeant on a mission up the stairs with the baby in one hand and I point directly to their beds with the other hand. At this moment all I can say without brutally ruining their little minds with nasty words is “Get into your bed and do not come out. I am going to sit at the top of the stairs. I do not want to see any of you until 7 a.m. tomorrow!” I slam the door to their room. I have not fully served them their punishment and so I commence to sit at the top of the stairs. I yell through their door about the events of the night for the next ten minutes. On the other side of the door, they all throw themselves on the full mattress on the bottom bunk and cry. They talk in hushed tones amongst each other for a couple of hours until sleep takes hold of them.
I am so angry and overwhelmed by my own emotions I hold my baby close to me at the top of the stairs on the hard wooden floor. I rock her back and forth and I let my tears fall over us. I cannot let go of my anger. I am feeling so many things right now:
angry
embarrassed
overwhelmed
helpless
alone
a failure
stupid
unprepared
the list goes on….
I get up to lay the baby down and there is a little white folded piece of paper that was pushed under the door. I unfold the paper and there are sweet words written in pencil and crayon. Colored on the bottom right-hand corner is a picture of two girls drawn with light blue tears on their sad faces.
Mom, we are sorry. We didn’t mean to chase Britton. We didn’t know what to do. We were just trying to help you. Please don’t be mad.
Finally, 11 p.m. rolls around and all of the children are asleep. I sit in our old red recliner staring at the twinkling Christmas lights through our window. Alan walks through the front door. “How was the Crèche?” I look at him with regretful eyes, “It was dreadful and I am an awful mom.”
Undoubtedly this is a memory that my girls have NOT forgotten. Britton has no memory of this story. I shared it with him and all he could do was double over in laughter.
I admit, I was overwhelmed and I should have arranged for someone to help me that night. Or maybe I shouldn’t have taken on something that I was completely unprepared for. I was way over my head and I became a little irrational, argumentative, and very angry.
There are lots of things that can help when we get overwhelmed. We can try journaling, connecting with our senses, exercising, meditating, and even making a friend can help us feel encouraged. Here are a few other suggestions:
- Make boundaries. I should have said “no” to this opportunity. I didn’t have what I needed to be successful. (babysitter, time, talent, etc…) There were a lot of other options I could have chosen besides the unfortunate situation I ended up in.
- Ask for help. Maybe I should have realized that I didn’t need to be “independent” in all things. Neighbors, friends, and religious communities are all great resources to reach out to when we need a little extra help.
- Delegate. If I had had a friend play the piano while I directed my children at the mic…the night would have been beautiful and glorious.
Overall, sometimes we do get overwhelmed and we fall flat on our faces. It is okay to be in this situation and we have to allow ourselves a little kindness and grace. We all hit rock bottom and the only way out is up!
Resources:
Mini Memoirs 
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