Where's the village?

Monday, February 19, 2007


My doctor told me that I suffer from adrenal fatigue. Among other things. And one of the things recommended for relieving this adrenal fatigue is releasing "toxic" emotions.

So here's one for you.

I'm just starting to read this biography of C.S. Lewis called The Narnian, not even through the introduction. I had to put it down and go do something else for a while, because according to this book, while Lewis was writing The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, he living a life that the author called "very miserable." And what made his life miserable? He was taking care of two people who were "dependent on him for their care."

Is any of this sounding familiar? On the next page there's a quote from Lewis that "Dog's stools and human vomit have made my day today: one of those days when you feel at 11 A.M. that it really must be 3 P.M."

Welcome to my fucking world.

I don't want to belittle Lewis or his troubles; what really gets my ire up is the way the author paints this picture that being a primary cargiver for someone (adult or child) is so exhausting and heart-wrenchingly burdensome for such an important, intelligent, gifted man as C.S. Lewis.

Why doesn't someone write a God Damned Book about how exhausting and heart-wrenchingly burdensome it is to be a mom? That it's not all love and Pooh and giggles and kissed scrapes? That wiping butts and planning meals and teaching manners and soothing feelings can Burn. You. Out. within a handful of years, but somehow you have to keep going and keep going and keep going and pour it all out, and at the end of the day still find a way to give some more.

I'm absolutely positive that Lewis wasn't a wuss for collapsing after years of the care he gave to his brother and the elderly woman who lived with him. What I'm objecting to is this implication by the author that his situation was so unique in its direness. We should all clasp our hands to our breasts and sigh at the travails of the Poor Tortured Genius who had to set aside his career and his creative endeavors for a time because someone needed him, needed him until he had to escape to a hospital. And then turn around and thank God that nobody we know has to deal with that.

Well. Let me tell you something. Almost every mother you have known or will know in your life has to deal with that.

Toxic enough, doc? I'm not feeling much release. Maybe if I sleep on it.


At 11:32 PM, Anonymous ozma said...


I love all the advice you gave me on my blog. I've done some but have to find out if you can wrap a gas water heater. We bought the wrap and then read you should not put it on a gas water heater. THANK YOU THOUGH.

I'm a big wuss and I read this thing from C.S. Lewis and think--damn, I'm too sensitive to wipe butts. I'm a Poor Tortured Genius who can't stand wiping butts. (I just wiped a butt 45 minutes ago. So I know whereof I speak.)

But you are right--that biographer sounds like an idiot. It's a different context from the third person point of view where the horror over a man being forced to care for another is so stark. As opposed to the complaining one does oneself when required to care for another--which is pretty damn understandable.

What kind of doctor diagnosed adrenal fatigue from toxic emotions?

At 7:39 PM, Blogger dajamama said...


I responded via email, so let me know if you didn't get it.



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