As I write this, I’m eating a leftover burrito for lunch and thinking about all the people who would never eat a burrito— leftover or otherwise—for lunch, So obviously, I’m being very gentle with myself today.
2019 has been a sorry one for me, and I know that, because I’m wheezing and spluttering to the finish line, and as much as I hate to admit it, cursing everyone that finishes with a better time than me. This year I confronted several painful facts:
- I’m thirty.
- I don’t own a home.
- I haven’t accomplished much.
- I don’t have any burning passions.
- I’m not that talented.
Some days, I confront these
facts vulnerabilities one at at time, but today, I’m braiding them into a chain so I can wear all of them at once. Tell me I’m not alone in this. Tell me I’m not alone in feeling this unhealthy barrage of “you’re not good enoughs.” Tell me that some days, you wear the chain too, but most days you take it off because it’s just too damn heavy and you need to fly. Give me the permission to take it off too.
I can trace the themes of my life based on the themes of this blog. In 2019, I’ve felt aimless, in 2018, homeless, 2017, childless, and 2016, hopeless. And what I’m realizing, with no small amount of alarm, is that I’ve felt to some degree of another some version “of less” for most of my adult life. This isn’t isolated to this afternoon at all. I’ve felt the spectrum of it–the dulling apathy, the ethereal ache, the soul-bending wails. And in the middle of the happiest highs of date nights, and Swiss vacations, and having my 18-month-old showing me the moon on my earrings and the moose in his book, I have to wonder about the in-between times where, maybe just maybe, I’ve got a tiny bit of the D-word.
I don’t know that I’ve ever admitted it, by name to myself. I usually say, “I feel blue,” instead. So much safer. I wear my anxiety transparently because it’s so freaking obvious. I wind myself up like a toy– clucking and flapping–until the energy is spent. This hides a little bit deeper. It’s easier to disguise with belly laughs, and Halloween costumes, and instagram posts. I can tuck it in like a sheet. I can run it down, and shout it out, and I can scare it away with Hudson’s giggles, but I think it’s time to admit that it’s something that is just a little bit–more or less–there. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
I couldn’t tell you why I’m confronting it now, devoid of hopeful ray or tidy conclusion. But maybe acknowledging that I feel less will make me feel a little less less, and a little bit more.
Off to snuggle Hudson now.