On Grief, Metamorphosis, and Self-Excavation
What with my own personal grief; seeing friends in pain with various losses and grief of their own; feeling like things in the world are getting worse rather than better; not to mention the whole snow/winter/cold yuckiness that is January in Michigan, I am overwhelmed with sadness and despair. I am done. Empty. Spent. Broken. I have nothing left. It's not that I don't care. Rather, I care so much that I have no energy left to care at all. I am tired of being a responsible adult. I want permission to be weak, but then rage against any perceived weakness as a failure of the strength label I pridefully own. I want to run away for a while. Explore the world. Excavate me. But I can't. Not yet, anyway. I have made too many commitments. Obligations. Maybe later.
I am tired of worrying all the time. Tired of being afraid. What is this weird new bump on my finger? Is my extra weight killing me? Are Mira's pressures getting worse? Am I a failure for having a messy home? Have I failed my family? My spouse? My children? Do I worry too much? Is it depression, or grief, or both, or neither? All this worry sucks was what little energy I manage to acquire. Ain't nobody got time for this. Where is my joy? What happened to the woman who could do anything she set her mind to? Who achieved so much educationally, professionally, personally? I miss her. I need more smiles. More hugs. More laughter. More beauty. More stillness. More free time.
As an introvert, I need time away. But I am already so isolated; so alone. Being out in busy places with people I don't know just makes it worse. I need one-on-one time in quiet, familiar places with just a few people who can help fill my energetic bucket. Who won't judge me. Who don't care how I look. Who don't have a vision of me that will shatter if I name my truth. Who can take me away for a while. Who can bring me back to to myself.
I need help. I don't know what kind. I just know I don't want to hurt. I don't want to cry when I see babies. I don't want to envy someone else's life. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to feel overwhelmed. I don't want to feel different, or unworthy. I want to feel connected. Loved. Valued. Valuable. Worth the space I take up. But not because other people tell me so--that can be taken away. No. I want to know it to be true, deep in my bones. Know it with every breath. Feel it. Remember it. I want to be so caught up in the joy and love of my life that I am not threatened by what others have; what I don't have. I want what I am and what I already have to be enough.
How do I get there? What must I do? Excavate me? By making time? By making me a priority? By making me an obligation? Oh. I guess that makes sense. How can I feel worthy and valuable if I refuse to value myself enough to make time for what I need?
This is where I am going. Do you want to come with me? It's okay if you don't. I just can't stay stuck in this hole anymore, trying to find happiness in food, stuff, and other people's validation. I can't stay the same, even though I don't know what I will be when I come out the other side. Change is scary and difficult. It hurts. But, quite honestly, it hurts to stay where I am, too.
I can't promise that you'll still like me. In fact, ultimately, that's up to you. I can promise that I intend to like myself--to enjoy my own company--and that I will work to embody kindness, joy, patience, acceptance, strength, and love. I have no idea where I'll end up, but I will share my journey with you. You can find me here.
#Truth2015