Get a cup of something warm before you sit down to read this.
I’ve been meaning to write. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been staring at the mockery of my barely-touched bullet journal thinking, “Hey, I’m supposed to write a post a week.” I haven’t even made it as far as opening a new post page until today.
I snapped a couple of photos on my walk this morning, thinking the rather bleak, snow-covered road against the solemn slate sky seemed like some kind of metaphor. (As a side note, the walking thing has been executed with regularity. I dare say it may be all that’s keeping me sane right now.) If I had an image, maybe I could write something. A little snapshot of this particular January in my life. At the very least I could throw it up on Instagram and appear both connected to nature and committed to exercise.
These words dribble onto the screen, and yet I’m not sure if I’ll hit publish. How have I gone from willingly, eagerly even, opening my veins here to feeling stunted every time I look at the home page of my blog? I can recall, (albeit with the haze of a woman looking back on a more substance-enhanced era of her life), a time when I would race to the keys whenever there was a crisis brewing or tiny victory to celebrate. I never felt lonely when I was posting about my life.
My newfound reluctance to share could have something to do with the handful of devastating times where my candid vulnerability online came back to bite me in the ass. Those moments when my own truth-telling didn’t coincide with the schedule of the other parties wrapped up in the drama. Or the instance when my polyamorous relationship was outed to my in-laws by a spiteful extended family member with an itchy cut and paste finger and a current familial email list. (Hi, hope you’re healthy and well, by-the-way.)
For the first time in years, I’m compelled by the urge to vomit all of my sorrows and frustrations here, yet I’m reaching for the little paper bag instead of wanting to hit ‘publish’. I haven’t cried to a girlfriend yet, not really. I haven’t even really seen a close girlfriend, in person, in a setting in which I could cry. We could blame Facebook, for creating a false sense of keeping in touch, but this hermit-like behavior on my part could just be a by-product of approaching middle age. I’d have to drive somewhere, select an outfit, put makeup on that I will inevitably smear with tears, and for what? To have them pat my hand and say “You’ll get through this.”
Of course I’ll get through it. I’ve been through crazier shit than this.
What is the poop-mire I’m currently wading through you ask?
No big deal really.
Just a relationship crisis that strikes at the heart of my childhood trauma. A delightful little reminder of how I’m nowhere near finished with my own therapy. Lucky for me, I live in a town with a month-long waiting list to see a therapist.
Oh, and a major restructuring of our family dynamics. I’ll get into that more another day.
Lean financial times. This is a slow time of the year for nearly all of our businesses and my efforts to generate income can be described as feverish at best and absurd at worst.
A crisis of faith as I dip my toes into the dauntless task of pitching the novel I’ve been working on for nearly five years to agents who are bombarded by similarly hopeful would-be authors. Yesterday I got a rejection in only an hour and forty minutes. Yikes.
This feeling that my light is dimming. That I am growing invisible. If I could just lose five pounds, or get out in public more, or may just a little Botox here and there. Jesus Mary and Joseph, did I actually type all of that? Should I be looking at hormone replacement therapy? Is it time?
The bizarre conflict of both feeling lonely and like I don’t have the energy to go anywhere or see anyone who might have a sympathetic ear.
Okay, so that’s all the whining I’m prepared to offer up for today. Maybe that’s why I’m not posting. In the constant deluge of horrible news, my petty little problems seem like a gross thing to clog someone’s news feed with. I’m sorry if you’re rolling your eyes reading this. I know I have a lot of beautiful things in my life too. It’s just that I needed to connect. Sit down with a coffee and share a little. Please feel free to unload whatever’s bringing you down in the comments section below. I’ll publish this post, just so you know I’m listening. And the best part is that I don’t even have to leave the house.