I’ve been looking forward all summer to having long stretches of time to myself and now I’m struggling to enjoy them.
I envisioned writing for hours at a time every day, something that would bring me joy and a feeling of accomplishment. I envisioned blogging daily and tackling some of the many writing projects I’ve put on hold for that magical day when my youngest daughter would be in preschool and I’d have time. Time to accomplish.
I anticipated jumping in and accomplishing immediately. I’m a doer, a go getter. Except when I’m not. And then the whips come out. I know how to pressure myself to get things done – push, push, push. I know how to avoid – no, no, no. The in between, go-with-the-flow gray place eludes me.
I have time now and I don’t know how to begin. I’ve avoided my computer all week in favor of finishing two novels and taking naps. Not sure what I’m so exhausted from, but something is up for me and I’m having trouble accepting myself as is.
If I’m not accomplishing, who am I? What value do I have? Doing and accomplishing justify my existence.
I could get busy. I certainly have plenty of tasks to do, everyday living type things. (I could even tackle the 15 loads of laundry I folded while watching The View but can’t bring myself to put away.)
I’ve often preferred myself as human doing rather than a human being. I don’t like being human. I don’t enjoy having human emotions and human blocks and human failings. I’d rather be a robot: punch in the required tasks, push go and move into action.
Except I love myself enough today to want more for me than just getting busy to avoid these feelings. I want pleasure and joy and lightness of spirit. I want to pursue my interests that bring me joy and feelings of passion. I want to believe I deserve those things.
Apparently, the only way to the lighter feelings is through these uncomfortable ones.
I don’t want to turn writing, blogging into a burden or a measure of my value in the world. If I write x number of posts a week, I’m good, I count, I matter, I’m on the right path. If I don’t, I’m done, worthless and washed up.
Happy you’re reading such an emotionally stable woman’s blog right now, aren’t you?
I recently signed up to receive daily affirmations from some guy called “Tut, The Universe.” The messages are quirky and fun and sometimes poignant. Today’s message pushed me to write this post instead of avoiding the computer for another day:
Mary, when you move, I move. When you reach, I reach. And when you go the extra mile, I clear the way. But not a moment sooner.
Which is why before you move, reach, and go, things sometimes look so scary.
Just like that,
I’m aware that mine are luxury problems. And I’ve avoided sharing these feelings with you through this blog this week out of shame that I’m just a pampered, spoiled woman “boo hoo-ing” through a minor depressive episode. Perhaps that is true.
What’s also true is that even us spoiled, pampered whiners deserve to let go of fear and shame and enjoy loving support and guidance from “the universe” and some incredibly loving friends.
Please send hugs (and cookies).