Today my amazing colleague asked me if I was ok, because I just seemed off lately. She actually thought that I was mad at her. But I’m not....I’m just not ok. I wish I had a better answer. I’m a fixer. I fix lots of people’s problems. I listen to the vents and rants of others and usually have a pretty good solution. I’m a good listener, a good friend, and a good problem-solver. Except for now. Right now I don’t feel very good at anything. I’m failing and I can’t stop it. The thing is, I’m not actually failing at anything tangible. My kids are good, my husband is fine, my job is stable. I’m just failing at me. And I don’t know how to stop the train as it careens toward the cliff. Ok, so that is a bit dramatic. There’s not actually a cliff, and it’s not like I can’t get out of bed, which I know is a real thing. There are women out there who are feeling debilitating emotions that are getting in the way of them actually functioning, and boy do I get that. I kind of wish that was me. Because then I could explain it. I could say, “I just can’t do this today.” “I need help.” or “I’m struggling.” But in my own little world, in my office as I look out the window at the chilly air and the shining sun. I can’t say any of that, because I have sh*t to get done and I don’t want to let anyone down. Or let anyone know. That I’m broken. That I cry in between meetings, for reasons I can’t even explain. That I’m sad, but not sad enough to care. That I’m tired, but not tired enough to sleep. That I’m broken, but not quite cracked enough for anyone to notice. I’m grieving. And I’m embarrassed about it because it seems like every other mother out there can go through changes without their life falling apart, so why can’t I? Every other woman out there can keep her sh*t together when it feels like life is just a little too tough, and every other wife can be all things to all people without even trying. And yet. Here I am. In the midst of holding my life all together so that no one can see the chinks in my armor, and I’m crying between meetings, and hiding in my office pretending to work, when actually I’m watching the clock hands move slowly along so that I can make it through another day without hurting anyone else’s feelings by being so immersed in my own that I’ve stopped caring about them.
But here’s the truth. I’m broken. My life has changed and it’s broken me. Not completely. I’m not shattered, and I’m not un-fixable. But I’m sitting in brokenness wondering when I’ll feel whole again and not sure that I ever will. I just want you to know that today. I’m not sure if you are sitting in a place of brokenness, or if you are sitting in a place of overwhelming joy, but if you’re struggling, I just want you to know that you are not alone. I’m sitting in it too. I’m trying not to wallow, but I’m also not trying to jump out unhealed. I’m sitting here in the mire thinking about it a bit. Letting the grief wash over me. Wondering what comes next. But not trying to fix it. Because here’s the truth. I’m too tired to try right now, and I think that might be ok. So I’m sitting without wallowing, and waiting for my next move. I’m hoping that one day soon I’ll wake up and a new day will dawn full of hope and joy. But until then, I will lament. But not alone. Sister, I know you’re out there lamenting too, and I just want you to know you are not alone. I’m here. Not getting sh*t done. Barely keeping my sh*t together, but knowing that I will eventually. And so, my dear friend, will you.
With as much small town love as I can muster,