Month: May 2022

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Today’s Journal Log

I know I do this blogging thing in waves, but here I am again. I might do one every day for a while then stop for months at a time. Just life happening.

The truth is that writing is hugely therapeutic to me, whether it is in a blog, email, letter, journal, or whatever. I feel like I still need to be in therapy but I’m just not willing to pay what it costs. So meanwhile, writing. It often does the trick.

A loved one is in recovery from a fall, and I think she is probably going to be okay this time, but it shook me. I’ve always felt that even the prospect of having to think of someone you love being mortal, of them Ending, is horrific. From the time I was a small child I’ve thought “What a cruel sickening joke” to make humans that love each other and then make them watch one another suffer and die. It’s F’ed up, man. It truly is. Is it an experiment to see how much pain we can handle on planet Earth? I’ll sign a waiver fully stating that I cannot handle it. Period. Done. Don’t even try me. Can I opt out??

Too sensitive for this world. That’s what they say.

And now that I’ve been Debbie Downer… Most days I am coping with life and all that entails. I just have to shut off my overactive mind and put one foot in front of the other. What do I need to do today?? It helps. There’s something to the ol’ One Day at a Time thing. Sweet Jesus. That’s all I’m asking. Just get through today.

I know I have lost some friends, or pushed them away, because in order to survive day to day, I have to stay focused.  I’m called selfish, narcissistic, whatever, but I have to take care of my psyche first or it all falls apart. And I literally do not have the time and energy to put myself around people that I totally disagree with on some major issues and hear that all day every day. Honestly, I can’t take anyone or anything all day every day. My hubs is my best friend in the universe and I need an hour or two away from him occasionally. And he truly is the best human ever, certainly one of them. But with him, I’ve known since Day One that he loved me for me and he doesn’t judge me. That’s so huge. A safe place, that’s what he is.

Anyhoot, I do have a handful of good friends and they know not to expect a call or text from me every day. They know ME and have stuck around, and I am so thankful for that.

Laptop dying, gonna go plug it in. Til next time peeps-

Peace Out

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Treading Water

Haven’t posted in a while, … life, man. Go along smoothly for a time then some new crisis will hit. Just the way it is.

I was feeling like a such a rock star/warrior queen for all of the hard work I’ve done on myself, I thought I was so strong… And I am proud of what I’ve accomplished, that’s true. Not haughty proud but Hey I Did Good proud, the positive kind of pride. Confident. Walking tall.

Truth is though (and this has come back to me like a hard slab of granite to the face this past week) I am a pile of Jello. I’m a softie. I’m not strong. I’m mush. Mashed potatoes. I am (or at least can be) just as sensitive as I have always been, like I was as a kid, before all of life happened and I built walls and tore some of them back down and did all of this inner work. There’s still a creamy gooey center in this chocolate truffle (why am I talking food metaphors? It’s making me hungry) and I was truly unhappy to realize it. Part of me wanted to harden, to be that pillar, that concrete that can withstand all of life’s hurricanes.

I am not there.

When a close loved one is hurt, apparently, I turn into liquid goo. I flash right back to a scared child all over again. It’s been a rough week. Usually, in a crisis, I am a rock, I am the one that stays calm and directs others what to do. Not this time. Too close to home. It cracked something wide open in me. Maybe I needed crackin’.

I felt like as a child growing up, crying was wrong and bad and taboo (and in my earliest years I did a lot of it, my poor folks) but I learned that it was not acceptable behavior. People don’t like (especially back in those days) big displays of emotion. We’re to keep it all stuffed down, keep it locked inside, suck it up buttercup, get over it. I learned that well for a while.

Then I learned (here and now in our modern world) that we must have an outlet for pain. Crying can be good, healing, cathartic. I know people who cry on the daily and there was a time I would’ve thought that weak. I now admire it. I’m jealous, kinda. Keeping pain inside is no bueno. It doesn’t work. Not for anyone. So, I’m learning to cry again, and without guilt or shame. There are certainly things worth crying over. Most certainly. And I admit to feeling better afterwards.

I’m just gonna keep on swimming, swimming, swimming, and when I can’t do that, tread water. Keeping my head up. I might be crying a river at the same time, but I’m keeping my head up.

Anyone need a good cry with me? I have at least one dry shoulder.

Be well, my peeps. Peace Out.