I’m still not at the weight I want to be. I’m still not in the shape I want to be. I’m still not where I “should be” mentally or spiritually. I’m still a hot mess wife, mother, daughter, friend, neighbor.
Another wasted 365 days of fighting with myself over my own worth, and my own happiness, and my own inner validation. Only this year I got to also add in surviving a worldwide pandemic on top of it all.
My whole life I’ve fought the inner demons of never enough, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what drives me to always feel the failure, always feel I’ve fallen short, always feel not quite there yet, no matter how much I’ve done, accomplished, or how far I’ve come.
I’m currently feeling not much more than a collection of snarky coffee mugs and virtual race medals, earned running all by myself in the dark corner of my basement. And I’m currently suffering from a back injury that is keeping me from even “really” running (not that I was actually even a "real runner" to begin with). I can walk and I can elliptical, and that simply is what is it right now, and perhaps will be forever, as my mind continues to whisper quietly to me. (Which is also heavily laced with a thick layer of guilt because I actually CAN walk and CAN do life because I'm not actually sick or in need of anything so by golly miss molly stop feeling sorry for yourself girlfriend.)
I find myself just in this simmering stage of mad, upset, frustration, disappointment… Every year… every damn year it’s the same thing. The same date on the calendar holding all the same hopes for all the same goals and all the validations for all the same things. The same memories of that little heartbeat that was there six years ago, but only for seventeen more days.
And then here it is again, the night before… and through one side of me I look over the year and know I’ve yet again fallen short. Yet again not been strong enough to get myself “there” (where ever in the hell “there” even is), and the other side of me is just holding hands tied tight with these heavy chains, face dirty with tears and grime and sweat and blood asking… pleading with myself asking why… why can’t I just be enough right where I am, exactly who I already am?!?
Why the battle, why the fight? Why?!? Why do I even seem to care so much when no one else really does (another lie whispering inside that mind of mine). It’s my life, my shadows, my demons, my skeletons in the closet… no one else’s. But this world isn’t about me, it surely doesn’t revolve around me, my issues aren’t even a blip on the radar of all reality – so, why do I put so much stock inside my own self to be the be all end all?
It’s a question that is both utter ridiculous and utterly crippling, and one that leaves me sitting right here, year after year after year.
( but have no fear.... this too shall pass... and pass and pass - and we'll talk again in another year from now and maybe ... just maybe ... by gosh by golly I'll have finally written myself a new narrative. #ornot #wink )
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