Processing

How did I end up here? Forty. Childless. Relationship-less. Homeless. Dogless. Back at my parents house. Living in the in-between and what if?

This is not where I thought I would be at this point in my life. Although I could not have told you where I thought I would be at forty. But it was not back here. 

I am privileged to live my in-between in a nice home with my loving and imperfect family and my friends who are above all else, real. I am so grateful to have what I have and I know I have a lot. But feeling lost isn’t about rationalizing yourself out of the feeling. What is hard for me is sitting with the feeling and not trying to tell myself to get over it because I have so much to be grateful for. But I feel awful because I DO have so much to be grateful for. I am so privileged. I am so privileged to even be able to wallow in fear and loneliness and loss and grief. So many people do not have that privilege. So many people have to keep moving to keep food on the table and the lights on. So many people have little ones to consider above themselves. So many people do not have real friends and family who step into the gap for them. So many people do not have protectors, they only have themselves and they have to pick themselves up and put themselves back together all alone and scared and they better do it quick and in a hurry because no one is coming to save them.

This is not my reality. I mean, yes, I am ultimately going to save myself here because I am not going to allow myself the alternative and die to this feeling, but I have the time to process, to take the intentional time to heal in a way that feels safe and not rushed. I have the time and space to ensure that this pain gets me to my ultimate goal-to come out stronger, more empathetic and better than I was before. To not allow this to toughen up parts of me that should remain tender. My reality is that I am sitting on a covered back porch with a designer dog behind me, watching tv, working on this laptop while I listen to the tv and the sound of a fountain that flows into a koi pond. My day so far has consisted of me sleeping in, having a lazy morning, eating a healthy breakfast, working out, taking the dog for a walk, and making a yummy lunch from a fridge stacked with all sorts of food options and sitting down to write this.  Yes, I work, yes, I have responsibilities, but I am so privileged that I can choose to take time for myself.

On the other hand, I wish this healing would move faster. I wish I had no choice but for it to move faster but time is what I have so I guess I will allow the healing to move slower in the hopes that slow healing is the same as slow weight loss–healthier and more likely to stick. 

I do all the healthy things to heal–all the things my parents, my therapist, my leaders would look at and say “good for her-she’s doing so well”. This means that I DO NOT do all the things that cause people to worry. I don’t self-medicate, I don’t drink or drug, I am staying in a routine, getting out with friends, seeing my therapist, working (but not throwing myself into work), I am working out (but not overly working out), I am getting adequate rest (but not staying in bed all day), I am reading and writing. I am what people would call ‘balanced’. And balanced is good. Balanced is healthy. Balanced will bring healing. Won’t it?

But you know what would feel good? Getting drunk. Throwing shit. Crying until I have no tears left. Saying what I want to say. Watching it all burn. Watching others hurt the way they have hurt me. It would feel good to not be the bigger person. To grow stone cold and push everyone away. It must be nice to be a scary and hard person sometimes. Someone people don’t mess with. It must feel so good to go off on people and tell them about themselves. 

Not only do I choose not to be that person, like actively choose it, but I do not even know how to be that way. I also believe the way I show up in this world and deal with conflict is the right way in order for me to grow into who I want to be but man, do I sometimes wish I was someone else. Someone who was not sitting on this porch writing but was instead out there being vicious for the sake of justice.

I feel so lost and so broken. So grateful and thankful. So full of gratitude for what I have and the options I can take while also full of fear. I feel hopeful and hopeless in equal measure.