I’m supposed to be writing.
I lost my job over a month ago now and I’m supposed to be looking for jobs and writing with my newfound free time. My need to find a job is not urgent as I was not the breadwinner in our family, but it could be urgent soon so I’m actively looking. And while I wait, I’m supposed to be writing any of the books I’ve talked about writing for years only I haven’t had time.
And all of these book ideas are still bouncing around in my head every day, trying to get out, and yet when I stare at the blank document to start on any of them I just freeze.
I won’t bore you with the drama of my mental health but it is still not great. I’m bouncing around medications and trying to find peace and joy in the things I seem to have control over in my life and yet many days I’m still clouded in sadness and overwhelmed with anxiety. I’m burdened by the worries of the world and my failure to my family and still sometimes just can’t stop crying.
I found what I thought would be a dream job and I wrote the perfect cover letter (A friend told me to try this advice for it this time around) and my resume spoke for itself and I cleaned up my social media of all evidence of mental health distress or political opinions just in case someone went digging and then the job came and went without even a spark of interest in me. And now I’m left facing this weird cleaned up social media and trying to face the questions of why I preach openness of mental health and why I proudly stand by my politics until I suddenly erase it all like I’m not worthy when I’m being authentic. And damn if that ugly revelation didn’t screw up my brain for a bit.
I’m tired a lot which creates these terrible bags under my eyes. None of my clothes fit but I can’t go shopping because I have no job. It’s April which is the one month a year that my allergies flare up and rubbing my eyes (I KNOW, DAD, I NEED TO STOP RUBBING MY EYES) has created an ugly scab on my eyelid and my skin is blotchy and I’m just not feeling very pretty.
And then I start thinking about the body positivity movement and how the main faces in that movement are just beautiful women who have shiny perfect hair and curves in all the right places and flawless makeup and they’re the kind of women who I think would look beautiful at ANY SIZE and so I can’t really be inspired by them because my weight is not on my body in a way that creates curves and my hair is only great if I can afford my expensive products and if the weather cooperates and I still don’t know what in the hell to do about makeup and I start questioning beauty in general and who defines it and why am I still struggling with these questions at 42?
I’m at that point as my kids grow older where my husband and I disagree on what we should and should not be doing for them. And lord knows you can find 100 different parenting articles and TED talks to support either perspective and so I’m left constantly wondering if he’s right and I’m babying my kids too much.
Right now the only thing I have going on even remotely successful in my life is parenting and so when I start to wonder if I’m screwing that up then what left is there?
It’s just hard to write that memoir or that young reader fiction when there are voices bouncing around in your head making you question everything you know about yourself.
Thanks for letting me vent. The sun in shining although it’s stupid cold again. Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow.