Toward the end of my day, there is little energy left for the things that matter most. With tired eyes and aching shoulders, all of my post-5PM plans go out the window and I am left with the sinking feeling of not being more of a someone.
This world we live in is always in motion, throwing technology in our faces, more work than we can handle on our desks, and coming home to the mounting chores we’ve left to do since Sunday night. When I look at my so-called To-Do list, I am overwhelmed by how catastrophically repetitive it can be leaving zero time for passion projects.
I haven’t blogged about anything in weeks. Probably in over a month. And I beat myself up over it. Constantly.
In a perfect world, I would not be behind a desk for 8 hours a day. My work attire would consist of printed leggings and cozy sweaters–not these uncomfortable trousers with the button that pokes my stomach. I would write constantly, unconfined to the humdrum that is the “9 to 5” gig. It’s not that I’m against establishments or schedules, but in a lot of ways, my depressive spirit needs room to breathe, to take an hour or two to space out the day and come back at 7PM to a more productive me.
And before you label me as “lazy”, you should know that it’s so far from the truth. I’m picking up yoga classes left and right, neglecting my own practice for the sake of money and received a promotion at work not too long ago in the name of a new title and small raise. Since then, I’ve consistently asked myself, “Is it worth it?”
I have seen what chasing money can do to a person. I have watched the rise and fall of having wealth to straddling the line of poverty. I have seen those older than me work for years and never once feel like they achieved something bigger in life. Is that who I am? Is that who I want to be? Will I ever shake the feeling of not feeling enough?
So I did what I do best. I shamed myself for days. I stopped going to therapy. The half marathon I’m training for became something I dreaded when running at the gym or outside is one of my greatest releases. I took too much Clonapin to see if I could erase any sign of anxiety. And as a result, I did more damage than healing.
Because that’s what I get for going back on believing who I am or what I’m meant to accomplish, even if it isn’t 100% clear to me.
I’m not saying we deserve the unhappy thoughts when we aren’t fully committed to our goals. I’m saying the plan to wallow in self-loathing always backfires, always shakes us awake and slaps us in the face with a big, “THIS IS NOT HOW YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO FEEL.”
So I’m working on taking it back–my head, my body, my heart–and refilling it with things that move me. The deep breaths I’m taking, the long sighs I’m releasing–it’s all part of the plan to take back what is rightfully mine. Returning to our most enjoyable moments grounds us yet again in what truly makes us thrive. For me, that is writing, running, yoga, reading, rejoicing in the silence of being completely alone with just my thoughts and relearning that I am enough. You are enough.
We are all enough in this word.