I don’t know where to start. There’s so much swimming around my head that I want and need to make sense of, but I’ve come up against a fairly significant problem with writing. I work my thoughts out most effectively when I write, more specifically, when I write for the blog. If I write just for me, I can’t seem to make as much sense of it, I guess because no one other than me is going to read it, so it doesn’t feel worthwhile. But, a lot of what is making me think and really look at myself the last while has to do with other people, or situations that impact on my whole family. Drawback of being a non-anonymous blogger…….it’s stuff that I can’t make public, because it’s not just about me. It’s hard to write about it without going into specifics, so it’s been easier to just not write. I don’t know if this means the end of the road for the blog, or if I need to try looking at it all in a different way. Either way, I badly need some clarity right now, so I’ll keep typing and see what comes out.
I had a session with Therapist 2.0 yesterday that really made me think. I’ve been feeling so much in limbo the last few months – what direction is my life going in? Where do I want to be? Where can I realistically get to? In a blinding and not entirely comforting flash of insight yesterday something occurred to me…….after all this time, after all the years of therapy, I am still waiting for circumstances outside of me to be just right before I can get on with my life. I want my finances sorted, my work situation sorted, and a clear career path ahead of me. I want the guilt I feel over how I am as a mother to be gone. I want my need for Therapist 1.0 (yes, it’s still there) to be gone. When ALL of those things, and many, many others, are sorted, then I will be ok, or rather, that is how I have been looking at things.
Can I make any of those things happen by sitting at home and hiding in my very small, very safe little bubble? I don’t know. I’m scared to go back to work. I don’t particularly like my job, or how it makes me feel about myself. I’m scared that if I go back to it, I’ll end up undoing all of the work of the last year, because rather than being able to see it as a means to an end, there’s a strong possibility that I will revert to form and allow it to define me. It’s a definition that I really, really don’t like. I will resent the impact that my being at work has on my home life, and that of my family. I will feel profound guilt at having to leave my kids in childcare again. I will struggle to make time for yoga, for walking, for writing, for photography – for all the things that I know help.
But would it really be so very different to where I am now? I keep thinking of this future scenario, where I’m disciplined enough to be getting up and doing my yoga in the morning, where I set aside a couple of evenings a week to concentrate on writing. But the reality? I’ve never been able to make it happen, because it’s just easier not to. Not better, not by a long shot, but easier.
I think I’ve gotten too comfortable. I find myself increasingly aware of how quickly time is passing, of my age, of how fast my kids are growing up. I was stuck for so long, it’s as if time is now moving at double speed to make up for it. I can’t keep waiting for the stars to align, for the universe to mysteriously bestow on me everything that I feel I deserve. There’s the way that I want to be, that I want to live, and then there’s reality. Maybe it’s time I stepped outside the safety of the bubble.