All day today. I have felt ill at ease and uncomfortable. Just off, somehow. It’s not surprising, with quarantine, and forced homeschool as opposed to the kind we chose before, all the uncertainty economically, and otherwise... of course things are out of whack.
But it’s more than that. Without the usual distractions and tasks and errands, there is more boredom, and stillness. Not outer quiet, at my house anyway, but more inner quiet, as the to do lists have necessarily shrunk. And today I have had to start to come to terms with where that has led me.
Over the years, I have been told, by some who know me well, that I should beat myself up less. That I talk to myself too negatively. That I am harder on myself than on anyone else.
I decided to write down every not-so-positive thing I felt today. Whether it came from me or was, I felt, communicated to me somehow by someone else, I wrote down the emotion or thought I had, no matter how fleeting. This was a hard list to read by the end of the day. I was actually shocked, by the length, and by the harshness. Am I really talking to myself like that? Do I really walk around smiling and having normal interactions while lugging around all of this?
Turns out, I do.
How have I allowed this to carry on, unchecked, for years... maybe my whole life?
I sound like a hopeless, depressed, skin-wrapped pile of pure misery. But anyone who knows me wouldn’t describe me that way. I mean, the whole list isn’t the truth. There’s perception, and old patterns and voices that aren’t even mine, that rear up and attack periodically. But on that list, there are also plenty of things that I believe.
Nothing on that list is loving toward me. It’s important to be honest with myself. And this is honest. This is how I felt over the course of the day. But I don’t deserve most of that list, from myself or anyone else. The list making started because of a feeling of nasty discomfort that I couldn’t shake. But now, my discomfort comes from seeing my list. Knowing that it is unfair. Unkind. Unhelpful. Unwarranted.
That feels like maybe... good discomfort? Discomfort that, instead of leaving me in knots, is gently telling me maybe there’s another way. That the way I have been speaking to myself has not been working, if what I seek are peace, joy, and fulfillment. I don’t know yet where I go from here. I am uncomfortable with that.
And that’s ok.
But it’s more than that. Without the usual distractions and tasks and errands, there is more boredom, and stillness. Not outer quiet, at my house anyway, but more inner quiet, as the to do lists have necessarily shrunk. And today I have had to start to come to terms with where that has led me.
Over the years, I have been told, by some who know me well, that I should beat myself up less. That I talk to myself too negatively. That I am harder on myself than on anyone else.
I decided to write down every not-so-positive thing I felt today. Whether it came from me or was, I felt, communicated to me somehow by someone else, I wrote down the emotion or thought I had, no matter how fleeting. This was a hard list to read by the end of the day. I was actually shocked, by the length, and by the harshness. Am I really talking to myself like that? Do I really walk around smiling and having normal interactions while lugging around all of this?
Turns out, I do.
How have I allowed this to carry on, unchecked, for years... maybe my whole life?
I sound like a hopeless, depressed, skin-wrapped pile of pure misery. But anyone who knows me wouldn’t describe me that way. I mean, the whole list isn’t the truth. There’s perception, and old patterns and voices that aren’t even mine, that rear up and attack periodically. But on that list, there are also plenty of things that I believe.
Nothing on that list is loving toward me. It’s important to be honest with myself. And this is honest. This is how I felt over the course of the day. But I don’t deserve most of that list, from myself or anyone else. The list making started because of a feeling of nasty discomfort that I couldn’t shake. But now, my discomfort comes from seeing my list. Knowing that it is unfair. Unkind. Unhelpful. Unwarranted.
That feels like maybe... good discomfort? Discomfort that, instead of leaving me in knots, is gently telling me maybe there’s another way. That the way I have been speaking to myself has not been working, if what I seek are peace, joy, and fulfillment. I don’t know yet where I go from here. I am uncomfortable with that.
And that’s ok.
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