I did some things today. Not a lot of things, and yet it felt momentous.
I went on the treadmill (for the second day in a row).
I made myself an actual breakfast—an omelet using leftover broccoli before it went bad.
I managed to empty another one of the boxes of cleaned out toys from my son’s room that have been sitting in the hallway for, probably, four or five months by now.
And here I am, writing my first actual blog post in ages.
I’m not sure why it feels so hard to do these things. I’m a fairly accomplished person. I’ve written 10 books. (More, actually, if you count my fan fiction, but that’s neither here nor there.) I’ve raised three amazing children—well, two and a half, I guess, since the 9yo still has a ways to go and I fear that I’m falling down on the job. I’m a somewhat (don’t want to get too cocky here) well-respected administrator who drives her bosses a little crazy and yet am aware of how much they value my contributions and how much I’m able to get done. And, like so many other working parents out there, I’m simultaneously homeschooling and working while also (mostly) managing to not be a truly terrible person to those around me.
Yet I often feel as if I am a completely useless person who constantly fails everyone around her.
Before you start worrying about whether you need to talk me off a ledge (and in case my mom is reading this), let me pause here and say that I’m not out there looking for any cliffs to jump off of. (Of which to jump off. Sigh. Sorry, Mom.) Logically, I’m aware that this feeling of uselessness isn’t the case. Or, well, not entirely the case. I’m as useful as the next person and I’d be the first to tell anyone else feeling this way—which I suspect is about 87% of the population—that not only are they not failing, but that they’re doing a pretty damn good job. And that’s even without taking this whole global pandemic thing into account.
But I know I haven’t been a very good friend lately. I know that there are some major places where I need to step up (like, say, meal planning and providing, which is absolutely not my strong suit; let’s not even mention the piles of stuff throughout my house or the fact that the 9yo is playing Fortnite at nearly all times when he’s not schooling). I am a HORRIBLE communicator with the people I love.
And yet every time I try to pick myself up and move forward, there’s this major wall blocking my way. A major wall covered with graffiti in great big red letters: Global pandemic. Climate change. Leaders who use their pulpit for personal gain rather than the greater good. Food shortages. A disconnect so terrifying that I am sometimes afraid to voice my actual opinions for fear that someone will express their counter opinion with rage and violence. (Well, ok, that last one was way too much for anyone to write in graffiti but you get my drift.)
Which brings me back to the baby steps; the things I can control. I’m working on being more intentional. On not being overwhelmed by everything but, instead, just putting one foot in front of the other. I’m making lists, like: go on the treadmill. Clean up the boxes in the hallway. Use the food in the fridge rather than throw it away. And write down those words instead of letting them fill up your head so that you can move on to unload the next thing that’s weighing you down. Because it sure as hell is going to help you work your way through this and, who knows? Maybe it will help someone else, too.
Pax.
Photo by Anastasia Dulgier on Unsplash