It’s never pretty when one does far too much navel-gazing. I never feel adequate enough. It bothers me a great deal.
I have an amazing husband. Most days, I don’t know why he bothers with me.
I have a great job and fantastic co-workers. It’s an entire office full of knit-worthy people. Seriously. Every single person in this office, I would knit something for. Every day, I feel like I frustrate them and let them down.
I’m very good at my chosen profession. I can not clue in to how to do this job well. And I don’t even know if I’m good enough to keep it. Six months in, I should have some confidence in what I do. Not so much.
I feel like a giant fraud in my faith most days. I know what works for me, but is it fair to try and teach others when I don’t know what works for them? I don’t know what to do anymore.
I haven’t been running in weeks, and I have a 15K this weekend and it’s going to take me 2.5 hours to finish it (it does have an awesome goodie bag, though, so that’s something). I’m somewhat alright with that, but damn, I want to do it faster. I can’t even seem to finish the goddamned Couch-to-5K program and I think I’m going to run a half-marathon in two years? High much?
I feel very, very adrift. Again. Still. And the shittiest part of all of this is that I know that it’s not me with the doubts. I mean, they’re my doubts, but right now, they just feel completely unmanageable. My seasonal affective disorder didn’t hit until January or February last winter, and it was super light for me. This year, it’s already hitting, and it’s hitting hard as fuck.
Two songs have been on repeat in my brain today: Mama’s Broken Heart by Miranda Lambert (“Go on and hide your crazy”) and If You’re Going Through Hell by Rodney Atkins. And now it’s adding Morning Comes by Delta Rae.
I need more light in my world. I need more peace in my world. I need more me in my world. And gods above and below, I need it soon. I hate feeling like I’m losing my shit. I’m terrible at coping with the way the world moves around me, and it’s getting worse as I get older. A year on a remote plot of land with just learning how to be me again. That wouldn’t suck.