Morning coffee and candlelight. Not quite ready for the sun shining yet. I need this quiet. I’ve been flailing, faultering <——— not a word apparently. September comes and a terrible grayness with it. Every year, like clockwork. My thoughts are muddled. I can not do the things that need to be done. Yet, I stay busy. Business keeps the darkness at bay. I stay so busy I collapse onto the bed at the end of each day. And I realize I’ve only been talking to the voice inside my head all day, and it’s lonely in there. I don’t know how to ask for help with things I need done, so my list grows longer. Panic sets in. Busy me still can’t seem to check much off the list. I am not sad. This isn’t sadness. This is accumulation of all the emotions I have felt every single Autumn since I was a child. The leaves would fall, and I did not delight in them. I cried when the skies turned gray. I was so young, but I remember thinking “I don’t belong here when it’s not sunny and warm.” This is remembering when mom got the call it was cancer. This is remembering her pain. This is remembering my last weeks of pregnancy with Noah, driving myself to OB/GYN appointments in Washington State. I can still SEE in my mind how the sky looked, and the trees. I can still FEEL the air. I remember having a little girl at home, and no one could tell me what was “wrong.” Please stop telling me it’s nothing- I’m tired of being on all these waitlists for specialists. I feel so alone. And then he came early, and I was terrified. This is the little girl inside of me who still hears the words “You are a lazy child. “ “Why don’t you go outside and play?” “Why are you different from the other kids?” “She doesn’t have much common sense, does she? Book-smart though.” I don’t dwell on the past. But that sticks with me. I recognized just a few short years my need to do EVERYTHING and do it right stems from that. Because I didn’t do ENOUGH then, I must do it ALL now. Self-care isn’t just getting my hair blown out or a gel manicure; it’s taking care of the little girl inside of me who has grown into the woman I am today. I am still learning how to do that. Some days I just want to REST. I want to do NOTHING. But I am fearful someone will find me like that, and I will be deemed lazy again. I also fear that if I enjoy resting, I won’t want to get up, and I don’t want to fall into a deep depression. I like who I am. I didn’t fall in love with me though until about two years ago. Yes, I hadn’t really loved myself since I was five. I love me. I pride myself on “getting shit done.” “I can handle it. Let me take care of it.” Then I feel a little crack. The plates shift a smidge, and my carefully arranged self breaks a little. This is a vulnerable post. Letting people see. This isn’t about “oh the sun will come out tomorrow.” This is about “I am not sad. I see the sun now. I love each and every day. I have not much to complain about really. But, I am human, and I am flawed, and sometimes I am fragile. I am strong. But I have been weak. I am kind. But I have been unbearable with a sharp tongue before. I know how to do things and get things done, yes. But I have been that child who lived in her own world and obsessed over my dollhouse and couldn’t cut my food or tie my shoes or climb. 🤔 Hmmmm. Much like a child on the spectrum. I am a mother, a lover, a friend. I am a creative person. I like me. This. Is. Me.”
Note** I never cared for Fall. Until I met James. He’s showed me the beauty in it. I am joyful when we watch football and truly rejoice in picking a pumpkin.
