Exhale

I only want to write when I have something to say. Or, when I’m soul-sapping bored and need to create to feel alive. I haven’t felt full of anything lately, so I just haven’t written. I have no creative energy left to burn, and no injustices to light my fire. I just feel so tired that I’m sleep walking through each day. My spirit is high. I really have nothing to complain about. My family is beautiful and glows like they are lit from the inside. But, my energy is low and it’s taking every muscle to hold up the life I have constructed. Normally, I would call and whine to my husband, but he is similarly exhausted so we may as well not waste the time complaining about it to each other. I often wonder if we look like shells of our former selves to other people. Maybe we don’t, but I can see the exhaustion in his eyes and he must be able to see it in mine. Being a parent is never-ending. My child is beautiful and smart and funny. But being his mom is daunting and scary and sometimes it annoys me to the bone. But when I get annoyed with him, I’m get mad at myself. I am grateful to have him. It doesn’t always manifest itself into having a lot of patience for his never-ending, yet innocent questions, and unwavering energy. I feel like I’m being slowly sucked dry. I have brief moments when I’m alone and it’s like the world is standing completely still and I can’t remember what I used to do before I had a husband, a house, a yard, two dogs, two cars, and Henry, to take care of. If I’m ever alone, and I can push back the list of the hundreds of tasks that I need to get done, all I feel is…..nothing. I know I did things before. This morning I had a vague recollection of myself swing dancing. But then it seemed more like I watched it on T.V. and it wasn’t really me. I defiantly had more time before to hang out, read books, watch the boob tube ….but fundamentally, I don’t really remember, or even miss the person that did those things. If anything, I’m relieved of the burden of being entirely self centered. All of this, plus the guilt of knowing that some people, most people, have it so much harder that I do, well, it just makes me feel tired and overwhelmed.

P.S. - Photo Courtesy of "Feed the Narcissist" at provost.org