I’m sorry I’ve been gone, and I’m sorry I’ve come back for a purely selfish reason, but I tonight I just need the blank white space and the blinking cursor for just a few minutes.
My dad is a wonderful man. A stubborn, challenging, wonderful man who is ignoring a health issue that is long overdue to be dealt with. (Preposition. I know. I can’t stop to care right now.) It’s nothing life-threatening, not anything at all serious. But he’s stalling in ways that are terribly transparent. Every daughter of every father knows that she has the nuclear option — the ultimatum. I don’t want to use it, but I’m damn close. Damn close.
My sister is expecting her first child this fall. She’s sharing so much of this with me and I’m so honored and so excited for her and for our entire family. But as we get closer to her due date, I can feel her anxiety level rise. And in trying to keep her calm, I can’t help but acknowledge my own anxiety level about the experience she’s about to go through. And I also have to acknowledge that with each passing year, having a biological child of my own becomes a slimmer and slimmer possibility.
Both of these issues impact my mother, who is there day-to-day with both my father and my sister. I am trying so hard to be a good listener, a good daughter. But is that enough? Could I be more helpful? Can I fix any of these issues for her, for my sister, for my dad? Should I move home?
I am also questioning myself at work, trying to find the balance between doing all the things I expect of me and finding the time to think the bigger thoughts. I am uncomfortable delegating–not because I don’t trust my team, but because I feel badly asking anyone to do anything for me–and I have to fix this. Hoarding work isn’t good for me and it isn’t fair to my team.
I am starting graduate school in four weeks. Five weeks? Whatever. I want this experience to be worthwhile. I want to be open to it, not once again the terribly shy woman who raises her shoulders and hides from interaction with people. I worry that I simply don’t have the capacity to fake it, to hide my insecurity when walking into a room full of strangers.
I made a pretty significant lifestyle change two weeks ago and it has screwed with my sleep schedule and my metabolism and my habits. It’s probably screwed with my psyche a bit, too–I find myself searching the mirror for signs it’s working, but my brain fluctuates wildly between pride and confidence and a deep sureness that it isn’t working, there’s no progress, I’m kidding myself.
And I’m getting a cold. A goddamned summer cold, most likely from sleeping under my air conditioner.
I am, to my very core, a carrier. I carry my stresses and strains inside, for miles upon miles. I probably always will, to a great or lesser extent. My tombstone will read, “No, no, I’m fine. That’s fine. It’s fine.”
And re-reading this drivel, I feel the need to say that I am fine, I really, really am. I am.
But I do feel better for laying some stuff down. So thanks.