Yesterday, I woke with the doom feeling. A feeling of sadness, of loss and grief, regret and shame. All of the things that can hold you down and start the dark chatter in your mind. This really isn’t the most out of the ordinary thing for me. I hit a lot of highs and lows in any given day, and that’s just the cost you pay for being a feeler. You love fully and live aggressively. You get overwhelmed with your emotions when your gratitude for life swells, and you crash hard when you feel its loss. Your dark times engulf you and remove the good in your life. Like it isn’t actually meant for you. But I got up, I put on my sneakers, and I went for a run. And in that I came back.
I’m currently in Woolgoolga which is a small coastal town of around 5500 people. It’s a lush area of hills and homes surrounded by palm trees and flowering bushes. Little businesses scatter a main street and the beaches are dusted with families and surfers. I had planned on staying here only one night then continuing on, but my morning run paused my plans and demanded a longer stay.
Along with being a feeler, I’m also a thinker. If my feet could keep the pace of my thoughts I swear I’d be able to fly. But yesterday, I was finally able to give myself a break. To open up and breathe and realize that I am where I wanted to be a year ago. Somewhere that felt impossible to reach at the time. A place I’d always wondered what it felt like. Whole and alive and self sufficient and living a life of fullness. Full of love, full of fear, full of determination, full of friends, full of experiences, full of creativity, full of heartbreak. Still full of bullshit, but maybe a little less. heh. But nonetheless. It’s full.
It doesn’t always feel this way. I’m an extroverted person by nature, but my anxiety tends to make me more of an introvert when it inflates, which leads me to hiding myself from those around me, creating the story in my mind that everyone hates me and thinks I’m weird, stupid, boring, fat/ugly, insert pretty much any insecurity here and you get the picture. But in so many situations, I’ve found my story to be fiction. I’ve found that most people around me are feeling the same insecurities and dealing with the same struggle. This doesn’t stop the stories from forming, but with practice and a good therapist I’m able to control it a little more. I’m able to recognize when my internal novel is getting the best of me and make an attempt to change the plot line.
It’s funny how easy it is to overlook our personal growth. When you’re a perfectionist, it’s easy to constantly pressure yourself to be better without acknowledging your progress. It’s also easy to get stuck in your ways and mistake your stagnancy as “good enough” contentment. Rewind to two or three years ago. My “good enough” contentment with life was starting to crack. And then it crumbled. And then I crumbled. When you’re in a relationship with someone for most of your life it can be difficult to feel like your own person. Especially when you’re the person in that relationship that seems to want it more than the other. You feel like you’re constantly waiting for them to leave you. Clinging to any act of goodness that proves they love you. You mold yourself into whatever form you think they want to keep their love for you alive. But it's never enough. You become a “less than” version of yourself and in turn starve yourself from any hope of self love, acceptance, and pride. The most inviting environment for insecurity to thrive.
When my 12 year relationship ended a year and a half ago, I was determined to become a person that lives her life for herself. Commonly referred to amongst my friends as “I don’t need no man” status. I wanted to become a person that is whole and strong and doesn’t feel the constant drive to be in a relationship or in the presence of other humans. I wanted to do things by myself and actually enjoy my solitude rather than constantly wishing someone else was with me or always feeling the need to be attached to another human. And on my run yesterday, it hit me that through all of my heartbreak and self reconstruction (and again a lot of therapy, A-fucking-men, hallelujah for therapy) I’ve finally arrived.
This is just a moment in a billion that pass me in a day, but now more than ever I’m finding myself able to accept that the only consistent thing in life is inconsistency. Through practice and alotttt of time on my own, I’m finally strengthening my sea legs and I’m able to ride the waves a little better. This place in myself doesn't feel like I thought it would feel. It isn't unwavering and solid. Feeling more whole doesn't erase the waves of grief or depression or anxiety or social awkwardness. My insecurities are still a constant battle. But I have moments of clarity and moments of fog, and I'm recognizing there is no finish line, no final destination. This is it. I’m in it. And it’s a beautiful, messy, ever evolving place.
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