I want to publish this very personal journal because of this one.
Because I want you to know that, in the dark, there is light.
Above the clouds, there is blue sky.
That the clouds will drift away–eventually–and you will still be here.
Scarred, maybe. Beat up.
But better. Wiser.
You. Me. We.
We fall down.
And, if we wait for it, the light will come again.
THIS is what was waiting for me in the light, but first, THIS (below) is where I found myself one year ago from today:
I sit here today, hiding out after getting seven (SEVEN!) vials of blood drawn. My naturopathic doctor has sent me in to figure out what the hell is going on with my body.
I’m a wreck.
I’m tired of life.
I don’t know, I just am.
I can’t be the only woman that is going through this, I keep thinking.
The woman whose life looks damn good on the outside, but is a tornado underneath.
I’m tired of dishes. I’m tired of laundry. I’m tired of picking up other people’s crap and my own. I’m tired of cleaning only to see my work trashed a day later.
I’m tired of Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and Pinterest–no, not Pinterest, I can get lost there for hours and that’s exactly what I need. HIDDEN. COVERED.
I’m tired of email. The ones I get and the ones I send.
If I don’t care about them, does anyone else?
I’m tired of comparing myself to other women no matter how hard I try not to–something I thought was long over.
I’m tired of diets, too.
Tired of diet books and people saying, “Have you tried _____ yet? It really works!”
We’re long past diets here.
I just want TO DIE.
I’m tired of always wanting to lose weight or fat or whatever the words the industry is using.
I’m tired of wanting to wear skinny jeans; yet, not being able to fit my strong, bulky, with-fat-on-top legs into them.
I’m tired of not having enough money to do whatever I want each and every day of this short life.
I’m tired of BEING TIRED.
I’m almost tired of naps, but not quite.
I’m tired of choking down supplements.
They help me feel better, but I’d still chuck ’em in a heartbeat because . . . I’m just tired of choking them down all day.
I’m tired of not being enough.
I’m tired of wanting and knowing there is so much more TO me, and I’m tired of being the only person to believe it.
Or do I?
I’m tired of being almost 40 and not having done “the big thing” with my life like I thought I would have by now.
I’m tired of fighting.
Outside and inside.
I’m tired of being misunderstood and looked at like I’ve never learned or studied anything in this life.
Tired of being treated like I do not know a thing.
I’m tired of knowing and not doing.
I’m tired of standing tall while sometimes–usually–crumbling on the inside.
Tired of smiling when all I want to do is cry.
I’m tired of NOT FEELING when I know I NEED to FEEL.
I’m tired of gluten free, corn free, dairy free, and sugar free.
It helps me FEEL better and LOOK better, but I’m still tired of it.
I want a plate of French Toast with butter and lots and lots of maple syrup.
I don’t care about ‘The Six Skinny Habits of Thin People’ —sorry Bob–or The Food Babe Way or the Mindless Eating book or the Sugar Detox or the Whole 30.
IT’S ALL TOO MUCH!!!
I’m tired of thinking.
Mostly, and the most scary thing is: I’m tired of Life.
I don’t think I could or would hurt myself: I’m not sure I want to go away. I’m just tired of life being . . . I don’t know . . . SO HARD? I don’t even know if those are the words I want to say.
I thought I had this figured out. And think I sort of do, yet . . . I don’t always live the way I know how.
You’ve heard the one about the mechanic’s car right? The mechanic’s car is always the car in the worst shape because in the work of taking care of everyone else’s car, his own has gone to crap.
That’s me. Sort of.
I don’t think I’m scared of being “found out.” That’s not it.
I think that’s why I’m good at getting along with people in the first place–especially with weight and life–because I’m real. I’m in the arena just like everyone else. I don’t always practice what I know. Life is tough for me, too.
As I sit here, hidden in the corner of a coffee shop 100 miles from home recovering from having the blood sucked out of my body, I’m watching a table of girls planning a wedding.
They are so full of excitement. Full of life.
I can’t help but think, I used to be that full of life once. Where did that girl go?
Where did that FEELING go?
New possibilities, pretty dresses for the parties, hair and makeup plans . . . I remember this, too.
Like these girls, What will get me excited about LIFE again?
I miss that so much.
But here I sit. Tired of life. Hidden. In a corner.
What am I here for? God, you’ve saved me from SO MANY THINGS in my life. You could have taken me SO MANY TIMES and you didn’t.
So what is it? What do you want me here for?
To teach? To nurture?
I’ve been doing these things and still, I feel this way. I’m tired.
I don’t want to be here. I’m tired of hurting.
WHAT. IS. IT?!
Because I’m not seeing or feeling it anymore. And every time I have seen or felt what I thought you wanted me to do, I never got there all the way.
I’m reminded of this daily, inside and out.
I feel like I am falling apart.
What is the point of it all?
Fast forward to September 11, 2016. One year after this journal entry was made in the coffee shop 100 miles from home. I could never have known that I would be running and praising God. Click Here to read about what it feels like one year later.
PS. This does not mean that I don’t have bad days or have completely transcended the pain I write about above. It just means that the light did come again. It helps me know that, if we wait, the light will come again. And I want you to know that, too.