In which I come clean about a few things.
Since The Bee and I have moved it’s been tough. Not ‘we don’t know where our next meal is coming from’ tough but ‘things are tight and we’ve been having way more nights in’ tough. Given the economy I realize that this is not something happening exclusively to me. I encounter people daily looking for jobs, hoping that the lead they got is the right one and just sharing stories of absolute despair. But darn it! I feel lost and unsure of what to do. The last few weeks have been a blur of robbing Peter to stall Paul, ruminations and reflections of whether my current gig, which makes me deliriously happy, is where I need to be or whether it is time to humble myself and seek the answer to that age old question….Would you like some fries with that?
Playing Pollyanna and looking at the bright side of things I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge and I do have a job. The Bee and my health are very good, we aren’t waiting for Septa at 6AM in an effort to get to school and work and our house is safe and, albeit a tad drafty, warm. It just worries me that far more often than I care to acknowledge I have more week than money and it worries me.
Originally I closed myself off to all; begging off time with friends, cancelling plans with Effin’ Guy and making excuses for family gatherings just to hide away with a pile of books to lose myself in a land far, far away. If The Bee were around I would attempt to hide my discomfort and fears allowing for mini outings to new libraries where we could explore new shelves of books and experiences. While it’s embarrassing to ask for help it’s much worse pretending to be something that I am not. The stress from pretending that it’s all OK has taken it’s toll. Many sleepless nights, late night binges in which I stuff myself until I am sick has resulted in me getting very well acquainted with 4AM and an additional
10 20 pounds to my body*.
I feel like such a loser. A sloppy, failure. A complete faker. It’s like I have a huge, red ‘F’ tattooed on my forehead. Silently I kept all of my wo I didn’t want to be the friend who was always in a bind, the friend who always had an issue, the friend that was mired in drama. My pride kept me silent yet I was getting sick and tired and finally just exhausted. Pride is a terrible thing to have. It’s isolating and cunning encouraging you to believe that your strength is your silence. Pride will deceive you into thinking that help is a dirty word and that only weak people would dare to ask for help. Lies! Help is what a smart person asks for when the going gets tough and this is how the tough gets going. As I attempted to save face and juggle all of the things that were causing me such worry, the crash that I sensed coming came just as abruptly as I knew it would and I’ve decided to wave the white flag.
It’s like a weight has lifted off of me. I’m not a bad person for saying ‘no’ or admitting that I can’t. It’s not wrong to share what’s going on and listen to the advice of others who have been where I am and may just lend a sympathetic ear. While I feel guilty admitting this, it’s comforting to know that people *I* know are in the same boat. Anonymous stories don’t have the same kind of I feel so much better knowing that I am l you are a strong person yet the deception is that you are not strong for remaining silent. As I struggled to figure out what my next mood was I decided to stop, exhale and d not one It seems like pitiful charity for me to beg for help I’d much rather be the person doing the helping. I .
Today I decided enough was enough. Originally I invited family and friends to my house for the holidays, thinking that The Bee and I would share the experience if not a meal to celebrate. As I rushed about attempting to straighten, wash and (continually) unpack and sort I thought that I don’t want to do this anymore. We’re decorationless save a ‘Ho-Ho-Holiday’ sign on the front door, the thought of a tree just tires me and the long work week ahead** increased the stress. My mom offered to host and originally I demurred thinking that I need to be Superwoman but hey, the S on my chest does not stand for stupid.
For now all I will do is take it step by step. Being honest with myself is quite refreshing. And that desperate feeling? It seems to lessen when I take a breath and reflect. I’m hopeful that this situation is temporary. Starting this year its all about the experience not what material thing i can add to the things that I have. Just writing this post has made me feel better. Instead of concerning myself about what ‘they’ will think I’m concerning myself with time with The Bee and a good night’s rest.
* Why can’t I be the person who stresses and loses weight?
**A smarter woman would have pared down the responsibilities for the week.