For the next few weeks, I am challenging myself to just sit down and write and share.
No planning. No filtering. No positioning. No posturing.
Editing only what is truly necessary.
I am trying to use my words to show up, to be brave, to be vulnerable, to be real.
No promises for how good or bad or raw or rusty or whatever this will be.
Each day drags on.
Some more than others.
The obsessions. The anxiety. The fears. The insecurities. The incessant barrage of negative thoughts.
They all haunt me.
They sit on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, constantly tempting me to give in for a minute of consideration.
A dangerous minute that if allowed turns into 5, 10, 20, an hour, an entire evening…
And then the day is done and the next one comes, only to start the exhausting process all over again.
These voices tell me I am lazy, unproductive, and never going to catch up to someone with a real job at the age of 26 given my current state of unemployment in my current geographic location with less than great options.
They remind me that military fate will only continue to control my forseeable geographic and employable future and there is nothing I can do about it.
They make it sound so inevitable. My life, my chance at a career, my chance at finding value and meaning are beyond anything I struggle to create or make happen.
How much I love my husband, how much I support him… only works for so long in fighting off the voices.
In reality these roles I take on don’t replace that awful void screaming at me but what will you contribute to this life?
When geography and the local economy predetermines I am a housewife and un-hirable, I chafe as the voices cackle at me for the irony. Being a housewife used to be my dream, but now it feels like a constant reminder of what I am not and how small my ambitions once were.
Then shame comes to chime in. Others are perfectly fine with this life. Why aren’t you? Why aren’t you more grateful for what you have?
When I listen to those voices, I realize I can never just be happy with today. The good I do, the value I feel, the roles I fill, the meaning I find in the here and now are never good enough for those voices.
I try my hardest to distract myself, to silence the negativity, to be grateful, to be present, to be kind…even to myself.
Some days it is school projects. They keep me busy for a few hours feeling like my intellect is still contributing something of worth to the world, online and remote though it may be.
All days it is turning to my phone or computer or books to find someone else out there writing a glimpse of what I feel. I read for distraction. I read for clarity. I read for hope. I read to breathe again despite all the confusion and anxiety I live with.
I read hoping to find direction for finding both my faith and inner sense of peace again.
When reading fails I turn on the TV. It never fails to help with just pausing the never ending stream of thoughts.
I exercise. Running and yoga force me to center, to pause, to breathe, to persevere through it.
I try to pray.
I spend time with friends and try to get out of being so wrapped up in my own thoughts.
I try to learn how to listen, despite how much my own thoughts and issues want to interrupt and paint everyone else’s experiences with a narrow brush that centers everything back on me.
I try to be honest and real.
Some days I am and other days I find myself being that masked, Kallie-be-perfect version of myself that I am really beginning to hate.
Why is being real so hard?
Maybe its because of how many times being real backfires. You think you find the right person to share the moment’s anxieties with and then boom!
Just relax, this is only temporary.
Find a job. Even a little money is better than no money and you with lots of spare time just makes you crazy.
Ouch pride, but yes true.
So I put out another resume for yet another job that will pay little and I’m either overqualified for or have to stretch my resume to fit beyond it’s wildest imagination.
Rejection letters, failed interviews, and no response are common these days.
Why did I do this to myself again?
Shame chimes back in to remind me that not everyone has the luxury to live off one income and choose not to pursue any minimum wage job available.
Tell a different person.
You should have a baby.
Here we go again.
As if when my husband and I choose to procreate is everyone else’s business. As if I need to justify or explain our decision to not have them so far yet again. As if becoming a mother is going to fix any and all of the above issues. Pretty sure it will only add to the voices screaming at me that I am not enough with it’s own incessant demands for perfection.
Talk to my therapist.
Focus on healthy anxiety reducing techniques.
Back to yoga and running and writing and candles and tea.
Ok not the tea. Chamomile tea tastes like dirt.
As Ellis Grey from Grey’s Anatomy likes to remind me.
It sucks being a grown up, but the carousel never stops turning. You can’t get off.
Comments and Thoughts are welcome.
If you have feedback or advice please work to make it constructive.