spin: 1. to draw out and twist fibers into thread 2. to draw out a story at great length 3. to whirl 4. to move along swiftly and smoothly I post to... 1. ...evaluate and connect what I gain from my experiences. 2. ...tell my story (and stories). 3. ...let go of some control. 4. ...show how I move/want to move through this life. You need not know my name, age, hometown or any other "identifying" information about me. What I display on these digital pages is who I really am. You won't understand me through any responses to generic questions of my identity as defined by society and tradition.
The last time I wrote on here, my nonna was still alive. She would live for about three more days. The last time I wrote on here, I had no idea how to compose a eulogy or that I would be delivering one soon.
The last time I wrote on here, I was in a relationship that was no longer serving me well. That would continue for about one more week.
The last time I wrote on here, I was driving the car I had been using for more than a decade, the one that took me near and far reliably. That would remain my vehicle for just over one more month.
The last time I wrote on here, I was still sleeping somewhat normally. It would be half a year until the change.
The last time I wrote on here, I was still a few months away from two more deaths of important women in my family.
The last time I wrote on here, I was still nearly a year away from briefly reconnecting with my first love for the first time in four years.
The last time I wrote on here, I could not be honest about so many parts of my life. The last time I wrote on here, I was having so much trouble processing the changes in my life and my role in them and for them and apart from them. The last time I wrote on here, I felt like I might retire from these digital pages for good.
But here I find myself again. Trying. To find myself again.
I am not sure if this will be the last time I write on here, but it cannot be the last time I write anything.
I am unmoored, bobbing fretfully among the waves that threaten to crash over me or pull me under. How far can I reach outward? Where can I grab ahold? For how long can cling tightly until the pier breaks? When will my feet plant upon solid ground that stays steady?
I think the fact that I have not left the tri-state area in nearly three years is a contributor to my current melancholy. Pre-pandemic it was much easier for me to take a trip, shake up my surroundings, expand my horizons, shift my perspectives. I have the desire again. I need to strengthen it to action.
Growing upset with yourself because you have not been able to handle a situation the way someone else would is not helpful. It is only hurtful to your own growth and perspective.
Both of my grandmothers are currently starting week three of hospitalization. Each of them is experiencing her own struggles with health. Thankfully, this week looks more positive, and they are both relatively okay.
I had a heart-to-heart with my brother two weeks ago during which he said, “I know we want them to be okay, but they’re not going to be okay forever.” And I think this is what has been one of the hardest moments for me throughout the last few months of hospital visits and stays. My grandparents’ mortality is becoming real. I have been so fortunate to have had a loving and close relationship with my three grandparents for my entire life. When you spend every day after school at one of their houses and every Sunday until college eating dinner at 2 PM together, you might take for granted their presence in your life.
They have also always been really tough. No matter what illness or injury, they have bounced back and returned to a somewhat normal version of themselves even with some minor tweaks. To think about the time that they may not recover from what ails them is painful. (I know I am not the only one who has ever experienced this; I just need a place to manage my thoughts and feelings which I have not been doing lately much to my emotional and mental detriment.)
I have been sick myself for the last week with a nasty cold that won’t quit (though maybe today it may be lifting). And, as a result, I have not gone to visit either one of them in the hospital as they are vulnerable, and they last thing they need is to catch a cold that can worsen to something more severe.
Throughout this whole last week, it has been hard for me to expel the notion that I might not see them again. It is not completely rational since their news is not dire and the doctors and nurses are positive. But my over-anxious brain and my overly-conscientious, controlling disposition has made it difficult for me to focus on the positive. There is also a layer of guilt atop these other feelings, guilt for not seeing them, guilt for not helping out with the other tasks that need doing, guilt for not being physically present with my parents who are experiencing this difficult time. I know none of these negative thoughts and feelings are physically or emotionally healthy. I think they have actually delayed my own healing and elongated the stay of this cold virus I am experiencing.
My anxious self is also, in some ways, preparing for bad news. I know that this is not incredibly mindful; and I know that I must learn to do it in a healthy kind of way. Aging is a beautiful and terrible thing. And I need to be able to embrace the duality of it, the blessing of the times we shared and still share when possible, the challenge of the body and mind as it grows older.
Over the last few months, I have come to realize that I am struggling with issues of control.
As a person who has always been challenged by a bit (and sometimes more than a bit) of anxiety, I have learned to cope with uncertainty by controlling the variables I know I can. I have convinced myself that if I can predict and prepare for whatever I anticipate at this moment, I will be more agile in the face of the unexpected, I will have more mental energy to react to new and unpredictable events.
I honestly never thought that there was much wrong with this approach; I acknowledged that I could not control everything so I exerted power over what I could. Now I am wondering if this is unhealthy...? Did I develop a maladaptation? Or am I just overthinking all of this, which could be entirely possible?
I think that part of my viewpoint and approach to control is connected to my conscientiousness. As a conscientious person in both work and play, I have always strived to be as prepared as possible. Sometimes it is silly things, like always having a jacket or a bottle of water with me. Sometimes it is more significant things, like cooking for my grandfather who will be alone for the week since my grandmother is in the hospital. Sometimes it is middle-ground things, like picking up an extra basket for my parents to use as a gift for someone else they perhaps had overlooked around the holidays.
I am a conscientious teacher. The majority of my mental energy for teaching is in planning. And in planning, you must be prepared for various outcomes. You will never be able to predict every possibility; kids are too wacky! (Plus, that would be a boring way to spend the day with the littles ones.) Behaviors and oddities aside, you must plan for as much as possible. A practice that I learned in graduate school was to predict responses and errors students might make during the lesson. While this felt like an enormous task at the time, it is a very helpful one. I also know that as teachers, we develop these predictive skills with more experience and it becomes more natural in our planning. As a student who had only been substitute teaching and then taught for a year, writing down all the possible errors the students may make seemed overwhelming.
Anyway, I say this all to state how much of my life is scheduled and planned and predicted. It is sometimes difficult to turn off in my personal life.
With the pandemic (and I am not trying to forever point my finger to COVID as the reason for all my current problems, but I need to be honest about its impact on me), I think I overestimated my exercise of control at a certain point. At the very start, no one was in control, and I was actually very content with that. I was the one (surprisingly) who was trying to keep some around me calm and release the idea of control. But after a time, this was not sustainable. As the world and life opened up more, I stayed shut, exercising control over my tiny circle of the world.
And now I feel nearly completely out of sync with what is a rational or reasonable expectation of control and what is completely unhealthy and anxiety-inducing. Things I thought I had control over are out of my control, and I am not doing enough in my own circle. I am not quite sure where to go from here. But I needed to acknowledge this struggle and maybe I can begin to better understand the two categories in conflict for me.
Just putting this here to help me sort out what i want and need in this life.
I need someone who will not make me feel like I am being selfish when I need to be a little bit selfish.
I need someone who will not keep score of our exchanging care.
I need someone who will not unload on me when I am already overburdened. There is a difference between sharing experiences or anxieties and dumping a load of challenges upon me.
I need someone who will needle me if I need to be needled.
I need to recognize if someone is able to meet my needs, even if it takes a bit of difficult conversations..
Sometimes I wonder whether or not I am meant to be in a relationship.
Sometimes I fear I do not know how to compromise in a healthy way. Budging in most senses rattles me, and I remain rigid because I have a deep-seated fear of losing myself. I am certain I have written about this in previous posts over the years, but it feels relevant again right now. I have always been afraid of being consumed by someone or a relationship that I forget my own desires and sacrifice my needs for theirs.
Will this hold me back in my romantic relationships? How can I balance flexibility without compromising myself?
Sometimes I think that I have an exaggerated view of work. Sometimes I see normal activities as work. And I wonder if this is relevant in some way to the idea of compromise. Compromise takes work. It takes evaluating and re-evaluating. It requires thoughtfulness and emotional labor to a degree. Let me be clear, I know that relationships take work and negotiations of sorts. I am not afraid of hard work; anyone who knows me in real life knows I am a hard worker. But I cannot help but wonder if even the way I view cooking as laborious is connected. I like to do all the tough preparations ahead of time, I’ll cook an enormous amount of food on one day to have for the remainder of the week. I like to have as much work done as possible when I am able so that I may have an easier week in one respect. Taking control when I can helps limit the variables I need to handle throughout the day or week or month.
Do I want life to be easy? Am I rattled more easily than the average person? I know I have been privileged in my life; I know that my struggles are and have always been minimal. Am I reacting to this privilege in some way, in the sense that I do not want to suffer much so I avoid it at all costs?
Sometimes I also wonder if this is related to my lack of desire for bearing and raising children. Do I see my life as doing a lot of work in the current moment and then coasting and living more easily as I grow older? (which would not be the case if I were to have children). I know that this is an overly-simplistic take; I know there is more nuance. I know that there are many layers here.
I do know that I am rambling in an effort to connect some of my thoughts that are floating about in my mind. I do know that I am, at the very least, trying to sort out my thoughts and feelings, something I have not been doing much of in recent times. I do know that I am trying to be mindful but also thoughtful and reflective. I do know that I am finally trying again.
A few weeks ago when I began this breakdown I am still experiencing, I realized part of it is due to my enormous (possibly over-enlarged?) sense of responsibility.
As the eldest child, both in my home of two and among my cousins on both sides of my family, I automatically assumed a lot of responsibility growing up. (I have only one cousin who is older than me, but we grew up and still live on opposite coasts. So, for all intents and purposes, I am the eldest.)
My mother was young when I was born; and by the time my brother entered our lives, I had spent a solid four years as the center of the adults’ attention. Since my brother was just young enough for me to feel like I had nothing in common with him, I often sat at the grown-ups’ table. And they let me. I was often privy to the conversations about relationships, friends, and work. I knew how to stay just quiet enough to allow me a spot at the table; I absorbed everything my parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents said.
Whenever we gathered with my cousins, I would happily play the role of babysitter, hoisting whoever was the youngest at that moment upon my hip. I would play but always as the older cousin/sibling. I was never quite an equal, having no cousins close in age to me. As a result, I also gravitated towards the adults. They rarely shooed me away, so I felt it was okay even if I did not quite belong.
I was always a responsible and diligent student. I was always a responsible and diligent daughter. My parents rarely had an issue with me in my youth. They’d always be so proud of how well I managed things independently. I never cried going to school, just waved good-bye to my mom in my pigtails and Barney clips. As I got older, I took on responsibilities in and around the house much earlier than my brother, even when he reached the ripe age of 11, which is when I started dusting, vacuuming, and Windexing the house with my mom.
As I grew into an adult, I was always present for my parents in ways my brother was not. And there was nothing wrong with that; it took me a little longer to release myself and live my own life in some ways.
In the last few years, my mother has taken to confiding in me (or, most often, venting and complaining to me) about myriad of things. Sometimes It’s okay. Sometimes it’s inappropriate. And she does not quite realize it. But I want to be there to support her. My father has taken to taking little responsibility around their house, etc. So that’s been fun to hear about from afar. My role is changing, but I still have a sense of responsibility to be present for them in some of those ways, even if they do not want me to fulfill that role. There is something ingrained.
During the height of the COVID pandemic, we read articles and heard news clips about being responsible citizens. And, as an already-overly-responsible citizen, I heeded. It was what I had always known was true was imperative now. I was extremely cautious. I was responsible to the point that it hurt me in some ways. I avoided events because I was afraid of then possibly infecting people I was close to or would see soon after. I avoided my grandparents for a long time because I was being responsible. I avoided seeing some people for the sake of responsibility.
Over the summer, I took on the responsibility of taking care of my mother before and after her double-knee surgery. And, because it was my first experience doing so, I was overly-responsible. Even when my brother and father arrived at the hospital, I remained. I should have given myself rest and time. I went above and beyond to support those around me. Because it was my responsibility. And I take my responsibilities seriously.
And now, I am burned out from and overburdened by responsibility. I have run myself down to the point of exhaustion. I cannot take on even the basic responsibilities of my life at the moment. So, I need to change. And I need to grow a bit. In order to not be weighed down by responsibility.
I have not been feeling well since Monday night, and today I had to sub a class period in a room where at least two COVID cases were positive in the last week. I am afraid of not seeing my grandmas because I’m afraid of making them sicker if I visit.
I am trying to stay positive.
I might have to end my relationship with my boyfriend.
I am not functioning well at work anymore, and my kids deserve better.
I don’t think my anxiety has ever been so high. I am truly falling apart.
For the last two years, I have been holding it together through the pandemic decently well. When everything shut down in spring of 2020, I landed on relatively solid ground after recuperating from being sick. I was the one slow to make decisions and walked the parents and their children through online learning. I rearranged my life when we returned to hybrid schooling, but I was still acting in mostly healthy ways. I spent the most time outside with friends and family I saw regularly more than I have ever spent. I had a reliable rotation and did not feel the loneliness I know so many others felt. I was motivated to cook, clean, and bake. I was on a reading roll. I caught up on dozens of movies from the last 30 years and understand more pop culture references than ever before. Last school year might have been the best I’ve ever had; I was planned ahead and did engaging activities with my students who I witnessed grow in myriad of ways. While everyone was finding it it difficult to carry on daily activities, I thrived on them. I had a fairly healthy self-care routine that rotated based on my mood and what happened around me that day.
I thought I was handling the stress of the pandemic well enough. But I think I have finally reached a breaking point. Now that life has mostly returned to a pre-pandemic normal, I realize just how shut off I have been. For the longest time during this challenging period, I was content with just “waiting it out.” I am a pretty patient person; I thought that I could freeze my life for a bit, then resume. Two and a half years later, I am realizing that this was likely detrimental to me. I am now faced with learning to live with this pandemic, instead of pausing my life and waiting for it to be over.
I think that this approach is very telling of me and the kind of person I am. I think that my “all or nothing” mentality sometimes gets in the way of being able to function in normal ways. If I couldn’t go somewhere without planning ahead and wearing masks and making all these adjustments, then I just wouldn’t do it. All of that preparation and alteration felt like a lot of work for what was once something so simple. I think I held onto resentment for the change in my ways.
Now, I am realizing that my response was avoidant. I have perfectionist tendencies, and they sometimes often cause me to be short-sighted. I also feel like my slow-to-change default setting has been short-circuiting. I was asked to change and be flexible in so many ways for work during the height of the pandemic that I feel like I had no space for that in my personal life. So I just didn’t. And now I am seeing and feeling the impact of that. I thought I was caring for myself.
At this point, I feel like COVID is still dictating my life a bit. I had a mild case in the spring, which, one would think, would make me feel less afraid of this sickness and its effects. I know the overall trend is hopeful. However, because of the general anxiety I have been feeling, I think I have defaulted to placing my worries towards COVID. Because I was having trouble managing myself and my emotions when my grandmother fell and hurt herself a month ago, I had a surge of COVID anxiety and missed out on two concerts I had already committed to, for example.
In the last few weeks during which I have taken a good, hard look at myself, I realized that my heightened sense of responsibility is also partially to blame for my anxieties surrounding COVID. I am and always have been a super responsible person. I do not need to be reminded of things, I take care of the basics normally, I am most often concerned about the people around me. COVID heightened that sense of responsibility in me, an already overly-responsible person. And I think it has become too much to handle. Or maybe I am trying to hide behind that cover of responsibility. This notion of responsibility and feeling like the only one carrying it has become a burden.
I feel like I am not sure how to live with all of this in a healthy way. I am afraid to make plans because they may fall through. And broken plans hurt my heart, even pre-pandemic. When I do have plans, I have anxiety leading up to it, wondering if I or another person involved will get sick and then not be able to do the planned thing. I know that I need to have a little faith or hope or whatever it is, but I am struggling with that. I also know that I need to modify my expectations and adjust my responses as well; that is something with which I have always struggled.
I also feel like all this planning that is required has set me back in some ways as well. Pre-pandemic, I had been forced to face my fears and move outside my comfort zone, I actively sought to engage in the world with a “come-as-it-may” attitude that served me well and opened my heart, soul, and mind. But I feel so closed now.
Part 1 of many of why I feel like I’m falling apart.
The summer passed in its entirety, and most of mine was spent as caretaker. My mother, after many years of suffering with painfully arthritic knees and being unable to walk upright, underwent double knee replacement surgery. Thankfully, all went well; and she is SO much better overall than she has been in years. Even with the cane she is still using for now, she walks painlessly and more quickly than she has since I was in high school. I am really proud of her strength and courage, and I am glad that I was able to be there with her throughout this process.
I had finally released some of my COVID anxiety and began doing more activities I enjoy even though they involved some crowded and/or indoor spaces. But, because I knew I was going to be with my mother, I avoided most of those experiences anyway at the start of the summer. Then the surgery was delayed due to scheduling troubles, so I was semi-quarantining for even longer before she even went to the hospital. Now, I do not want this exploration to appear resentful in any way. I just need to express these thoughts to work through them. And I think not wanting to feel guilty for feeling rundown by this has prevented me from exploring my response until now.
One of the upsides of being a teacher is that I was able to take care of my mom because I have the summer free. However, one of my grandmothers had hurt herself and my aunt and her entire family was away at this time. So the back and forth between hospitals, doctor’s visits, and also taking care of my grandfather fell to my family who was already stretching thin to ensure my mother was okay. Because I was not working, I took the brunt of the responsibility. But it was too much. And I can say that now.
At the time, I did not want to admit that I was struggling. I felt like I had no need to struggle. I was home and able to handle everything and everyone. And, thankfully, none of it was dire. In the end, everyone was and remains healthy, and we are all better for it.
On my birthday, now a month ago, my other grandmother--the younger one we don’t worry about as much--took a nasty fall that landed her with a fractured skull, a severe concussion, and fractured rib. After two weeks in the hospital under intense care and therapy, she is back at home and recovering. Again, we are lucky; and I am grateful for that.
But after all these bouts of uncertainty, I feel so skittish and nearly hopeless. I think that my energy reserves have been completely depleted. All of the positive self-care habits I developed, all the balancing acts I managed have disintegrated. I feel guilty for feeling so down because I have so much for which to be grateful. I feel guilty for feeling so despondent because I should have been able to handle all of these events, or at least bounced back from the challenges I felt. I feel selfish for feeling like I did not have the chance to regroup, restore, and rest before the start of the new school year. And, here it is, because time stops for no one; and I am struggling. I missed out on a lot this summer, but I know it was worth the progress that the people around me have made. Not seeing my friends, struggling to even see my boyfriend at late hours, remaining in the same few-mile radius around my house took both an emotional and mental toll on me. There is nothing I can do about it now because it has passed. But I am still dealing with the aftereffects.
These somewhat intense experiences are nothing in comparison to what so many other people endure with terminal illness or mysterious sicknesses. Part of me feels guilty for feeling so overwhelmed by these events that turned out well. Part of me is fearful about my own coping strategies if/when something more serious occurs. I know I need to work on asking for help during difficult times; that is at least one lesson from this past summer. I also wonder if this was a wake-up call of sorts to help me learn how to recognize burnout sooner, admit to needing help, and working to prevent it from the start.
It has been months since I have written on here. I realized that my balance and stability are always better when I’m writing, even if it is not as frequently as it once was. So, it is telling that I have stayed off these digital pages for a while.
The last week or month (and maybe the last year?) has crashed down upon me, and I need to sort it out. So here I am again. And I’ve made subheadings. Well, I really decided that each topic requires its own post maybe.
While all of Easy A is a masterpiece, one of the best parts is still the first time you hear Olive’s ringtone post-birthday card from Nana. Or maybe every time you hear her phone thereafter.
