Is it possible to be happy yet completely overwhelmed?
It’s such a juxtaposition that it hardly seems that in one
breath you can appreciate all the wondrous experiences with which you have been
graced, and in the next want to throw up your hands and run away from it all.
The cold, hard truth is that I have too much on my plate,
but when I want to take something off, I feel like a failure or guilty that I
should be more grateful for the fact that I’m better off than others.
I imagine many people feel this way, but just don’t want to
reveal their innermost demons so publicly. But I’m an over-sharer, so let me
just invite you in:
• I work too much: I am at the pinnacle of my career at
a surprisingly young age. I put too much pressure on myself to deliver
everything to everyone. I’m a woman and 35 years old, ergo I not only have to
be competent, but superior in order to prove myself every single day. Anything
less gives validation to my critics.
• I care too much: I wish I could take every person I’m
at odds with and haul them into a counselor’s office so we could talk about our
feelings. I keep convincing myself that if I can just say the right string of
words and explain myself in the right way, it will all work out in the end. I
keep clinging to the masochistic concept that if I pull off impossible things,
I will lead by example and get others to follow.
• I worry too much: We’ve been trying to get pregnant
with no luck. That is tough enough, but I’m having abnormal periods — 2 a
month for 6 months — and the doctors can’t explain why. I’ve been poked and
prodded in some very uncomfortable ways, but the bottom line is I have no
answers. And with no answers, I can’t identify a solution. How could I have
gotten pregnant so easily only to be mystified the second time around? What if
I develop cancer that struck down my mother at such a young age? What if I
never have more children? Not knowing leaves me in limbo and limbo leaves me
not knowing how to feel about any of it.
• I don’t have a rock: This is not a criticism to those who
love me. In fact, I think it’s my fault. I’m so set on not needing to lean on
others — to avoid unnecessarily worrying them — that I don’t reach out for
the hands that often are extended. I don’t have that perfect person you read
about in books or watch in movies who just gets me in most vulnerable hour. Do
they even exist in real life?
• I’m not a positive person: I habitually brace for the
worst-case scenario, preferring to be pleasantly surprised than horribly
disappointed. My life experiences have taught me this coping mechanism. It has
served me well at times, but has hardened me in inexplicable ways, where I
cannot revel in joy for more than a few moments before doubt and worry creep
in.
I can’t do it all, but for some reason I keep trying, like a
gerbil in an endless spinning wheel. I don’t know why I don’t give up
— and I honestly don’t think I want to. Perhaps the struggle is the
journey on which to reflect at the end of the road.
But now, in this moment, the mountain of obstacles seems
insurmountable. All I have are these two hands, so I better stop whining and
get climbing.
— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel.
Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment