My days are stitched together by a full-time job that takes up more of me than I'd like to admit. Meetings, deadlines, emails that never really stop... by the time I get into my car, I feel like I've already given away the best parts of my energy. And inevitably the second shift starts: errands, dinner, homework, cleaning cleaning cleaning, listening and simultaneously pretending to listen. The hours I'm supposed to feel most present are the ones where I feel most split. I look at my kids and feel this deep aching pull - like I'm missing them even while I'm engaging with them. Like there's a version of me they deserve that I can't quit reach anymore.
Over the last year I've tried to be more of who I used to be, who I read about in this very blog. Not always happy, but I was always there. Steady. Loving fiercely and being loved fiercely, and I had attained it, always. And now, I ache for connection -- to be seen without the burden of translation, to be understood in the quiet, unspoken places. I want to inhabit my life fully, not as a distant observer from a window, but as someone warm in the room, breathing in the same moments. And yet, I hold these desires together - the reaching outward, the turning inward - only to find that they blur at the edges - two oceans crashing together. I feel I've lost the emotional capacity to continue masking my unhappiness and people are starting to notice. Unwanted attention and I'm drowning while gripping a buoy. Nothing makes sense anymore.