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It's been almost two years since I've written a public entry in this thing. As everyone knows, I really only write public entries when I'm in a funk; and yep, today is no different. Melodramatic rambling, ensue.
So. I've had a lot of different types of funks to write about over the years. The funk of being overworked, stressed out and underrested; the funk of being stuck in controlling and abusive relationships that threaten one's sense of self and reality; the funk of financial struggle; the funk of physical illness, and now... the funk of silence, boredom, and unappreciated mundanity.
Perhaps, for someone like me who thrives on intensity and challenge and accomplishment, this may be the hardest funk of all. For one thing, nobody really considers mundanity a trial; so you don't exactly get any sympathy for it. Few people are understanding when you say "I have no deadlines, no physical difficulties, no social challenges, no studies, no reason to get up in the morning except that the baby is crawling on my face and wants breakfast." That doesn't sound difficult, and for many personalities, it may well be considered heaven. And don't get me wrong, I adore my daughter, and her crawling on my face to wake me for breakfast is actually one of the hilites of my day. But that brings me back to my point. Mundanity.
I admit; I grew up with delusions of grandeur. I read novels and fantasies and imagined myself as the heroine.In college, I considered myself special; to say the least. I thought I was smart, and for the most part those around me affirmed it. I earned a 4.0 and lots of attention from doting professors; I thought that I would join the Peace Corps, be a travel journalist or maybe a human rights lawyer; and help save the world. Or something of the like.
Instead, I here I am. 28 years old, single mum, sitting in someone else's house on someone else's computer; with no personal space or identity, no job and no prospects, cleaning poop off a tile floor and lucky if I get a shower before 3 pm.
My degree is useless to me here; even if I tried to get back into my dream, what teacher or boss from 2006 is going to remember me, to write a letter of recommendation or refer me to grad school?
So yeah. It's hard. It is hard to be in a place where all of your supposed strengths are no good, where the skills necessary to do well and be approved of are those that come least naturally. I am a scholar, a dreamer, a writer, an academic; I am not a housekeeper or a nanny or a pampered lady. Every day I wake up and feel like blowing my brains out at the prospect of another 24 hours of pure unadulterated mundanity, sitting around the house pondering the past, future and present, doing nothing that makes me feel alive or intelligent or valued.
There will be people who say "you are a mom, being a mom is the most important job of all. Blah blah blah. You should be grateful." Yes. Thank you. I'm aware. Hold the phones, Hallmark. And ya know what? For what it's worth, I AM grateful. I adore my daughter and she keeps me alive and going, because SHE at least still has spunk and persona and excitement; she is not a jaded old hag like her mama. She is my everything, and I would not trade her for the world, but I still feel lost and unimportant and not myself in this lifestyle.
So today I am thinking about this. They say that trials bring out your true self, and teach you and make you grow; and so bussing to a minimum-wage job at 5 am through an abusive relationship taught me grit and determination, and brought out my willpower; and so sickness and unplanned pregnancy and having no security to speak of, taught me (kicking and screaming, I admit) to let go of my need to control it all, taught me that perhaps I had overdone the whole grit thing to the point where I was no longer able to feel and be vulnerable, taught me that I can not always be on top of things, even my own body and mind. There are things outside my control, and always will be. But now... where do I go from here? What am I supposed to learn in the silence afterwards, where stubborn determination and passive acceptance have both failed me, and there is no activity to drown out the constant replaying of mistakes and failures and betrayals and could-have-beens?
Maybe I am still too dependent on external acceptance. Maybe I am supposed to be learning how to use my gifts in different places, and how to express myself without receiving affirmation for it. Maybe it's like yoga, I need to learn to recognize those little-used muscles that you never really pay attention to in ordinary life... and yeah, now I am rambling. I need some lunch.
So. I've had a lot of different types of funks to write about over the years. The funk of being overworked, stressed out and underrested; the funk of being stuck in controlling and abusive relationships that threaten one's sense of self and reality; the funk of financial struggle; the funk of physical illness, and now... the funk of silence, boredom, and unappreciated mundanity.
Perhaps, for someone like me who thrives on intensity and challenge and accomplishment, this may be the hardest funk of all. For one thing, nobody really considers mundanity a trial; so you don't exactly get any sympathy for it. Few people are understanding when you say "I have no deadlines, no physical difficulties, no social challenges, no studies, no reason to get up in the morning except that the baby is crawling on my face and wants breakfast." That doesn't sound difficult, and for many personalities, it may well be considered heaven. And don't get me wrong, I adore my daughter, and her crawling on my face to wake me for breakfast is actually one of the hilites of my day. But that brings me back to my point. Mundanity.
I admit; I grew up with delusions of grandeur. I read novels and fantasies and imagined myself as the heroine.In college, I considered myself special; to say the least. I thought I was smart, and for the most part those around me affirmed it. I earned a 4.0 and lots of attention from doting professors; I thought that I would join the Peace Corps, be a travel journalist or maybe a human rights lawyer; and help save the world. Or something of the like.
Instead, I here I am. 28 years old, single mum, sitting in someone else's house on someone else's computer; with no personal space or identity, no job and no prospects, cleaning poop off a tile floor and lucky if I get a shower before 3 pm.
My degree is useless to me here; even if I tried to get back into my dream, what teacher or boss from 2006 is going to remember me, to write a letter of recommendation or refer me to grad school?
So yeah. It's hard. It is hard to be in a place where all of your supposed strengths are no good, where the skills necessary to do well and be approved of are those that come least naturally. I am a scholar, a dreamer, a writer, an academic; I am not a housekeeper or a nanny or a pampered lady. Every day I wake up and feel like blowing my brains out at the prospect of another 24 hours of pure unadulterated mundanity, sitting around the house pondering the past, future and present, doing nothing that makes me feel alive or intelligent or valued.
There will be people who say "you are a mom, being a mom is the most important job of all. Blah blah blah. You should be grateful." Yes. Thank you. I'm aware. Hold the phones, Hallmark. And ya know what? For what it's worth, I AM grateful. I adore my daughter and she keeps me alive and going, because SHE at least still has spunk and persona and excitement; she is not a jaded old hag like her mama. She is my everything, and I would not trade her for the world, but I still feel lost and unimportant and not myself in this lifestyle.
So today I am thinking about this. They say that trials bring out your true self, and teach you and make you grow; and so bussing to a minimum-wage job at 5 am through an abusive relationship taught me grit and determination, and brought out my willpower; and so sickness and unplanned pregnancy and having no security to speak of, taught me (kicking and screaming, I admit) to let go of my need to control it all, taught me that perhaps I had overdone the whole grit thing to the point where I was no longer able to feel and be vulnerable, taught me that I can not always be on top of things, even my own body and mind. There are things outside my control, and always will be. But now... where do I go from here? What am I supposed to learn in the silence afterwards, where stubborn determination and passive acceptance have both failed me, and there is no activity to drown out the constant replaying of mistakes and failures and betrayals and could-have-beens?
Maybe I am still too dependent on external acceptance. Maybe I am supposed to be learning how to use my gifts in different places, and how to express myself without receiving affirmation for it. Maybe it's like yoga, I need to learn to recognize those little-used muscles that you never really pay attention to in ordinary life... and yeah, now I am rambling. I need some lunch.
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exhausted
hopeful
drained
calm
determined