
I've been struggling. That's why I haven't been posting. There is a part of me that doesn't want to admit things aren't 'perfect.' Thus, I don't share. I don't open up. I don't communicate. Heaven forbid others should know things aren't 'perfect.'
I don't feel good about myself. Physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Thus, it is better just to cocoon myself. Trying to ignore the pains. Writing about it just makes it more real and, thus, impossible to ignore.
I still haven't come to grips with the theory that 'talking' about stuff somehow makes it more manageable. You gotta be kidding, right? Talking doesn't seem to help me work problems out. If anything, it just produces more anxiety. And then there is the problem of writing, or talking, yourself in circles. You know what I mean. Where you sit and ponder on a problem (i.e. your life) to the point where even the facts don't seem like facts. That everything is up for discussion, unfocused, unreal.
I often wonder what is better . . to live in a state of denial or to continuously butt heads with your problems, never coming to a resolution. Either one would be easier if I could fit into my pants from last spring. But, alas, that will never happen. Even I know that fitting into my skinny pants will not improve my self esteem or self worth (or problem solving skills).
So, what are my facts?
I'm never going to be perfect.
I'm having a hard time finding a job.
I'm feeling lost.
I haven't found that purpose and/or passion.
I'm not going to have toothpick legs or a flat stomach.
I am healthy (most days-ha, ha).
I am married to a man who tries to work with me.
My worth is not determined by the ability of bringing home a paycheck.
I don't like being scared of living my life.
I love the water. I love the South.
I'm exceptionally lucky that I don't need an income right now to survive.
I have a roof over my head.
I have a silly, furball kitty who loves me unconditionally.
I am smart and talented.
For right now, I am where I need to be.