Dragged
It’s 4:37 am, and I’m sitting up in my room eating Slim Jims, thinking about how drastically my life has changed over the last few years.
I turned 30. I got divorced. I sold my first home. I moved back to my hometown. I fell out with my best friend of 17 years. My grandmother died. My dog died. All of these things happened back-to-back, pain collapsing into disappointment like dominoes. And during all of these things, I was still working, still coaching, still showing up for weddings and baby showers and birthdays and funerals, still answering the phone to play the role of resident therapist.
I didn’t want to do any of these things. I didn’t feel ready to celebrate people’s happy moments, and I didn’t feel ready to share in others’ grief, but I told myself that showing up was the right thing to do. Showing up was a testament to the importance and sacredness of friendship and community. Showing up was proving to myself that I could do hard things, and learning that my grief and my healing weren’t anyone else’s priority. It wasn’t even a priority of mine, not really. I had so many other things to do. But it absolutely should have been.
In every single one of these life-changing events, I can count on one hand how many people showed up for me in ways that were intentional in how I like to be loved. I can count on both hands and both feet how many people I’ve gone above and beyond for, whilst having to run to the bathroom or the car to fight back tears to conceal what I already knew was true: I shouldn’t be here.
I sent flowers to a friend who had a death in her family. She didn’t even text me during mine.
I spent my birthday sobbing, but I partied like a rockstar for everyone else.
I listened to every version of “you should be over this by now” or “just forget about that” from the same people I walked through the fire with, making sure they were never alone.
I met someone new and experienced such a dynamic connection, but I could not hold it because I was too heavy with carrying everything else.
What I didn’t understand about taking self-inventory and not just hearing what your body is saying but actually listening is that if you choose to explain it away, if you choose to just-one-more-chance it away, the consequences seep into every area of your life. You can’t thrive because you’re tired. You’re tired because you didn’t eat. You didn’t eat because you’re mentally somewhere else. You’re mentally somewhere else because you’re being pulled in so many different directions without proper boundaries in place. And if you choose not to let go, eventually you’re going to get dragged. These body alarms are not mere suggestions; they are marching orders. I know that now.
Naturally, I see situations as challenges to overcome. My brain categorizes this as a puzzle to be solved. How does this action move this puzzle piece into alignment for a better outcome? Okay, if that won’t work, how about this one? I am relentless in this pursuit. I am a master of the pivot. What I haven’t mastered yet is learning when to let go of things that don’t have my name on them. Let me be clear: every challenge isn’t a revelation of misfit, but when you know, you know. And I knew.
Each time I said “yes” to something I didn’t want to do; each time I guilt-tripped myself into doing it anyway; each time I put someone else’s needs before my own; each time I tried to work the puzzle when it was clear some of the pieces were missing all along. I knew.
I have been stripped down to my bare bones because that is what I needed. Some things I did manually, other things God took care of for me. But all of this was the consequence of a lack of discipline, a whole bunch of stubbornness, and overstayed welcomes.
What they don’t tell you about clarity is that it’s as painful as it is beautiful. And boundaries are as disappointing as they are peaceful. And starting over from scratch is deeply scary, a vulnerability ritual if you will. But it is all necessary.
Because I am becoming less tethered to being needed, I get to sit with myself and listen to my thoughts alone instead of being clouded by the weight of the world. Do you know how good it feels to let your mind wander without interruption?
Because I am becoming more self-centered, I no longer have to measure exactly how much time and energy I can give to one thing for fear of not knowing if I’ll have enough for the next.
Because I am learning the art of letting go, I am spending a lot less time dwelling in the past, jumping from anger to disappointment to sadness to regret and back again. I can just… live. It feels good to be present.
My phone barely rings now. When it does, I know whoever is on the other side is someone who deserves to be in orbit with me because, finally, my balance sheet is correct.
In lieu of paid subscriptions:
For now, my work is not paywalled. I’m leaning fully into storytelling and less into growth and metrics. However, if you feel so led, you can fuel my already hyperactive episodes with caffeine.