In the beginning of the year, I was doing pretty great. I was exercising regularly, losing my Christmas weight gain, writing an essay that I knew would be published, and had some routine going. And then the Pandemic happened. I didn’t implode immediately but the decline of my “self” life was inevitable.
I’ve spent a lifetime giving upon myself. It’s what I grew up with. I’m kinda not worth the effort. I then revert to taking care of others mode. It’s a pattern especially in Summer time. It’s easier to focus on all the household tasks and family needs then try to muster up the structure, time, and separation that I need to take care of me. I give up. It smacks of effort.
The result of this year with the increased pandemic induced anxiety and lack of deeper self-care, is that I’m not feeling my best. I’m heavier than I’ve ever been, out of shape, and can’t seem to initiate any routines. I’ve thought about them but I’m just not worth the effort.
Even with CBD gummies and anti-depressants, there’s no quick cure for low self-esteem. That is an ingrained concept of self that is a lifetime battle. I feel like the self-system that shows my worth with organization and priorities for my time and efforts for myself is knitted with yarn. And it’s unraveling is destined. Because that’s what I’ve decided.
There’s no quick cure for this. Climbing out of this hole requires conscious effort. Support and witnessing. Intention and insight. These aren’t easily come by when you’ve spent a lifetime doing the opposite. And then I think of my daughter and what she needs to have modeled for her. And as much as I want to fall in a hole, that really isn’t an option.
I need to give her ways to show up for herself when she’s scared. I need to give her these with authority and knowing. I need to model what I didn’t have modeled for me. Because that’s part of what I am here to do. My destiny as it is, was handed to me when she as born. I can not stomach the idea of her giving up on herself.
And so I begin again within the constructs of what I am living. This morning as she sleeps, I write this confession. And know it means something.
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