I’m giving myself a pep talk so that I get inspired and motivated to do more: to write more, to exercise (at all), to make plans with friends. My baseline energy and ability to people is, if not quite in my heels, definitely below my knees. I’d like to get it at least up to my waist – the bra line would be phenomenal.

I’m not sure how because in the past, telling myself “Suck it up and just do it” sufficed. My executive function is off the charts. I accomplish things. I get things done, no matter what. That’s my superpower.

Well. That used to be my superpower, apparently.

My pep talk morphis into a spiral of self-hate and I slap it back. Come on, self, WTF? We don’t need that. Stop. My daughter’s illness, the pandemic, my own brush with COVID and its lingering effects, my divorce, the effective end of a very significant six-year relationship, a complete reinvention of how I earn my living, supporting my youngest son through his transition to public schooling, did I mention, COVID, divorce, new job – all of these things tax the bandwidth. Could I, maybe, cut myself a little slack?

No.

I don’t cut myself slack.

I do things and I don’t whine about it.

That, by the way, is the difference between us.

I do things. I accomplish, I achieve, I execute.

Except I’m not, so now I’m just like you and I hate myself.

Yes. Apparently, I hate you too. Well, hate is a strong word. Don’t feel a lot of respect for, shall we say?

That might be worse.

Myself though, right now, I hate. With a passion.

Stop.

This pep talk is going horribly wrong. And I don’t really hate you. And I don’t disrespect you. I used to even understand you. But I resent you. God, I resent you. Because when you don’t execute, someone else has to and that has always been me, you know?

Spirals within spirals. Stop. Can we just make it about me? Leave you out of it?

Side-spiral: between them, the pandemic and my daughter’s illness, stripped me of compassion and empathy. Completely. I hate all of you. I have a hard time finding my way back to the person who loved deeply if selectively and who understood and empathized with almost everyone. I miss her. She was nice. Also, she accomplished things.

Back to the pep talk.

Just do it. Why can’t you just do it?

Because, I don’t know, I’m tired, can’t somebody else?

No. There’s just you.

Ugh, what a depressing thought.

Another spiral. Stop.

Ok. My daughter’s illness, the pandemic, the divorce. Everything that came before. The end of relationships, the beginning of another, the new job, housing instability, the pressure to be financially responsible for two – now three – households. Let’s not think about the aging parents. They’re not demanding yet – but it’s coming. It’s coming.

Oh, a new spiral. Not fun. Stop.

Pep talk: so many legit reasons to feel drained and tired. And all the important stuff is getting done. I’m not spending my days curled up in the fetal position under the bed. The children are taken care of. The rent is paid. The morning pages written. And I’m even dancing. Sometimes. Going to conferences, teaching. It’s not so bad.

By your standard, I’m doing just fine.

It’s not Kenough.

I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. Really.

Ok, a little. I’m sorry. I’m trying to find my way back. To compassion. To my usual baseline.

I’m tired of being tired and of cutting myself slack. I want to want things and I want to do things. All the things.

Him: Amphetamines?

Jane: Meditation.

I mean… nothing else is working. And it did help me, before. For a while.

Day 1.

Ommmmmmm….

;P

“Jane”