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Can I be honest with you?

I’m tired of myself.  Tired of the mood swings, the inner monologue.  Tired of teary phone calls to my aunt, or oddly timed texts to friends.

Tired of feeling such despair at 2 am and greater stability at 12 pm.

We talked this morning.  We both want more stability.

At first the conversation was strained, and difficult.  We were talking past one another.

“Remember ‘I’ statements,” I silently told myself.

“I feel…,” “I need…,” “I want…” It’s not selfish. It’s doing something I don’t do enough.  It’s being direct, not dancing around the issue.  Apologize when necessary.  Admit fault but don’t take all the blame. Use “I,” stay calm.  I express my needs and wants.  I cannot control his ability or choice to respond.

Somehow, we broke through the impasse and a long conversation ended with “You’re still my person,” and a bear hug before a calm goodbye.  I had to go to work.

I don’t feel like the person I was at 2 am, and because I don’t, I feel completely insane, as if something’s wrong with me.  Is this splitting?  Of myself?

Or is this mid-recovery?  When conflicts escalate and control slips frequently as you consciously struggle to regain it.  This is not the life I choose.  And when I say “the life,” I mean the one inside my head.

At work, I’m controlled and relatively calm.  I feel the freedom to be authentically me.  I trust others to do their job, and I trust myself to make right decisions.

I feel comfortable with myself at work.  I am not comfortable with myself at home.  I do not have a “me” thing.  And this is something I realized as I felt jealousy about his latest project–becoming our small town’s budding historian, researching the lives of past mayors.  He went to the cemetery in the pouring rain this morning to hunt down a gravestone.  And he found it.  How cool is that?

I remember when I did things I thought were cool.  I wrote.  I researched.  I asked questions.  I hopped on a Greyhound and took myself to the coast for the weekend.  I used to quilt and knit and take classes and soak up new knowledge and hobbies like a sponge.

I’m envious of his personal pursuits because he does them.  He doesn’t overthink.  He doesn’t put himself through emotional anguish before making a decision.  He somehow knows what he wants and he does it.

I recently sat on a plane next to a multimillionaire and he told me, “You’re a seeker.”

A seeker?

Yes, you’re still seeking out who you are.

When asked yesterday what I would do if time, money were no object.  I said travel.


Finland.  To go dog-sledding.  See the Northern Lights.

I know part of it is the book I just finished about a couple homesteading in Alaska.  Snow.  Ice.  Rugged territory.  I get lost in a book, I channel the characters. So yes, dog-sledding.

If I read a romantic novel, I’ll want the romantic experience.

Somehow, somewhere, I lost me. I lost the ‘thing’ that made me me. I tried sports and quit them. I went to classes and quit them. I’m still doing this. It’s as if I have hobby ADD.

I can keep a job. I can hold down a long-term relationship.  But leave me with me, myself, and I to do something that’s interesting and exciting?  The human pinball takes over.   I try to join him in his activities, but to be honest–putting up the town’s Christmas lights is boring to me.  Volunteering to hand out gifts to needy families?  Sign me up!

Why am I 36 and still searching for what makes me tick?


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