A life update.
{My husband gifted me with 2 nights away by myself. Time for deep-breathing and self-reflecting and self-evaluating. It’s been a while since I’ve done any of these things well. So, I’m writing this from our friend’s property in the sticks of Indiana - in between perfecting my heatless curler technique and listening to Evermore on repeat, because I can’t not}
It’s been a hell of a year, friends. I don’t need to tell you that. Your friendly, local mental health provider has been struggling too. (Is this ok for her to admit? Will you still trust her?)
There’s been good stuff this year.
I finished my PhD after a decent amount of procrastination on my research because honestly I’m not sure I have what it takes to be called Dr.
We’ve all had our birthdays, including the all-important 16th for Alex and all the stress that goes along with teaching your offspring how to drive.
We’ve been in our new house for almost 8 months now and feel so lucky every day that we get to live here.
My first book is out September 7 (you can pre-order here!), and Joe’s first full-length film releases this year too. The prep for these projects has left us feeling simultaneously very sophisticated and very clueless.
We adopted Izzy, our COVID cat.
There’s been plenty of good this year but there’s also been some struggle. ER trips, and COVID of course. Bad decisions. Marriage stuff. My job is hard, because people are sad, and there’s not much I can do to change the climate of our country. 3 out of 4 Porters are on meds, including myself. 3 out of 4 Porters are in therapy, including myself.
I’m not at my best. I can do better. I’ve been slacking off on the practices that keep me mentally, physically, and spiritually healthy.
I’m really, really good at my job, friend. I’m not so good at taking my own advice. I’m not so good at trying to fix the broken parts of me without any help. I feel like I can’t share my vulnerabilities and weaknesses with the people close to me for fear that I’ll damage my credibility (so many people come to me for answers. I’m supposed to be the expert right?) Why oh why after all these years do I still struggle with the plague of perfectionism.
Do I have to have all my shit together in order to help other people get their shit together? I used to think yes. A dear friend reminded me last week that the people she admires the most are the ones who are vocal about their mistakes and their hang-ups.
This is what I am learning: truth-telling can be very liberating. The more people that I confess my humanity to, the more free I feel.
I’m done holding back so much of myself. So. You’ve been warned :)
