Coming back to writing…coming back to me?

I have been gone from the blogosphere for a long time. Writing, for me, is a therapeutic way to organize and process my thoughts. Not so surprisingly, then, when things are feeling good, I just don’t feel compelled to write.

I won’t lie, 2020 and 2021 haven’t been easy years by any means. To be honest, I think I flipped an auto pilot switch on and doggy paddled my way through each day. I was surviving and, in this weird, pandemic world, that felt like enough.

Until…it didn’t.

During each fall season, trees drop their dead leaves. Oftentimes, I start to feel similarly heavy, with the urge to examine and drop the things in my life that are no longer working for me, either.

The noise.

Life has been exceptionally noisy lately.

My fingers have been itching to hit this keyboard all summer long, yet, over and over again, I have stopped myself as I’ve opened the computer.

I felt like I had nothing to say.

You feel what you feel.

Finding my footing during the fall is always an experience. The level of stress in our household seems to go up 200%. My husband and I both go back to our jobs, the kids start school and fall activities. Life becomes hectic–and self-care becomes much harder.

Mom.

I am going to try to write and process something that is rather difficult for me.

Yesterday, I finally had a chance to do another EMDR session. Once again, I concentrated on my fear of abandonment, and the chronic belief that I am unworthy of love.

The session began with the same triggering moment that always seems to surface–the day, right before 3rd grade–that my grandmother gave my brother and I “back” to my mom. The day she left us…the day that I panicked, and experienced what must have been my very first panic attack.

It is familiar. I have written and written and written about it.

I know that it is a moment. And I have been desperate to dig deeper and try to understand why I am so anxious about losing important relationships. Why I spiral down into a dark hole when I fear I’ve messed up. Why I need reassurance that things are okay.

Sundays.

Sundays are always hard for me.

The weekend is over. The new week and all of its tasks are looming.

But loneliness is the real killer.

Mistakes.

I am not always who I like to think I am.

I am not perfect.

I am not selfless.

I make mistakes.

…All I want is *love*

Tonight, I am feeling lonely.

Nothing is different. It is the same as it usually is.

My day was routine. My friends are there–I even talked to all of them today. (All THREE of them!)

But there is something about arriving home, after a long day, and meeting a spouse who is in a bad mood. Pretty much everyday. 

Days like this

I have been an irritable, grumpy person lately.

Life has been stressful, for no really great reasons.

My anxiety has felt okay.

It’s just that melancholy creeps in.

Some days? It overtakes me.

This is how it feels.

I lay in bed at night, hoping that you will feel the aching pain drifting off of my body and wrap me in your arms. No words…just you and me, breathing as one. Me, crying in your arms, rather than alone on my pillow.

You don’t come.