What if I'm not just tired. What if I'm broken?

Nothing's changed.

Nothing's wrong.

Nothing's particularly right either.

But it's right enough.

Life keeps marching forward.

Me along with it.

I wake up tired.

I go to bed tired.

Even sleep feels exhausting.

Why does everything have to be such a process?

So many steps just to get one thing done?

And so many steps that something can go wrong with?

And something usually does.

But it's usually not the thing you think it's going to be.

So when it's not that thing.

You think.

This might be fine.

Then it's not.

And I'm not.

Because I didn't have it in me today to deal with this.

And I didn't think I'd have to.

And I'm mad at myself.

Because, honestly?

It's not even that big of a deal.

I really should be able to handle it.

That's not even me being harsh toward myself.

I just should be able to handle because it really is something so small and ordinary and just not that big of a deal.

So why, in the name of all things, am I reacting like it is the biggest deal?

Like I've just asked myself to do brain surgery for 15 hours?

And you know what the kicker is?

I've tried.

I've tried to "calm down".

To lower my stress levels.

To do less.

Rest more.

Take the meds.

Go for the walks.

Do the things.

Journal even.

And my "nervous system" whatever that is that we are all suddenly so interested by...is still "activated".

It just means my body is still acting like it's fucking stressed even though I don't feel stressed.

Which, if you ask me, isn't fair.

And in fact, it's infuriating.

And confusing.

And makes me feel like I'm just broken.

Because these are things that are supposed to help.

These are things that people say to practice.

And I do them.

Not consistently, fine, but I still do them.

So what's so wrong with me that it should work, but doesn't for me?

[button-what's underneath this for me]

At this point, I don't even care what it is that's wrong.

I just kind of want there to be something so I can do something about it.

And finally feel better.

So I guess I can go into therapist mode.

Even though I really don't to.

Even though I'd really rather just watch another episode of Real Housewives and slip into their drama instead of trying to figure out my own.

Because what even drama is there in my life?

Fine fine fine.

Okay.

Therapist mode.

Resting? Yes.

Do I feel rested after resting? Hm. No.

Okay.

So let's just pretend for a moment that I'm not the problem...it's just pretend, you can come back to you as the problem, but just pretend for a moment. And let's say the rest is the problem.

What am I doing to rest?

And do I actually feel rested after I've done it?

Because if I don't, and I don't, maybe I can look at the things I'm doing or not doing.

And look, I know that I am physically resting.

I know that.

But I do wonder...if that means I'm mentally resting as well?

Because when I really think about it....I'm not.

I'm thinking about alllll the things.

All the things that still need to be done.

All the things that I've been avoiding to give myself time and space for rest.

All the things I've failed at.

The roles I haven't filled in the way I've wanted to...friend, mom, partner, therapist, writer, sister, blah blah blah failure.

The birthdays coming up.

And how materialistic I am and how am I even raising my kids?

The field trip my son wants me to chaperone and how I don't want to go but how I should go and is that fair to my other kids and can I, should I, take more time off work?

Fine.

I see it.

I'm not resting.

Not really.

My brain doesn't turn off when I'm "resting".

So how do I do that?

What am I even supposed to do with that?

I'm the fucking therapist, aren't I supposed to know this?

But I do.

I do.

I have to remind myself.

I do.

And I don't like the "what to do" but I do know what it is.

For me, I need to journal.

I need to sit here and let the thoughts come out.

Name the real worries underneath the to-dos.

See that pesky not good enough belief about myself pop up again.

Let my thoughts and feelings unfurl and notice my muscles unfurling with them.

Not because journaling is the answer.

God, please don't leave here thinking you have another thing you're supposed to be doing.

That's kind of how we got here.

It's just one of the ways I can stop long enough to notice what's actually happening inside of me.

Because apparently lying on the couch while mentally attending twelve meetings, planning three birthdays, questioning my parenting and compiling evidence that I'm failing at every meaningful role in my life...

isn't rest.

Maybe I'm not doing rest wrong.

Maybe I'm not failing at regulating my nervous system.

Maybe I don't need to get better at calming myself down.

Maybe there's just something happening underneath all of this that hasn't had anywhere to go.

Something I'm worried about.

Something I'm anticipating.

Something I'm grieving.

Something I'm trying very hard not to think about.

And sometimes I just don't know. And I don't have to.

Because for just a moment, I'm pretending I'm not the problem.

And that vein of thought actually kind of makes sense.

So maybe I'm not just tired.

But maybe I'm not broken either.

-Julia