Why do I even try?

Something else doesn't work.

Something else needs to be done first.

And I start to wonder—

Will it ever happen for me?

Hope feels risky.

Foolish, even.

I feel dumb for trying.

But what other choice do I have?

I know I have choices.

I've weighed my options. The different directions I could go.

I don't feel confident in any of them.

They all kind of suck, to be honest.

And the worst part?

The uncertainty.

The amount of effort I need to expend in order for this to even happen.

If it will happen.

It feels costly.

And at times, maybe possible.

Which somehow makes it even worse.

I was brought up just to be slammed back down again.

It's not hopelessness exactly.

It's not anger in the way anger usually feels.

Sadness, yes.

Disappointment.

And expectations that I think maybe I should have had all along.

Why would this work for me?

Why would I dare to think this would work for me?

I think about saying all of this to my friends and it feels like a waste of breath.

Because I know what they would say.

I know they would encourage me.

Tell me not to worry about it.

Tell me it will work out.

And somehow that makes me feel worse.

Like I shouldn't feel this way.

Like I'm bringing them down.

Burdening them.

Like I've said too much.

Maybe I'm being dramatic.

But I do feel this way.

And when I get to this place, those other thoughts—the ones that always seem to be hanging around, waiting for an opening—come out all the more readily.

You're too much.

You're not enough.

People have never really liked you.

You thought you would actually get what you wanted?

You don't deserve it.

What have you actually done to earn it?

Nothing ever works out for you.

Nobody has ever cared.

And on.

And on.

And on.

Sometimes I can hold these thoughts at bay.

Sometimes I don't think them at all.

But right now?

This is their territory.

And they are primed.

I've spent weeks, months, listening to these tiny digs at me, from me, in the background.

Pushing them off.

But they've been there.

Gaining my audience.

Gaining my belief.

And now—

I believe them.

Why did I even try to begin with when all I've done is fail?

Like a wave, my feelings rise, crest, and fall.

The thoughts have elongated the crest.

But eventually, the feelings begin to fall again.

Will they crest once more?

Maybe.

But as they fall, my logic is able to sneak in.

I know I haven't failed at everything.

I know I've made it through so many hard things.

And then I think—

I didn't need another one.

I don't need whatever I'm supposed to gain from this.

I need a break.

I need a break.

I need a break.

I can't keep doing this.

Not like this.

I don't know what else I can do.

I feel stuck.

I feel like none of the paths in front of me will work.

But I have to go somewhere, right?

But maybe.

Maybe.

Not yet.

Maybe this moment doesn't need a decision.

Maybe this moment is meant for pause.

Not because the pause will magically give me clarity.

Though that would be nice.

Not because I'll wake up with more motivation.

Or hope.

But maybe it can give me just something different.

I know what that means.

Something will probably be dropped.

Maybe even something important.

Because if my plate is already full and I need to make room, something has to fall.

And right now?

I don't care what it is.

I can't care.

Because when I look at everything on my plate and ask myself what I'm willing to let go of, there isn't anything.

Except...

my own stuff.

And I can't let this go.

So maybe I don't get to carefully choose the least important thing.

Maybe I just have to let what's going to drop, drop.

And deal with what comes.

And you know what I hate most about that?

The uncertainty.

The uncertainty of what will fall.

But also the uncertainty of what will happen.

Will this thing I'm trying so hard for work?

This thing I want so badly that if want were the measure of requirement, I'd have it in droves.

I try so hard.

I put in so much.

And I feel like most of the time, when you put enough effort into something, eventually you start seeing signs.

Yes. This is working.

Or—

Nope. Wrong way.

Only when I look around now, I don't see any clear signs.

Nothing telling me this is the right way.

Nothing telling me this will get me what I want.

Nothing telling me I just need to try harder.

Keep going.

Take a different route.

Give up entirely. 

I'm open to all of it.

I just want to know.

And the uncertainty drives me nuts.

Should I keep going?

Should I stop?

Should I try something else?

Am I wasting my time?

Is this going to be another thing I tried that didn't work?

And underneath all of those questions are the other ones.

What does it say about me if this doesn't work?

What if I really can't do this?

What if I was stupid to hope?

What if everyone else knew something about me that I didn't?

The emotions.

The thoughts.

The things I start believing about myself underneath all of it.

It's too much all at once.

And that—

is true.

It is too much all at once.

I want it over.

I want to figure it out.

I want someone to hand me the map and point to the little red dot that says:

YOU ARE HERE. GO THIS WAY.

Unfortunately, no one seems to have one.

And I know the quickest way through this is actually the slow way.

Ugh.

Slow it down.

Stop trying to figure out the whole thing at once.

Because there is something I can see once the wave isn't quite so high.

The feeling is real.

The disappointment is real.

The uncertainty is real.

The exhaustion from trying so hard is very, very real.

But the conclusions that arrive with them?

This will never work.

I've failed at everything.

I was stupid to hope.

There's something about me that keeps good things from happening.

Those are predictions.

Not destinations.

My feelings can't tell me how this ends any more than my logic can.

And I hate that.

Because I want to know if my effort is worth it.

I want to know if this path is the right one.

I want to know that if I give enough, eventually I will get where I'm trying to go.

I can't know that yet.

So, for now—

this is the best I can do.

I'm putting in the effort I have.

Sometimes more.

Sometimes less.

Always frustratingly imperfect.

And I'm seeing where this path takes me.

Not because I'm certain it's the right one.

I'm not.

Not because I suddenly feel hopeful again.

Sometimes I don't.

But because I don't have to know how this ends to take the next step I'm able to take.

And sometimes?

I'm not able to take one.

Sometimes I need a break.

Sometimes something drops.

Sometimes all I have is enough energy to stand here for a minute and admit:

I really, really hate this.

That counts too.

I don't have to be okay with the uncertainty.

I don't have to find the lesson.

I don't have to convince myself that everything will work out.

I don't even have to feel hopeful today.

I can feel exactly how I feel.

And see myself for what I actually am in this moment.

Not a failure.

Not foolish for hoping.

Not someone who should have known better.

Just someone who doesn't know.

But is trying.

—Julia