Saturday, October 28, 2017

Learning to Forgive Myself

This week I felt out of touch with life more than usual, and although I'd be tempted to put it down to my deep emotional investment in watching Younger, I think it's a lot to do with what's been on my mind these days.

On Tuesday I was at an alumni event, feeling extremely out of depth and underachieved surrounded by people who graduated the same year as I did – doing brilliantly in life, and actually enjoying their achievements (deservingly).

I am young but not so young at the same time, feeling like I could do so much more yet have achieved less than I have wanted. It's a telling sign that I probably need a change, and I would be totally down to do that if not for the tricky circumstances that my life revolves around.


Matt tells me I'm overthinking and stressing out too much and he's probably 99% right, and my sense of disillusionment is hard to shake off, like a metallic taste in the mouth which never leaves after you each a big bowl of spinach (... yep).

We are reminded by constant positive reinforcement that we should always try to better ourselves, and be the best versions of ourselves. And that, frankly, is absolutely exhausting. This week I guilt-tripped myself so bad because I left work at 6pm and not my usual 10.30pm, which sounds insane but it comes from the idea that working more is an inherent good, because it's productive. But is it though?

Watching TV on that Monday evening was difficult, filled with 'maybe I should read up on world news and be a knowledgeable person' thoughts. I couldn't stop it and still don't really know how to.

At that point, I was close to tears. And for what? Because I felt bad for enjoying myself and not doing something else....? Right now, I am still feeling a good chunk of guilt because I'm supposed to be looking for better opportunities but I am here clacking away, stringing incoherent thoughts together in a strangely vulnerable way to the public.  


... is difficult. Incredibly so, and to the point of exasperation and near tears.

This week I started reading Julian Barnes' Levels of Life without really intending to or knowing what the book was about, and because it was the only unread book on my Kindle. And I've never felt so emotionally grieved, and ached for those words like it were coming from my own mind. The book's exploration of history, autobiographical depiction of grief in words insufficient to really represent what grief really means, and a search for the meaningful when all is meaningless was, in plain sight, a stirring moment on my bus ride home.

I need to forgive myself.

Simple as it sounds, so it begins, my forgiveness of self can never be, and could never be easy. Forgiving begets guilt and I am anything but innocent - guilty of being overwhelmed, wanting the infinite multisensory joys that is in our lifetimes, impossible.


... also seems to be an insurmountable task. I grow inwards (a phrase I used many years ago) and recoil in fear, bereft of common sense and look odd to the common eye. 

Hope will save us all in some way or another, and my hope is that I am able to truly believe that, however small. I am trying, in something small each day, to understand joy is found in unexpected corners: vegan doughnuts, crunchy autumn leaves, persimmon season... 

Today: a walk in the park, my evening silhouette melting into an afternoon that is now in the past, I am learning to be happy to be alive, most of all. 

Happy Halloween weekend! I think I'm the only person I know who's not busy bingeing Stranger Things (because I don't have Netflix, ha) or going to a dress-up party and getting crunk...

Another fun fact: we shot these on our kitchen floor because the light was gorgeous! Isn't it?

Post a Comment

delicately © . Design by FCD.