I feel pressure to be superhuman. Mostly from other people. When sometimes, just putting one foot in front of the other, paying a bill, or returning an item on the day it’s due is more than enough.
I hate being a disappointment to others. And in that same breath, I will be. I have been.
I do think perimenopausal symptoms are swirling about, and perhaps a briar or two of them are snagging me. One, in particular, is irritability. My knee-jerk reaction feels similar to when a dog comes up and invades the bubble of space I need, and I’ll say, “No, get back.”
I remind myself of a mother fox in her den with cubs. Where before she might have been timid, maybe approachable, now she’s gone deep within. There’s a wildness there, a slant in her eye and a glisten on her tooth. She will lay down her life now.
I might be a tad dramatic, but aren’t feelings that way? And something about letting them speak themselves onto the page—no matter how intense or how much, or even the “You feel that way?!” reaction—feels like the right action to take. To not judge them, or shush them down, is all ok here.
I’m just trying to be, and for now, I’m like a strip mall built in the ’80s with 80% of the shops shut down. To be fair, the ones that remain are the ones people make a point to visit. Like Claire’s, Spencer’s, or Sbarro’s. You bet they’re thriving and getting the latest and greatest products on their shelves.
What I am worried about is the shifting landscape and the friendships that might be impacted. That they’ll see the 20% and say, “Nah, I need it in its prime, in its glory days—not this washed-up has-been.” And that’s what I’m feeling today. Washed up, a little has beeny. But surprisingly content in the rubble.
Well, I’m sure I’ll chew on all this a bit more on my run. Part of me wants to do a longer one—something slow and steady and long, something with time all to myself. Well, actually, there is no other part to share. So that’s what I’ll do then. A long saunter, just to be with me.
Love you.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 