As an author I think the words we use and the stories we tell play a huge role in how our lives play out. Especially when those stories are about ourselves.
There's a story I stopped telling about myself eleven years ago and now it feels like it happened to a different person, like it isn't even part of my identity at all anymore. That's the story of the three years I spent in a very depressed state during my mid and late twenties. I won't even bother telling you the story, because, like I said, I don't own that as part of me anymore. But I reference it now because I find myself in a similar place now where I'm facing the fact that I've told a particular story about myself since my tween years and, frankly, I'm tired of the story. It hasn't served me well, and I'm ready to let go of it. It's strange, though, because the letting go feels selfish in some ways, even though I can, and possibly should, spin a story where it's not. And there's always the question of whether or not it's always wrong to be selfish. But that's a post for another day.
So what is this story that I'm letting go of? That I have to hold space for another person's mental illness.
I've always been a safe person for people who struggle with sanity or their pasts or their own self-sabotage. I've always opened myself up as a source of unconditional love and support, trying to redirect them to healthier choices, shoring them up, etc. I'm incredibly accepting of nearly anything in another person and I've found over the years that people are HUNGRY for that kind of love. So, over the years, the majority of my friendships have been with people struggling deeply in some way.
The problem?
I'm tired.
I'm deeply, deeply, deeply tired.
Energetic reciprocity is a thing, guys. And what I really crave right now are relationships with people where we pull each other up again and again, riding waves higher together, moving forward in our lives toward the common goals of BETTER, and ONWARD, and CLARITY. I'm tired of feeling like this is my life:
Trying to drag adults kicking and screaming into a better future for themselves is exhausting work. I've put in years of it and, frankly, it's too much. Especially when you're getting nothing in return. So I'm walking away from this story about myself. Don't get me wrong: I still love these people. I'm just done assigning any part of my energy to a black hole. I can still love the source of the black hole without pouring into it.
So I am still a safe space for those who struggle with depression or addiction or whatever, in that I will love them unconditionally. I will hold a space of love for when they do the work they need to do to get better. But I am no longer open to putting my energy into that darkness. If there's nothing coming back from the pit? If it's just a massive hole of darkness that takes and takes and never returns? No. I won't pour into that anymore.
And, yes, there are personal events behind all of this, but I can't seem to get the words around it. It's far too vast with a bunch of backstory. And, again, it's a story I want to stop telling. I'm trying to let go. There are two songs I listen to a lot lately that help me with the letting go. I'll share them here. Maybe they'll be better at capturing what I'm trying to explain than I am at actually explaining it.
The Part Where You Let Go
Machete by Amanda Palmer
