The last few weeks have been a struggle.
I’ve struggled to write. I’ve struggled to work out. I’ve felt tired, overwhelmed and burned out.
I know I’ve talked about that to some degree during that time, but I don’t think I’ve talked about it enough. I’ve fallen out of my routines these past two weeks. It’s been too much to handle everything.
And I guess the reason I wanted to say that is that I’m realizing that’s just part of it all. For me. This happens from time to time. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, actually…it just is. And I will do best myself to just let go in situations like these, and have empathy for myself. I’m doing the best I can. I don’t need to do anything more. Nothing is wrong with me. Nothing needs to change.
Just let go.
I really struggle with that. I have, especially, over the last couple years.
This is all part of a learning process for me, I think. It was easy and great in the beginning because I was full of enthusiasm and empty of expectation. As the adrenaline of the enthusiasm faded, and I realized just how much I could do, how far I could go, how much I loved doing it, the expectations grew, and started to crush me.
I think what I’m starting to realize is that’s normal. That is a NORMAL pattern. I was ALWAYS going to have to deal with this. I didn’t do anything WRONG. It’s a pattern that happens over and over and over…and part of change, part of evolving as an artist or whatever, is learning how to deal with this.
I’ve thought and wished for the longest time that I could go back to the way things were in 2014 when I wrote my first book. I’ve had the sense that something was wrong with me, that I ruined something.
Tonight…I’m wondering if that’s not true, actually. I was always going to end up here.
And I’ve always been capable of dealing with it.
I’m different now.
I can’t go back.
Maybe I’m becoming who I’ve always been meant to be.