Defused, Not Defunct

It was late, but my brain would simply not wind down for bed.

Since it was actually doing the total opposite, I put my book down on the night stand, threw on a hoodie, and shuffled my way to the couch. Then I plopped down with my laptop and wrote. What started as a torrent of free-flowing frustration became the first draft of what you're reading now.

This is hard to admit, but last night I'd completely lost faith in my ability to flourish in life. I mostly mean that I'm worried about my ability to make money and live comfortably. I've been avoiding actually saying that out loud, but it's been eating me alive.

Not only have I lost faith in my ability to get a job—despite having a ton of experience—but I've also realized that I don't believe I'm likely to find anything I'd be excited about. I know that's doom-and-gloom and that's why I desperately want to change it. But I gotta tell ya, I'm really struggling to do that these days.

Awareness is one thing and implementation is another. And the effort exerted throughout the process is draining.

When I talked to my therapist this morning, I expressed much of what I'd written (we'll get back to that in a minute), but then—from her side of the computer screen—she helped me poke and prod at this stuff some more. I sighed, fidgeting with the ring on my left middle finger before looking up and blurting out that I suck at corporate politics and that I loathe self-promotion. She looked somewhat concerned at first but it turned into something more like amusement when I'd started babbling about how both of those things are prerequisites for climbing the corporate ladder.

"I used to be able to do it," I'd told her. "And then it kind of broke... and I've never really been able to put it back together."

Without missing a beat, she goes "... do you want to?"

Nope. Sure don't.

Sometimes, it's easy to let the voice in my head convince me that my way of seeing things ruffles feathers—that I'm too much. I ask why. I look for better ways of getting things done. I don't promise certainty because I know it doesn't exist. Pretending like it does bothers me a lot. I don't like dishonesty or manipulation. Posturing and performance theater irk me immensely. And I get frustrated with those who refuse to acknowledge that there's always more than one way to do things. Everyone thinks their way is the "right" way, which kinda sorta definitely means there is no right way by default, right?

Right.

Rest assured, I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea. Trust me, I get that. I don't need to be, either... I made my peace with it long ago. But it's also just become incredibly difficult not to feel like a complete and total outcast altogether. Like, where the hell are my people?? There's got to be somewhere that I fit.

That's when my therapist cut in. She'd still looked amused, but perhaps she'd thought it best to corral us before I launched further down the rabbit hole.

I stopped fidgeting with my ring and grabbed my coffee mug instead, leaning back and cupping it in both hands so they'd each have something to do. We've been working together for years, so she knows me well enough by now to understand that I'm like a duck; calm above the water while my feet kick to stabilize things below. Before yielding my time, I'd admitted that all of what I'd shared was chock full of limiting beliefs. She'd agreed with sort of a "well duh" expression, to which I'd nodded my appreciation.

All to say, I know these things can be untangled and defused.

Logically I do, at least. But it has felt more and more at times like I've completely lost the ability to believe flourishing's an option for me. So it's taking that much more effort to neutralize those thoughts lately.

And I'm fucking tired.

"So what do you want to do about it?" she'd asked.

I shook my head and let out a deep, long, nostril-flaring exhale of a sigh. Then I took a sip of coffee and sat forward. Looking up, I'd unclenched my jaw and stared into the screen for a bit. Finally, I'd said "this."

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Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
157/365

What do you do when you catch yourself warping the shape of your own story?

If you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along. And if something stuck with you while reading, I'd love to know what it was.

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here.