So, we are half-way through July, and the last time I wrote was almost the end of June and I was working on my month of intentional living. I didn't exactly finish out on a strong note. I did think about my intentions those last ten days, but I found my ideas lacking, my brain tired, my spirit drained. No, nothing happened. Sometimes sadness and doubt and fear pay me a visit. At times, just one of them, at times, all at once. They cuddle up next to me and spend some days picking apart my brain until I am left a heap of skin and bones retreating into myself and wondering what the hell I am going to do next. For the record, no I do not think I am depressed. I think I am unsettled. I think I have cracks in my armor. Cracks that I accept and lean in to, but also am so desperate to find the right glue.
I am a hermit. Straight up. I have to force myself to leave the house sometimes. I could go days without talking to anyone but Jimmy. And it doesn't bother me. I'm honestly not sure if that is "weird," but I am sure it is probably not always healthy. My last job we did that Myers Briggs personality tests. I am definitely an introvert (ISFJ--so not only am I an introvert, but I'm a feeler, yikes! :) ). Where some of my friends feel energized by large groups of people and interaction, I am left feeling drained. And its not that I don't like people, I love my friends. Every time I do go out, I have a blast. So, friends of mine. I am ready. Let's do stuff. Force me out of my shell. If I don't want to go, believe me, I won't. Baby steps.
I chose the wrong career. Eek. Said it. Dropped it. It's out there. Don't get me wrong, there are aspects of nursing I love. Getting to know families and patients. Laughing with them, crying with them. It is all extremely fulfilling. I know I am a competent nurse. I know what I am doing. My co-workers are amazing and have become life-long friends. I get scared, I get frustrated, I feel every single emotion some days at work. But. It has taken a long time (and a lot of denial) to admit to myself that it is not for me. I can't even pin-point what it is that I don't like. It is stressful, yes. But life has stress. It is frustrating, yes. But I think every job has to be like that at some point. I think the easiest way to put it (although this is not easy to say) is that it brings me no joy. To say that causes a blanket of sadness to wash over me, but honestly I am kind of tired of apologizing to myself and to others for feeling this way. It is what it is, and I have spent six years trying to change it. It's not changing. ****SIDE NOTE: Anyone reading this, please, please understand what I am saying. All of the patients that I have encountered over the years that have left the hospital, healthy, and whole again. THAT brings me extreme joy. Kids that have beaten the odds and are kicking ass in life currently, THAT brings me joy. Forever. And those that haven't left healthy and whole, I've cried silent tears for you. I've felt your pain to the depths of my soul. The patients are what keep me going, but unfortunately, the job itself I fear is not for me. ****
I am not sure which path in life will lead me to children of my own. This is a nagging thought that has been eating at me lately. And it won't go away. And it is annoying. Last year, Jimmy and I started our infertility journey thanks to my bitch-ass PCOS. We did five rounds of Clomid and nada. Not too big of a deal, right? There are other steps. So we met with the doctor, got all of the percentages and costs, and I was all set up to start the hormone injections and get turkey-basted (I use humor as a coping mechanism, so what?). And then...I kind of broke. Jimmy and I, at the time, didn't really agree on the next step we would take. So we decided to take a giant step back and not do anything for awhile. Not even a "lets see what happens," we just pressed pause on trying to have a baby (and no we didn't go celibate). And weirdly enough, it was my decision. It was like the seven months of trying with no outcome except crazy hormone-induced emotions and the worst hot flashes imaginable made me go "whoa. NO." I am scared to death to put my body through what I know I will have to in order to have a baby. I'm not looking forward to it and I am not ready. The problem is, now, I have ZERO clue what to do. On one hand, like I said, I still don't feel ready. Mostly because I do feel so unsettled in my life with everything else, why would I bring a baby into that? On the other hand, I'm not sure how long it will take us to get pregnant, so I am scared to wait too long. If someone has the answers, let me know.
So there are my cracks. I have to get them down as words because they fill up my brain and cloud the shit out of it. Then there is no room for the things that make me happy.
Like... Jimmy, and my family, and Jimmy's family, and Lincoln and Addi-- my niece and nephew who are so stinking cute and ornery (I'm looking at you Addi)--although a certain sadness comes when thinking about them because I wish we still lived in the same town--, and my friends who always keep me laughing, and friendly smiles in an unfriendly world, and writing. Writing comes with its own stressors, but I love it. And I hope I can make it one day. No, I will make it one day.
There it is people. The truth. Thanks for reading, and for possibly understanding. If you'd like, share with me the cracks in your armor.