I’m in a funk. I’ve stopped myself from many times from going full on Debbie Downer here, and so far so good, but I can’t keep it in any longer. I can’t recall ever feeling like this, I feel like I’m not connecting, not fitting in, not understanding anything that’s coming my way. I feel like I’m trying to walk in very thick sand.
I’ve lost the twinkle of hope, that passion for making things happen. That spark to stretch myself and try something new. All I want to do is retreat. And this has been going on for months.
I’m hesitant to even put this out there because, really, does the world need more words about sadness? Loss of hope? And then I realized that I know it will come back and this too shall pass, but I feel an itch to share, regardless of how vulnerable it makes me feel.
And you want to know the weirdest part about this funk? It has nothing to do with weight loss. I’m losing, and lately due to loss of appetite, rather rapidly (13 pounds in one week.) Normally I would jump for joy to see these numbers on the scale, but lately, I’m indifferent.
I have a few ideas as to where these feelings are coming from. For starters, I’ve become scared to try something new.
In the past four years I’ve tried a little bit of everything…design, catering, jewelry, clothing design, blogging, e-book writing, and a few more other things that I’ve forgotten along the way. Each time I start out with this hope of what I could become. I fall in love with the potential of a new business, a new idea, a smaller version of myself. I have great desire to “do big things”, but sadly, I’ve come to realize that I was more in love with the result rather than the process.
And because I believe everything in life is connected and related, I know that deep down, what I do and how I make a living has a lot to do with how I feel and care about myself. And somewhere along the line I never figured out or changed my perspective enough on any given thing/business/idea/project to fall in love with the process (a line I’m stealing from The Biggest Loser.)
And I want to get there. To be in the love with the process of taking care of myself rather than the result of being thin, or doing things because I love the action and not because its a defined direction or path.
I find myself worrying so much about things I do and don’t have control over. My mom emailed a quote to me recently,
“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself
to be made a victim.
Accept no one’s definition
of your life,
but define yourself.” – Harvey S. Firestone
The last line is the one that hit me the most “accept no one’s definition of your life, but define yourself”. I’ve come to realize that I haven’t defined who I am or who I want to be. I’ve been waiting on other people to tell me who I am, or who they want me to be or who I can be. That path can be very unsteady. I’ve realized, that I’ve been relying on my past experiences to define who I am.
These experiences from junior or high school where I never felt good enough…my clothes, hair, makeup, body, personality…always fell too short. In the days when opinion flowed out of mouths so freely, where everything on the outside was the measure of a worthwhile person, those days still linger too many years later.
I want to give myself permission to define who I am, who I want to be, and unapologetically become that person. I want to move forward even when fear starts screaming in my head. Fear that my efforts are lost, that they won’t get me anywhere, or that it’s pointless to try.
Recently, I’ve had strong desires to start painting and illustrating again, a skill that I picked up in college and loved. I let it go because I didn’t let myself get good enough. I feared the work that was involved in getting good, I worried that I would spend all this time and never arrive. That I could never feed myself off of it. That it wouldn’t matter. That I’d never be good enough.
And the realization that I stopped doing something because I was both in love with and afraid of the result, rather than the process, knocks the wind out of me. And I understand deeply, where this trend pops up over and over again in my life.
Silly little things and the big stuff too. I’ve put so much weight in these imaginary outcomes, that I’ve stopped myself from ever starting or even being in the process.
What if I lose weight and I’m still ugly, or have a loose skin? What if people resent me? What if I get unwanted male attention? Why both lose weight?
What if I start painting, but never sell a print? What if I never wrap my own canvas? What if I’m never taken seriously? Why bother painting?
What if I never make a good living doing what I love? What if my businesses stop growing? What if I can’t keep up with the growth? What will I have to give up in order to make more income?
What if I start marketing my design…what if I fall short? or make a mistake? or ruin my reputation? What if I’m never credible? What if I fall short or miss a deadline? Why bother design?
And I do this with everything, cleaning, exercising, work, meeting new friends, staying in touch…on and on and on. I can play the “what if” game for so long that I wake up at 29 and realize that I stopped it all before it got good.
Update: This post is good timing for the Things I’m Afraid to Tell You series of blog entries that are making their way around the blogosphere.
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