Episode 3: And I still find it so hard to say what I need to say...
In which our protagonist reaches week 3 and Blue Monday, and is ready to give up
I’ll admit I nearly didn’t send this missive today. I’ll admit that I have been gripped by extreme lethargy, the kind of feeling where even just staring into space feels like an effort. But alongside the guilt about not doing anything, and the shame of allowing myself to be like this, I discovered a tiny germ of gratitude. Around lunchtime today, I realised I was grateful for this lethargy, for it reminds me of the journey and the reasons why it’s so important.
This is the lethargy that’s akin to both years-long burnout and to clinical depression. You know, that “can’t be arsed” fog that descends? The one that also has hints of snapping at people, of frustrated crying, of irrational anger at the littlest things? The swing of mood overload and then a trance-like nothingness, where time is immaterial and the days glide by: this is my companion, and a familiar one. I could write the newsletter, or I could just sit here and stare. No one will notice; no one will care.
I devoured Katherine May’s Wintering this week, and she hit the nail on the head early:
“I feel as though I’ve been falling down an impossibly long elevator shaft, and have just landed at the bottom with a bump. It’s spacious and echoing in here, and I’m still not quite sure how to get out. I’m trying to find my way back to something I recognise.”
It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing to be grateful for, I know, but here I am anyway: I am grateful for the reminder of why I’m here, why I’m doing this.
Today took me by surprise; I thought I’d been making swift progress. I started a self-compassion journaling course with the amazing Joanne Bell of Write to Thrive (sign up for her newsletter; it’s worth it), and I was all smug about how I managed to write myself a “love letter” full of positivity. That is a HUGE step for me. And then I woke up this morning, just… meh. So after a little wallowing, I decided to reframe the emotion. I am grateful for the lethargy, because it reminds me of what I want to move away from. It reminds me why I’m on my mission to self(ish), and it also reminds me that I’m not ready to move on yet. That I still need more time, and it’s ok to take that time.
This life is not a competition; it’s a one-shot deal, yes, but it’s time to reframe the narrative and use that rarity to build a life founded on being ourselves, not a version we think is expected. Life is not for fixing, either ourselves or other people; sometimes it’s about living the best we can within the parameters we’ve been handed. I know there will always be someone better, stronger, more beautiful, more brilliant, and that is ok because I am enough. I don’t need external validation, because I am enough. With all my flaws, all my foibles, but also all of my brilliance, all of my talent. I am safe, I am loved, and I am enough. I need to be comfortable with saying that, as do you: You Are Enough. There is nowhere else we need to be except right here, right now, in this space.
How does it feel?
This message, this epiphany, comes in the week of what’s become known as Blue Monday, which does little to make me mindful of mood and everything to put New Order on the stereo. And as much as the Mancunians are in my top 5 all-time best bands ever, that particular song used to play in my head an awful, awful lot.
How does it feel / when you treat me like you do?
I saw it as an anthem; that Bernard Sumner saw into my soul and pulled out my innermost dialogue. “Yes!” I would shout. “How DOES it feel? Because you make me feel like shit.”
I still find it so hard / to say what I need to say
I couldn’t articulate these emotions when I was a teenager any better than I could in my 20s or 30s. I had my quarter-life crisis and fled to London, and got worse and worse. I met and married my best friend, and got worse and worse. It took a global pandemic and the umpteenth round of burnout and breakdown to make me sit up and actually take notice, to realise only I had the power to change this.
Another Sumner and co composition went on high rotation. It’s amazing how tales of lost love and regret can be retrofitted to my mental health; then again, I’m a pop culture obsessive so it makes sense.
I was upset you see / almost all the time
In Regret, New Order wants to “wake up every day - that would be a start”.
I was a short fuse / burning all the time
My fuse burned out, but I kept pushing. My fuse burned out, but I went by the light of the moon, by sense memory, by sheer persistence. I had to keep going, because what would happen if I stopped moving? What would I be then? Who would I be? But if I focus on the regret of four decades unfulfilled, I’ll lose track of the many more decades to come, blank pages waiting for a new story to be written.
We all float on.
On the stereo 🎧
Float On, Modest Mouse
Because shit happens, and life goes on. Turn it up loud and dance in the kitchen.
Off the shelf 📚
Wintering, by Katherine May
“It often seems easier to stay in winter, burrowed down into our hibernation nests, away from the glare of the sun. But we are brave, and the new world awaits us, gleaming and green, alive with the beat of wings.”
Visual confirmation
I shared my new desk artwork with friends this week. “Look!” I said. “Think this will shame me back into writing the book?” It was pointed out that these were meant to be inspirational, not shame-inducing. I’ve still got work to do, then.
I’d love to hear how you’re going. Leave a comment below and let me know ⬇️
I love your writing, Lauren. It's so relatable, honest and raw.
Thank you for sharing this journey with us. I echo Abby's words: you are such an amazing writer and deeply kind person. Give yourself time to do things slowly, and in your own time.