Sunday I will be sleeping in a different bedroom in a different house, and when I refer to the room and the bed I’m presently typing from, I will call it “old bedroom.”

Remember how the kids couldn’t hear us having sex in our old bedroom?

I have been dreading this.

I have a lot of things closing around me right now, some voluntary, some not.

This is my final Camp Throwback, I’m pausing a facebook group I love and have grown for years, we’re leaving our home, and on my birthday my husband’s factory closed for a year.

I second guess all of this closure, especially at 3am when I’ve already insomnia-ordered all the random shit Wish advertises to me on Facebook.

I look forward to your arrival, tank top with Nicholas Cage’s face on it.

But my doctor, the new person I see because he writes medications, and not the old person I saw who only listened to me and exhaled deeply through his mustache but had no ability to write me medications, is a big proponent of me prioritizing my time and head space, but it’s a habit I’m just not used to.

I have a lot of feelings about this “new me.”

At first, I heavily disliked her.

I’m 37 years old now, and I know that my ability to work in front of a camera or in fashion is fleeting. Is it fair? No. Is that the truth? Often times, yes, until this patriarchy is dismantled and my fellow sisters from Wonder Woman island take over.

The clock ticking over my head is loud and consuming, and I put everything into this career footrace. All my time, all my effort, all my emotions, all my love.

I’ve missed at least 3 Christmas plays, a kindergarten graduation, and the last day of school the last four years.

I’ve never actually played Barbies with my daughter, in fact, I don’t play anything with my kids. I’m a terrible player of toys. Instead I’m like, can’t we watch a movie together or go do anything that isn’t just you and me intimately playing with that toy in your hands?

I’ve been on my phone dealing with social media, and one of my kids will try to talk to me, or lean against me, or ask me to watch them do something, and I snap away and tell them I am fixing some work drama.

I’m nicer to Andy at events than I am in the car before the event.

I fill our family vacations with fan meet-ups and community get-togethers.

I grant the people in front of me less understanding and time than the people on the screen in front of me.

These are not sometimes. They’ve become oftens.

This list has me ashamed, much like when I have to go to normal confession. Honestly, I used to just make shit up when I went because I didn’t really have anything important to say.

Now, I go in choosing the most egregious.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned, it’s been *inaudible* since my last confession.

What sins weigh on your conscience since your last confession?

I’m really angry with my husband for, oftentimes, no apparent reason. I mean, it’s really excessive and irrational.

I think that’s normal in times of great stress, I think we should think of ways to resolve some of your anger and direct it appropriately.

Can my penance be naps?

I’ve allowed myself time to sit with “new me” and observe her.

“New me” isn’t terrible, but she also isn’t “new.”

“New me” is just actual me.

I am learning to admit that I’ve been depressed for longer than I’ve realized, I just didn’t notice because it’s so loud in here. My depression is an empty warehouse that I have filled to the ceiling with disco balls and people and opportunities. I fill empty with more and more noise, so that I won’t have to deal with the scary quiet parts.

Um, that isn’t fixing, that’s coping.

I am learning to sit with my quiet. I’m learning to say no. I’m learning to stop apologizing for the care and grace I am granting my mental health. I am learning to say I’m sorry and be present for the people I haven’t been fair and present with.

I’ve been a mom for almost twelve years, and this seems like a no-brainer and like something I should be good at already, but I been taking time to really be there with my kids, with nothing in my hands, and it was like soul food.

Last night I laid next to Andy in bed with my phone in the other room and watched Colbert and just enjoyed the smell of him.

These people have missed me longer than I knew “me” was even missing.

Like, seriously, I’m thankful they even let me still hang out with them.

Closure is hard, acceptance is even harder, though.

I think I’m somewhere in the middle. Is sad and good a feeling?

I’m sad and good, in case you were asking.

 

 

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