Some days I forget which end is up. One of my favorite things to do is spin too many plates and forget my own name and limitations. Occasionally I drop some, which usually results in my feeling like a hot steaming pile of failure.
If Balance knocked on my door most days, I’d probably assume she was a Jehovah’s witness and pretend I wasn’t home.
There are so many things I want to do, people I want to see, and places I want to be, but there are only so many hours in a day. Typically I stop only when there’s pain and I can’t move anymore, and I’m trying to change that. I’m trying to keep in mind why I started all of this to begin with, and that it was to save myself. This was about me, and finding a place I could actually hear my own voice and breathe.
Lately, I’ve felt like I’m suffocating under the pressures to be everywhere and everything for everyone again. I’ve set up the plates in full preparation for the fall, and today, I’ve decided to just put them down instead of waiting for it.
I am a work in progress, and I need to acknowledge the recognition of my own limitations. I’m only human and God did not create me to save the world (…probably).
I need to write and not worry about how or who it might speak to or offend. I need to reclaim my breath and my voice.
My hope is just saying it might help propel me, because the thought is terrifying me right now.
I have so much to tell it’s scary.