I Have No Idea What I’m Doing (Pt. 2)
Damn, if I thought things were hard and confusing before, I feel like this current state of life is the graduate course in having no idea what I’m doing.
Status update: living with my sister and her family, unemployed for months, coping with a global pandemic, navigating supporting the Black Lives/civil rights movement, and grappling with an increasingly divided country that often times feels like it’s on fire.
For over a couple of weeks now, I’ve been having this nagging feeling that nothing is okay. I’m not okay, the world’s not okay, life’s not okay. Which, considering the state of the world and our country, doesn’t seem completely unfounded.
I’m one of those people who wants to fix 500 years of oppression and injustice in 5 weeks. I don’t defend this inclination, I simply recognize it. And so, in letting go of this idea, I continue to do the work and learn, focusing on what I can do on an individual level.
But the more I do, the less satisfied I feel.
I’m sure I’m making the mistake of connecting my self-worth with a sense of progress, feeling as though the value of myself as a person rises and falls with how much I feel I’ve been able to accomplish.
I’m so desperate to get all of this right: social justice, life, being a good family member/friend/citizen. And I’m desperate to believe that there’s a rainbow at the end of all this struggle, confusion, and pain. And each day that I don’t wake up to a sense of relief and instead find myself more frustrated, more upset, more distressed, I feel like a failure. I feel hopeless.
And on a rational level, I can see the problematic elements of how I’m choosing to cope. I’m burning myself out. I’m centering issues around myself. I’m falling into shame and guilt. It’s not sustainable, it’s not healthy, and it’s ultimately not productive.
I’m floundering. Floundering to know who I am in this world, to others, to myself. And even in saying all of this, I question if these words are right, are whole, are worthy of being read. And I feel all the less worthy because of it.
Catastrophizing — this is the word my therapist uses to address this type of thinking. But the unfortunate truth is that awareness and knowledge are not enough to extinguish these fears of unworthiness and unlovability.
And so I write. Not because I’m seeking sympathy or comfort, but because it’s what I know.
The practice of holding space for pain without trying to fix it is fairly new to me. And I’m realizing that as much as it applies to others, it applies to myself. I cannot fix this pain of unworthiness, self-doubt, and chronic sadness. (Which is not to say there is no action that could be taken.)
I’m learning that space between denying my pain and wallowing in it. I’m learning that that space even exists. I’m learning that in order to help others heal, I have to help myself heal. I’m learning that that’s not selfish or narcissistic but necessary.
And writing this is not what is going to heal me. This is merely one step on the path. And after I publish this, there will be waves of insecurity, doubt, and fear around choosing to write these words, to share these thoughts and feelings.
I resent the fact that there’s no fast track to healing. Or that there’s not even a finish line. It makes me angry to know that this, all of these experiences, right now, in this moment, is it. This is life. (Ugh.) I resent a culture that tells us that feeling bad is a personal shortcoming. That “bad” feelings are to be treated with denial, avoidance, or distraction.
I hope that if you get anything from this, it’s the right to feel bad. Because that compassion for yourself will always extend outwards. Fighting for ourselves is fighting for others, and it gives us the knowledge and tools to fight against the oppression and domination of our culture, which tells us that our bad feelings are our fault and our problem.
Anyway, I love you. And I wish you the best of luck as you continue to put one foot in front of the other. And I’m here if you need someone to bear witness to your pain. And if not me, look around. Because if you’re in pain, I promise you there’s someone else around you who’s suffering as well. We’re not alone, and fuck a culture that perpetuates isolation in pain. And that’s coming from someone who’s been guilty time and time again of using pain as a justification for isolation.
