Friends, lovers, kind gentlehumans of this broken planet,
How are you? It’s been a minute, I know; the madness of the holiday season washed over me as I’m thinking it likely did over you, too. Did you make it through unscathed?
I didn’t.
I mean, I rode that natural high that carried me through Christmas Day and into Boxing Day, so much so that I didn’t notice it petering off as New Year’s Eve approached. I was looking forward to going to the same house party that we attend every year, but forgot to factor in the emotional bearing that attending said party would ultimately have on me.
I’ve been light on alcohol consumption for the past year or so, and since I’d ramped it up ever so slightly around the holidays, when my husband and I discussed who’d drive us home from this party, I freely offered to do it. He could drink the night away, and I’d sip on LaCroix happily while I inhaled all the breads, cheeses, and sweets I could cram into my mouth. I bet there’ll even be a shrimp ring, I reckoned! It’ll be great, I thought!
And I wasn’t wrong per se—but being sober in a house full of merriment was a trip in itself, made worse by the fact that I was at a party full of dear friends who love and hold great concern for my mom. Many partygoers have known her since the 60s and 70s, and their collective offspring and I have been friends since we were wombmates. My mom is usually at this party; so the weight of her absence was compounded by the collective and quiet understanding of why she wasn’t there in the first place.
I spent hours with various folks I hadn’t seen in ages, updating them on how she’s doing these days (not great, Bob. Really not great.), and shouldering their grief as they processed her decline in real time with someone who understands. There were tears (mostly not mine), sympathetic looks, and prolonged eye contact sustained over sad sighs. And the longer it went on, the more it wore me down. Naturally.
And all the while, my husband wined and dined, cheersed over beers, and had a grand old time. Our kids had a blast gallivanting around with all the other kids at the party, until my almost-4-year-old wasn’t feeling it anymore and decided their time was better spent running around my ankles and asking me for more chocolate. Now I was holding my mom’s friends’ pain as I peppered some parenting moments throughout, desperately willing this adorable child of mine to skedaddle.
As the night wore on and I drifted in and out of conversations aplenty, I found great waves of self-doubt covering over me. I’d stand there with a small group of strong and beautiful women, each of whom had one or two threads of commonality that I was missing. They could all relate to this One Big Thing, and appeared to have a level of happiness and self-assuredness that I’d give my left nut to have. No matter, I thought, I’ll carry on.
I started chatting with a friend’s new partner, talking to this person about the important work they’re doing in the medical field, until the point when someone else came over to chime in, and suddenly the nature of the conversation shifted—oh, you have a PhD AND an MD? Wow! Where did you study? Oh, I’ve heard fantastic things. And yeah, actually, I have a PhD myself. Oh, wow! That’s incredible! Mhmm. At first, I fawned while I batted away feelings of inferiority; until the point at which I realized I’d been phased out of the conversation altogether. I was standing there with these people, but they were only talking to each other. I don’t have an MD or a PhD, I thought. Wow, you dumb idiot with a useless undergrad degree. You suck. This was where the spiraling really began. Feelings of What am I even doing here? quickly morphed into I’m worth nothing.
Moments of connection and bonding were happening all around me, and I’d lost my footing entirely. I couldn’t find my place.
Perhaps that self-deprecating internal narrative was inevitable, but I think it was exacerbated by how long and late this evening was getting, and how ultimately alone I felt in a sea of folks who seemed to me like they had it all together. I’ll tip my hat to my neurodivergent brain for that one.
So I ended up spending New Year’s Day in tears; processing other people’s grief, wading through my own, acknowledging the complexity of it all, and wondering what the fuck I’m doing with my life, where the fuck I’m supposed to go from here, and why the fuck I even am at all.
I hate my brain on a frequent basis. Every now and again I’ll laud it for the things it does and has done, but I spend the bulk of the time berating myself for not being better. Spending nearly 40 years thinking that you’re a shitty neurotypical person before learning that you’re actually just a run-of-the-mill neurodivergent person is a really, really fucking difficult and confusing thing to deal with, it turns out. I was diagnosed with ADHD almost two years ago at age 38, and I’m still learning and exploring the depths of my neurodiversity while I grieve the childhood I had, the abuse I sustained, and the life I lived in the darkness. I suspect I always will be.
So yesterday just happened to be a day for licking tender wounds, wishing myself another person and another life altogether, and wandering around in the dark cavern of my mind without a torch in hand.
I look at you and I see your good job, your happiness, and your confidence. And I admire you deeply. But then I turn around and look at myself in the mirror to see the reflection of an inept and helpless fucking idiot with an invisible disability. It’s not fair. I want what you’re having. The grass is always greener on the other side, I hear you say. But listen to me – I’m not even looking for sod, I swear. I’d graciously take literally anything that isn’t my brain’s half-dead blades of grass fighting for their survival amid the winding, suffocating trails of Creeping Charlie.
What a way to kick off 2023!
Dear Zombie Jesus, I’m ready for some feeling of purpose, direction, and lighter days ahead. Ya feel?
Cheers to each of you who’s made it this far. I’m wishing you all the peace, fulfillment, and joy that I myself am presently lacking.
Bless.
Oh how I feel this. I’m right there with you. Let’s try to be kinder to ourselves this year.