I understand. I understand what it is like to just want to roll up in a ball and hide from the world.
I understand what it’s like to want to pull yourself into a cocoon of white noise and drown out the clatter and bang and clutter and clang of the world.
I understand what it’s like. To just want to lay down and curl up on your side on a warm spot on a sunny sidewalk and just feel the sun soaking into your bones from above and the heat rising up from below while the breeze blows over you like a tender caress; to want to plug your ears so the sounds don’t get in and you can just focus on nothing but the feel of the heat and the coolness of the breeze on your skin and just make the world go away for a little while.
I understand what it feels like to see yourself outside the bubble, looking in. Wondering what all those other people have figured out that you haven’t. I understand. Why the soft fuzzy animals and blankets and pillows and sweatshirts are so appealing…because the world so often feels like it is nothing but edges and sharp corners and little jagged pieces of glass.
I understand. How some days the simple decision of whether or not to get out of bed can seem too complicated. Too many choices. Is it toast or cereal today? Both. Easier that way.
I understand. I understand what it feels like to think that everybody else has things all figured out, and you’re the only one struggling to try and plug at least some of the pieces together in the right order.
I understand what it’s like to have the people around you need you to be the strong one, when you feel so often like you are the least qualified for that particular job. I understand what it’s like to put the keys in your hand and the bag over your shoulder and lever yourself out the door into the outside world and just get one leg moving and then the other to the car, and turn the key, and drive towards work, the entire time feeling like you are swimming against the current, like there is this flow, this stream trying to push you back into that warm, safe, silent space you try to build around yourself whenever you can.
And I understand what it’s like when “whenever you can” isn’t nearly often enough.
I understand what it’s like to try and use alcohol to drown out the voices, to soften the edges, to slow things down enough that they don’t feel quite so much like they are going to run you over if you don’t get out of the way. I understand the allure of the fuzzy feeling that pretends to tell you that everything is going to be all right, while secretly stealing your life away from you from the inside out.
I understand how food can become a friend when no one else will. Food doesn’t fail you. Food is hot and sweet and chewy and warm and comforting and easy to find and easy to have and it’s there when you need it. But it doesn’t fill the real emptiness, and so it’s a temporary fix, but you keep trying without realizing that’s really what you are trying to do until one day you look in the mirror and barely recognize the face looking back at you.
I understand how hard it can seem to just, keep, doing, the, thing. To love life so much, and to be just a little bit scared of it at the same time. To look with some suspicion at any promise of hope, to approach anticipation with a kind of wariness simply because you’ve been let down or disappointed so many times before.
I get it. I understand that it can be scary to try something new when you feel like you are only just barely getting the stuff already around you figured out.
But I’ve also come to understand that it’s worth it. That it’s hard, but it can get easier. It won’t ever not be at least a little hard, but then again, that’s the only way we really grow — trying something new. Spreading your wings. Taking a chance. Take a risk. Feel joy. Get hurt. Be comforted, heal, and try again.
Rinse. Repeat.
Love it!