Wiccan Whirlpool

I am really and truly tired.  Weary.  Exhausted.  In a way that says I should probably be taking extra good care of myself or I’m headed for a dangerous crash.  A friend of mine is experiencing such a crash, and her admission made me realize what a precarious hold I keep on my sanity at any given time.  Years of practice have made me such a good actress that it’s even possible for me to fool myself for a while, but when my body starts howling at me I’m not left with anything but to pay attention to what’s going on.

There is so much that is going ok, or even (dare I say) well, that rationally it’s ridiculous to worry or to be down, but brain chemistry doesn’t necessarily respond rationally in my experience.  My deepest, darkest fear is that I don’t matter and that nothing I do will ever matter.  I am keenly aware that this is what was wrong with my dad.  His choices are not my choices, bless the gods.  I don’t run from any fight.  My outcome simply must be better than his.

The problem that is tied up with this is that I have never learned to be weak without falling apart.  I guess my emotional spirit is brittle, like a glass rod or maybe an egg.  It can take an amazing amout of pressure–I can withstand an amazing amount of pressure.  But if there’s a crack in the shell the whole thing is a complete disaster.

I need to learn to value myself and realize that what I do every day already matters.  This is not a short or easy process.  Every day I influence my children, who are both reasonably happy, healthy, and well-adjusted little boogers.  What kind of adults they grow to be matters, and I have a huge hand in developing that with them.  I have good friends and a husband who loves me, and I know that I matter to them.  I have students online and off, and hopefully they would at least notice if I wasn’t around anymore

sigh.  I’m such a drag sometimes.