I saw a friend I haven’t seen in a while. She asked what I’m doing. I told her I’m on sabbatical. She was recently on sabbatical. She said she got to the point she couldn’t take it any more. She was totally genuine when she asked, “So how are you doing with doing nothing?” I said fine. I told her about my house projects. We were interrupted by our children. So we ended the conversation. I had mostly told the truth.
I am fine, but I am frustrated. Why is my body still so tired? Why can’t I lose the weight I want to? When will I stop feeling like there is a fog on me? Why don’t I feel like I used to? Am I really completely broken and just won’t admit it?
I speak to friends from my old careers. They tell me what’s going on, and it stresses me out to even hear them talk about it. I watched a Rachel Zoe episode and I broke out in a cold sweat watching her employees try to meet her unrealistic demands. It brought back too many memories. I tried to talk to a woman about a part-time job: 20 hours a week. It’s work I could do in my sleep. Then the actual prospect of going for an interview was so overwhelming that I backed out of the whole thing. These are not the reactions of a normal person.
I should point out no one is pushing me to do anything. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m being constantly reminded by people who love me I am where I am supposed to be. I am doing what I should be doing. I am taking care of what I need to be. Most days, that’s good. But right this minute, it makes me want to stab someone in the eye with a fork.
I want to be healthy. I want to be sane. I want to be me again. But I don’t know how. I can’t go back to who I was. That much I know for sure. But I don’t know who or what the new me should be yet. I’m in purgatory. And some days it’s really frustrating.