The truth about the truth

I know I tend mostly to be upbeat. I tend mostly to be a cheerleader for writing and the writing life. Still, my life is far from perfect. I don’t even know what the perfect life would look like. I have chosen to be candid here, because I have been inspired by a fellow writer, a fabulous blogger, and a friend–Linda Cassidy Lewis. She writes about her successes as well as her frustrations. I write about writing, the good stuff, and then have long periods where I fail to post. I give the excuse that I have been busy, but what I really mean is that I have been struggling.

I sat in a hospital waiting room today. I sat there and waited for X-rays with my daughter. It’s part of our routine. It’s been part of our routine since she was only weeks old. Every six months we visit the orthopedic. Still, we are fortunate. We live near one of the best pediatric hospitals in the world. Today, it was made clear how fortunate we were as we watched two young boys from somewhere in Asia (I didn’t ask where) who were flown here for surgery. I know I am lucky on so many levels. I know this. I know.

Still, there is only so much pulling up of bootstraps one can do before, ya know, the arms start wearing out. I don’t know where to begin really. I have been putting on a good face for a long time. I put the face on to hide the shame I felt about being a single mother. I put the face on to show I can handle my daughter’s disability or the horrors of my own cancer. I put the face on to get me through college, yet again, because I blew it the first time. I can feel the throbbing muscles in my cheeks. They throb because my real face can’t hold those facades up much longer. This is not a pity party. This is the real me, the real tired me. Part of carrying all those faces, part of looking like it’s all going perfectly is the act of doing way too much and forgetting to be in the moment. So, in this moment I am going through a decompression. It happens when I pile it all on, and I work and work and work, but things go in reverse instead of going forward. Bills pile up, disasters happen, and the crap just keeps coming. My whole adult life has felt like a race to nowhere. I don’t know what the game is or how to play it or what to do anyway. I write. That’s the only game I know, whether I am good at it or not. I just write, except for today. I didn’t write today because I was dowsing fires all day. Perhaps I’ll get into that in a future post, but today I’m tired and have accomplished nothing except to say in this post that I am tired and that’s the the truth.


NaNoWriMo word count for the day: 0

NaNoWriMo word count to date: somewhere over 18,000 (the site was down)


4 thoughts on “The truth about the truth

  1. Linda Cassidy Lewis

    I hope it made you feel a little less burdened to write this post. You know, of course, that I can relate. I don’t think I can relate to someone whose life is always “just great”. If anyone’s ever truly is.

    Life is hard. And sometimes it’s absolutely over-whelming. It’s all right to say, “I can’t handle it.” It’s natural to need help. Sometimes we, especially women, think we’re supposed to be strong enough to do it all, be everything for everyone. And we do … for a while. But it always catches up with us in one way or another.

    Drop the facade. Take off the mask. Weep when you need to. Bleed out all the fear and anger and exhaustion into your writing, if you can. Most of all, breathe and be real.

    You’re in my thoughts.

    1. survivorscribe Post author

      Yes, Linda, I feel less burdened unloading the day. It’s frightening to be that candid. I commend you. Thanks for always being such a great friend.

  2. Tricia

    Having written a similar post myself a few weeks ago, I can relate. But only about certain things; we don’t all carry the same weight of life. When it carries the health and wellness of our children, the weight becomes unbearable. And yet we must remain our strongest. That’s hard to endure for very long.

    I hope for good health for you and your daughter.

    1. survivorscribe Post author

      It is indeed hard, Tricia. I think the hardest part is wishing I could stand in for her during the worst of it, but I can’t. I can only be there for her.


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