All of my updates are stuck in drafts.
I start to reach out but lose the words like my train of thought.
“Save as draft?”
Save as draft.
I want to tell you I’m sorry the air is heavy this year. I haven’t gone underground I’m just buried by the SHOULDS. I want to tell you about the weight on my shoulders and the pains in my heart but I don’t want you to worry.
When I read my words back sometimes they sound like alarms and I don’t need to alarm you.
But I am far from fine.
And saying that feels like a betrayal of my immense privilege.
I want to tell you, my heart was breaking and then I saw a deer! And it turns out, broken pieces of a heart can still feel joy and love. But you might wonder what broke me and I don’t like that story.
It’s a story we all already know
It’s one we read everyday.
Six years ago we shouted a chorus of ME TOO and for a moment the sisterhood was visceral.
But the collective outrage did not usher in a new age.
Every day my daughter gets older. Thank goodness, it beats the alternative, but how the hell do I prepare her for this battle?
How do I tear down the Frat House?
How do we keep our words? Our train of thought? Our humanity? Or maybe it was lost long ago.
I hate it here. And I love it here. And I miss you and I love you and I’m sorry and it’ll be. It’ll be. Maybe not okay. But it’ll be.
And so my incomplete thoughts stay stuck in drafts because how can I express this ickiness stuck in my skin.
So if you feel stuck in the ick, I have nothing to offer except the knowledge that you aren’t alone.
