If there is joy in being an educator, I can’t seem to find it underneath the stress, the anxiety, and the overwhelmingness of the burden of having to go it alone. That last one is indeed the most important part of it all.
You’d probably think it’s the students, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, they are the best part of what I do, however I cannot truly appreciate them. I cannot appreciate this experience because I am not in my best place.
I don’t enjoy complaining although I find myself doing it way more than I care to these day. Instead I search of reasons to be grateful, to be joyful, to be thankful yet I cannot ignore this sinking feeling that I feel. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not at all as fulfilling as I imagined it to be. I never expected it to be easy, but I certainly did not think for a second it would be this difficult.
Psychologically and emotionally draining, desperation invades every cell of my body as I beg the Universe for a peaceful escape. It never comes. I rage over the tiniest little things. My children cry out for my sanity to return. I’m sorry. I’m sorry is something I say too often. I’m just doing my best to cope with this mania marked by intense moments of euphoria right before plummeting into the darkest place I’ve ever been in my life. I’m a Capricorn; naturally prone to depression. I just wish I could disappear.
Anxiety has become my best friend; an omnipotent companion. Patiently waiting to send my world into a tizzy of spinning rooms, shifting hallways, and dizzying blackouts. This isn’t safe nor healthy yet I can’t quite afford to do anything about it…yet.
Yet….this word is a constant in my life. I’ve come so far yet I have not arrived.
Do you know what it’s like to be a single parent with no help at all? And I don’t mean no help as in no other parent: no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or just a good friend to help out. When my children are sick or the daycare is closed there is only me. When there are places to be and things to get done, there is only me. Doctor’s, dentist, dance, and dinner…it’s all me. This society is by no means, single parent friendly.
My kids think I’m super woman. They believe I can do anything and everything. I plead for their help. There is no-one else to ask. I’m constantly on the brink of a break down as I try to get them to understand that I cannot do everything. It’s just not possible. They don’t understand. Perhaps one day they will. Until then, I grow resentful of the fact that my children handcuff me to my every promising word yet they do nothing more than make excuses for their father. I try not to say ugly things about him even when I know they are my truth, because it only makes me look bitter. I promise myself I’ll do better.
It not easy to not pass on your stress to the persons closest to you like flu to a weakened immune system. Everyday I tell myself, I’m doing the best with what I have and somehow that doesn’t feel true. Truth is, I’m afraid. Fear is an overseer; a slave driver and I am the slave. Everyday, I think of just getting in my car and driving away. Then why don’t I just do it. Nothing is stopping me…nothing but fear. Fear has me tethered to this life; bound under ball and chain; a cage bird, no locks on the door. Even as I feel how much I don’t want to be here.
I’ve been jobless. I’ve been car-less with two kids and no access to public transportation. I’ve been homeless. I’ve been dependent. I’ve been broke and broken. I’ve been in all these spaces, left feeling like I never want to be in such a place of vulnerability in my life. There is no rest for the weary. I’m afraid to go back to these places. I’m afraid of being a burden to someone else. The mere memory of it gives me anxiety. I just want to be able to do this without all these feelings of icky-ness.
Where is my tribe? Where is my village to help me raise brilliance? Why is the world so “every man for himself”?
I feel so displaced even as things finally seem to be falling into place. A little voice whispers to me constantly….spiritual blocks leave me with pain in my lower back, tightness in my chest, and labored breathing. My words come out jumbled. My vision is sometimes blurry. I reassure my body, I am listening.
Between being a mother, working this day job and the million things that each of those encompass, there has been so little room left to invest in my passion, my experiences….to invest in myself. Every fiber of my being is resisting this way of life. Everyday I have to coach myself to get through the day; cheering myself on at each milestone; celebrating the short lived victories only to begrudgingly wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I wish to meet my days with joy instead of dread.
I love this blog. I love doing this. I love talking about sexuality and all the things I talk about here. This is what I want to do. Summer 2017 was hands down, the best summer ever. For the first time I experienced what it felt like to find a sure thing; to discover something I’m truly passionate about. You have no idea. My personality oozes disinterest. I do not easily excite except when it comes to sex. It’s obvious why I never made this connection about myself before this stage of life. I had been too busy hiding and being ever so careful to separate myself from social stigmas I hadn’t been consciously aware of….conditioned to believe that I was the one in the wrong. I’m still hiding; still for protection, only now for a different reason.
Not being able to do this and feeling like I “have” to do something else instead in order to fulfill the basic human needs of me and my offspring has be feeling angry and defeated. Feeling like I have to choose this or that makes me feel sick.
The sin of a double life is such a fucking burden. I want off this rollercoaster.