Monday, September 17, 2018

This is not a library school post.


Last year, around this time, I started library school. All of my dreams were coming true at once, and I was so freaking optimistic. My kids were both in school full time. I had the job I had always dreamed of. I was in classes full of likeminded people. I was sure I had peaked- I felt weird guilt about how great every single part of my life was. Funnily enough, it wasn't the cakewalk I thought it would be. I overscheduled myself with grad classes and ended up having a really tough fall. I stopped all my medication and my mental health was a mess. I was out of touch with my family, and my marriage and relationships with my kids really suffered. And I stopped writing.

It wasn't useless hardship. I've come really far with self examination over the past year. Right around Christmas, when the shit was really hitting the fan, I set myself a group of goals, and they helped me prioritize my life. I pulled back on my classes and finished my first year as a Media Specialist. I got a great therapist and started taking a new medication that I never skip. I committed to communication, and I talk to husband and my kids a lot about things that bother me. I'm working really hard not to be defensive when they bring up the same to me. I'm still hard to live with at times. I still shut down when things get too real. I'm still scared to watch shows or movies that might make me feel emotions. But I'm working on it and I'm very happy in a real way- an earned way.

One really tough part of this past year is I completely stopped writing. My blog posts were just for library classes (sorry about that). I wrote very few Book Riot articles. And my fiction stories were completely abandoned. I dropped my writing group the second I got my new job, and I deeply regret it. There's no way I could have done them the justice they deserve on top of my courses and my scattered lifestyle anyway, but I miss them. I miss my friends and I miss reading each others' work and being deeply invested in the process of writing. I know I'll have it again, one day, and right now I'm trying to make that be enough.

This fall, I'm cautious and optimistic. We have a big huge calendar hanging in the kitchen, a shared Google calendar that we update religiously, and my personal planner- every detail of our lives is written down three times at a minimum. That helps. We have a weekly meeting where we talk about events and chores and every family member can bring up issues (Milo, day one: "I want to talk about how much you guys are on your phones." Ouch.) None of the classes I need are being offered this semester, so I'm taking a break, updating my paperwork with the Department of Education, and trying to be super organized so when classes pick back up, I won't fall to pieces.

I think all the time about what I know was the best year of my life so far: 2015. I had two kids that were so cute, a handsome husband who had just redone our back porch into a little writing oasis that made my heart soar. I had a job that I was good at, that I had been doing long enough that I no longer agonized over every single detail. I had friends I adored, and spent the fall being fawned over as I turned 30- shows, fancy hotel stays, luxurious meals, surprise parties. I ran a book club, blogged, wrote 500+ words of fiction a day, went to the gym regularly, tried new foods and beers all the time, and felt amazing. I felt amazing. 

On paper, my life is "better" now. We bought a bigger house. I got my dream job. My kids are older, out of diapers, in school all day with childcare significantly less difficult. It's all "better," but so, so much harder. And that annoys me. Why is it harder now? It's obvious. I leveled up. I can't have a cozy, lived in feeling in a house automatically- that shit takes work. I can't be an expert at a job in the first year- that shit takes work. I can't anticipate my kids' every need when they're in a completely new section of their development- that shit takes work. 2015 was so great because I had reached the ceiling for that part of my life. I'll think of it fondly for a long, long time. And now, back to work.

(Art via Pinterest by Camila Rosa- her work is absolutely amazing and you should buy some of it.)