A tweak in my neck this morning has left me only seeing what's right.
I couldn't have made up a stronger metaphor for what my life needs right now if I tried. So much lately has been about what's wrong.
I'm carrying a lot on my shoulders these days, much of it by my own doing. It doesn't help that I had to stop taking the meds because they destroyed my stomach. And the nuva ring I started last week was making me so anxious that I had to pull it out.
Or maybe that's my own hormones. It's hard to tell lately.
I stared at my body in the ballet class mirror, larger than I'd want it, flucuating, I swear, every couple of weeks courtesy of hormone surges that I'm pretty sure push me up and down a clothes size.
If I'd run more, or eat less, or JUST ONE LESS COOKIE God I'm too old for this bullshit.
I realized the other day as I stumbled through the woods on a Monday evening run with neighbors, the last, slowest member of the group, that I just want to feel like I'm good at something.
That sometimes just finishing, doing, or surviving isn't enough.
I know it's the old kid of an alcoholic coming out, someone I've done well to scold and punish until my mom lets her out of the corner again and says "It's like your father risen from the dead!" when you are just doing a regular old nice thing like clean her disgusting house.
And my shoulders ache with the weight of that burden.
My best was never enough in my house, you see, it always had to be "the" best, and since I couldn't always be the best I just didn't try a lot of things. I just gave up and watched and waited and hoped because I didn't want to mess up or fail. Even though my best was often better than anyone else's it just wasn't good enough.
Quinlan tried out for The Nutcracker last week and didn't make it, but God I was so proud that she tried, the odds stacked against her based on age and ability level, because I would have never done it. I would never have even tried.
She stared her failure right in the face and flipped it the fuck off. Metaphorically, of course.
I told my mom I couldn't carry her shit with my dad anymore. And the nonsense between my husband and his mother that works it's way into our daily existence has no place here.
And I'm trying hard not to care about messing up, about being the slowest one at the back of the pack, when it comes to being a wife, a mother, a person.
I'm looking at what's right. For now, because I have to. But even after I can see both ways again.
My best is enough.