Hubby said that I’m good with words and that I should start writing. A sweet attempt to encourage me to find my passion. My why. My thing that brings me joy.
It’s such a weird thing; writing. We are all taught in school how to spell, write and create sentences, but what words do I choose? What do I write about? What topics are interesting enough that I would even want to put them down onto paper, or even more of a procrastinating thought…that anyone would even want to read about?
“Just start writing, it will come to you”. That’s hubby’s response when I offer up the excuse of not knowing where to start. So, as I patiently wait for the ideas to come, the topics to flow from my fingertips, my thoughts to hit the screen and the magic writing juices to start flowing, I guess I’ll take the loving advice of the hubs…and I’ll just start writing.
Let’s start with the struggles of the past two weeks and what happened that prompted this journaling journey.
Simply put…depression.
A funk, if you will. Two weeks of no motivation. No drive. No desire to do much more than take a shower and then mindlessly scroll for hours on my phone while watching videos of things that are meant to motivate me, but only do so to the point of having the motivational idea pop in my head. The actual movement of my body to try one of those “inspirational” videos, ya, didn’t make it past the thought.
I actually want to be motivated. I want to get excited and jump up, blood pumping, enthusiasm running through my veins as I race towards the thrill of thinking I found what will finally feed my soul. But even that hope and desire and the somewhat motivational videos aren’t enough to stop my fingers from swiping up onto the next video. Continue and repeat.
I tried all the things. Mind over matter. Thinking of all my blessings. Going to lunch with a friend. Praying. Crying. Getting angry. Going thrifting. Nothing seems/seemed to snap me out of my funk.
Another day would pass and another goal that tomorrow would be the day I would wake up and accomplish allll the things. Morning came. I got in the shower. Put on my make-up. Got dressed. Then sat. Ate. Sat around more. Ate some more. Scrolled to get motivated. Sat. Looked at clock and realized the day was fading by. Ate again, cause ya know, doing nothing makes you hungry. Or at least for me. I’m always hungry. Eat a huge meal and I’m hungry an hour later, you get the point. Hence my thighs. Moving on.
The vicious cycle of wanting energy to do something, anything, but not finding it was starting to get irritating. I was irritating myself.
Literally.
I was irritated for not being motivated to do anything, then I became irritated because I was irritated that I wasn’t snapping out of it, which then made me irritated because I was tired and lazy and really didn’t want to do anything, which started the whole cycle over again. I was a delight.
During these two weeks of, depression. Funk. Loneliness. Boredom, I couldn’t understand why I was in the place I was in. My candle business was growing, I had tons of workshops under my belt and on the calendar, friends, one son had just graduated from college, other kids were happy and thriving in life, a happy marriage, two dogs that absolutely drive me bonkers, ahem, that I absolutely adore, bills paid and food in the fridge. So what the heck was/is this all about?! What gives?
Maybe I need a job, ya know, a real job. Not a work from home, for yourself type of job. I started looking up part-time, and by part-time, I mean parrrtttt-timeee jobs. Ya know, just enough to get me out of the house to the point where I can start complaining that I’m tired, and wish I didn’t have to work that day all while contemplating if I should call in sick. That type of job. The idea alone makes me want a nap.
Nah, that’s not gonna work because who wants to get out of their yoga pants to go to work? This is a post pandemic world, no one works in business clothes anymore. Do they? I don’t know, I’m so out of the loop.
Hey, maybe that’s my issue?! I’m not in the loop anymore? Maybe if I caught up on the trends and started changing my home décor for all the seasons again, that would bring me joy? Ugh, that just sounds like it would take too much energy. I don’t have much of that these days, if you remember. So now what?
What brings Angela joy (you know I’m serious when I start referring to myself in third person), but honestly how does one know what brings them joy? Am I the only one who still feels like they are trying to figure that out? Is there a test I can take? I’ll do it. I’m serious about this getting out of this funk stuff. I don’t want to stay in this space forever.
Until then I guess I will document my journey, per the hubby’s recommendation, and just start writing. Writing myself into the future I dream about, but at this moment, lacking the energy to take the first step. Wait. Maybe this is the first step? It’s more than I did yesterday so I’m feeling pretty good about it already.
Please note I have not been diagnosed as depressed, nor do I say that I have been feeling depressed to discredit anyone who suffers with an actual diagnosis. I am a huge advocate for mental health and believe we would have a lot less crime in this world if American’s treated mental health as serious as we treat cancer. However, I do believe that we all suffer from depression, funks, mood swings and the like from time to time. Some seasons need intervention of a medical professional, and other seasons do not. At this moment, I am choosing not to seek help professionally. I have in the past sought out counseling/therapy and I’m open to receive treatment again in the future, but right now I believe this is a season, a slump if you will, where I need to learn more about Angela and truly get to know her and what brings me joy.
I hope you will choose to continue to follow along, without judgement, through all the ups and downs, and desire to change and grow, as I journal my way into finding that inner joy and self-love. I pray this hopeful optimism and journaling journey will carry me through the days when the idea of doing life just doesn’t feel appealing.
…and if you’re feeling trusting of me enough, I would be so honored if you felt comfortable to share your journey with me. We are in this together. One passed minute, but hopeful for tomorrow, day at a time.
Xoxo,
Angela