For the record, I want you to know that I intended to write an uplifting column or maybe a funny one, but, friends, I can’t. Not today. My arms are too tired.
That sounds dramatic. I’m actually fine. We’re healthy. We’re safe. Everything’s fine.
Quite frankly, that’s what makes this weight I’m carrying all the more annoying. Spring days at home with the people we love most are the dreams those amazing fabric softener commercials are made of. Close your eyes and breathe in that freshness while you rub a soft blanket on your cheek, gurl, because life is good.
Except that I want to wrap myself in that blanket while I curl into the fetal position and sob because I have to shower again? But I did that, like, a couple of… Ugh, fine.
Note to self, though: Maybe the clothes dryer could be a good place to hide for a moment of solace if needed...
Anyway, has this week been hard for anyone else? And does anyone else feel bad for feeling bad?
I should be fine!
(But I’m not fine.)
Is it the monotony settling in, burrowing like a cavity on its way down to the nerve? Or is it that this disconnected way of living remains indefinite, like a race where the finish line keeps moving further into the distance? Perhaps it’s the contention of the fight over when and how to return to a more normal life. Or the constant news of infections, death rates, unemployment and Lysol injections.
Whatever it is, it’s grating on me like I’m a fresh block of sharp cheddar — I likely smell like one, too.
It’s affecting my momming abilities. My fuse is short, my energy is low, my anxiety is high, and I think I’m developing an aversion to wrestling. It feels bad. My kidlet wants love and engagement; meeting those needs shouldn’t feel like running through waist-deep water.
I haven’t been the best employee, either. Somehow, I work longer and yet produce less. Distraction vacuums creativity out of me like a Hoover. *Thmp* Goodbye good idea that’ll never see the light of day. Enjoy your new life among the amassing detritus of my mind.
I’ve tried gratitude, meditation, sunshine, walking and a stiff Manhattan (even with extra Luxardo cherries), and still, this is really hard.
That’s all there is to it.
And while the thought, “I can’t do this anymore,” bounces endlessly in my brain, I know I will. Begrudgingly. With little grace. And lots of ranting.
So, I am sorry I don’t have a sweet story about the power of love or the importance of resilience. You’ll have to sweeten your coffee with something else, today, because I’m fresh out of saccharine and platitudes.
But I do have this: You may be feeling the same way I do, and it’s OK. My therapist even said so. And so did Brian Stelter in his piece “It’s OK to not be OK right now.” There’s power in sharing, and that includes the ugly bits.
Even optimists get the blues.
Marina Gomberg is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.
