No rest for the the weary

“I know I can’t slow down. I can’t hold back. Though you know wish I could. Oh there ain’t no rest for the wicked until we close our eyes for good.” - Cage the Elephant

I’m not sure if I’m wicked or weary. But I know I’m broken.

It hit me this week on Monday. I had a minor-ish breakdown on Sunday, hadn’t slept in a few days, and then made my daughter promise she had packed her costume to return to dance. After one of those epically tough days at work, we get to dance and the first words out of her mouth were, “Mom, I’m sorry.” Without thinking I jumped back in the car, drove home, losing precious minutes of working time while she’s in dance, grabbed her costume and decided a golden milk latte was just what I needed to soothe my nerves.

What I didn’t need was a 16 oz hot latte with turmeric — which stains everything yellow — to fall all over my white kitchen cabinets (newly painted for my house sale) and my white dog (who still looks a little yellow after a bath and spent two days being a shakey dog, probably because hot lattes don’t feel good on the skin).

I sat on the kitchen floor and cried.

I know that no one should cry over spilled milk, but when spilled milk comes on top of everything else, it becomes icing. Icing on the cake of a life that is falling apart and being held together by cheap, crappy tape. The kind you regret buying as soon as you get home from the hardware store.

30 minutes later, 80% of the staining was cleaned up and I went to hand over the costume to her dance studio owner - who also happens to be a dear friend of mine.

I was quiet as I handed it over, barely holding myself together.

Apparently the tape wasn’t strong enough anymore to hold together #allthethings and a life coming apart at the seams.

Pick your adjective: Weary, Wicked or Broken. Regardless money doesn’t grow on trees and kids don’t raise themselves.

Funnily enough, I drew this piece of art months ago, because it resonated with how I felt at the time. But there wasn’t a post to go along with it, so I held onto it for the perfect occasion.

This is the week it found it’s home.

Monday night, I was doing the mindless social media scroll of death instead of working because I knew I had zero brain power to accomplish anything, and a paid ad hit my radar for a journaling and wellness app subscription.

I normally don’t buy paid ads (except for the subliminal retargeting ones that pitch a product I was already considering but didn’t buy…).

But I was different. I was desperate.

Therapy had failed. I had failed. One big fat F. I was willing to try anything.

So I did.

And it was exactly what I needed to bring me back to my roots and remind what I’d forgotten.

Monday I played.

Tuesday I found my center and realized I had given up my morning alone time in the last few months (bad idea for the record). As I carved it out again, I started producing again.

Wednesday, I figured out the demon I was fighting and was able to hold my daughter without judgment in the middle of the night while she cried, both of us sleep deprived, both choosing to be present.

Thursday and Friday I had a breakthrough when I remembered I created this life.

This principle had gotten me through so many trying times in my life.

I am in the driver’s seat.

I may not have chosen my circumstances, but I chose to move across the country to give the kids and I a chance at a better life and a fresh start, surrounded by the right influences and support. I chose to write a keynote speech because I have a story to share that I think will help and inspire others. I chose to build a business that will help others and that one day will support me creating for the world vs. consulting for an individual. But there’s a lot of work that it takes to get there.

Sometimes we just need a reminder of what we already know.

What do I know? That Pinto driving down the road is mine. And I might as well slap a bright coat of yellow paint on it and enjoy the ride.