Begging to Give Myself a Break

Blue Monday by Annie Lee

Begging to Give Myself a Break

    I just moved into my apartment. I’ve been living here for about two months now and life has lifed. It’s been fun stepping into this new stage of adulthood—single living has been crazy so far. From my first car accident, dreadful Tinder dates, and juggling the demands of work, I’ve been pushed into so many directions, all of which have forced me to grow up.

    Before I left home, while I was budgeting my future paychecks while still living rent free with my parents, I was having a conversation with my dad about financing my expenses, living relatively alone in a new city, and planning out my next steps in life. I was pre-stressing, anticipating the pressures I knew I was going to have soon. My dad was amused, jokingly going on about “sleep when you got bills is real different.” Boy, has that been true.

   Getting into the throws of work has been exhausting—thanks a lot, Saul Alinsky—and organizing has been the feat of a lifetime. My hats are many—counselor, surveyor, ethnographer, graphic designer, campaign manager, hype woman, voice of reason, preacher, thespian—and there haven’t been many breaks. This week alone I’ve traveled to a whole different state and I’m currently ready to go to another in a few days. Work has invaded my sleep, invaded my peace. I shudder when I take a deep breath. I think about myself different. I see myself differently. And although I’ve encouraged others to feel it all, to let it all be known, and to care for themselves, I have once again failed to do that myself.

    I was sitting by my complex's pool today thinking about that, actually. I was listening to music and the bubbling of the pool water, reading a book from the library today, and I felt guilty. The election is coming up. What am I doing here? What actions are taking place in the neighborhood? Where am I needed? What good is reading going to do? I’m lounging when I should be doing the spade work! Toil the soil! It’s a droning noise, an unreachable itch to always be productive. There are no breaks in the struggle. But guess what? 

    I’m the one breaking.

    I am in a stage in my life where I am having to beg myself for a break. I’m so used to perpetually fighting, pushed to capacity and then some, and the moment that I give myself a second to watch trash T.V., nibble on some ice cream, or sit pool side, that itch, that droning noise come back. And I’ve continuously fooled myself into thinking that they're a part of me. That’s just how I am. I’m always driven. I’m always on ten. I’m always going to be the voice, the strength, the girl that people can look at and know they can depend on. And it’s breaking me. And yes, yes, yes I recognize that my purpose and fate are inextricably linked for seeking out the goodness in us and lifting people into dignity, but who am I outside of struggle? I don’t know if I have a clear answer, and that scares me.

    So today, I am graciously giving myself a break. I am sitting down with me. Just me. I’m letting my hair down. I’m sitting still. I’m listening to the crickets and the fall wind, the small chatter outside my window. I’m listening to myself, feeling out who I am. I’m blogging again (haha). Even if it’s just for right now and today. I’m taking a day to be.