I always feel anxious around New Year's Day. I struggle with winter, and January first always marks the start of what is (in my opinion) the worst month of the year. It's dark, cold, and in some ways, punishing.
I have never looked back at the end of a year and been proud of my accomplishments. I always, instead, feel like the year was wasted in days, weeks, and months of thinking that tomorrow, or next week, or next month, maybe I'll finally get it together. Then, inevitably, the week passes, the month passes, the year passes, and here I am the same old me -- still struggling, still treading water, still wondering when I will actually do the things I hope I will do.
But then, another part of me pushes back against that.
This year was different.
I had a baby. That baby took more from my body than I ever gave before, and I have been spending weeks and months working to rebuild strength and come back from injuries. All the old insecurities and weaknesses returned -- including my old friend bulimia, which constantly tells me that I don't belong, that my body is worthless, that people will overlook me and forget me and judge me because of how I look.
I think you'd have to actually have an eating disorder to know what it is like to constantly fight one. Even if you don't actively act on disordered eating tendencies, the voice is always there in the back of your mind. You just always have to be stronger than the voice, which takes so much self-control. That self-control comes from a finite source, and it draws from other areas, leaving you feeling like you're always fighting but accomplishing nothing.
This year, more than any other year, I've made progress in diminishing the "eating disorder" voice. I think it is working, but I can tell you it has been a lot of mental work.
I've also been trying to resolve a lot of past struggles that go back to childhood. It's been hard to uncover painful memories, re-experience them, and then resolve them. It's been even harder to dismantle the comfortable memories that I did have, seeing the pain that lay just underneath them. I think that the experiences I had growing up made me independent, tough, and able to work through discomfort. The stronger the wind, the tougher the tree, after all. Although trauma gave me great sea legs, I found myself walking on dry land as an adult after a childhood navigating rough seas. I was struggling to adapt, to understand people, to understand myself, and to know what was normal and good. I have a cynical streak I cannot shake. I have trouble getting to know and trust new people. Near-constant anxiety is a familiar companion.
I can say that I am starting to know what it's like to walk on land without falling over. That confidence came with a lot of emotional pain and, again, a lot of draining mental work.
So, even though all the things I wish could have happened this last year didn't really happen, here are some things that did happen:
- I kept a new baby alive and loved with more patience than I believed I possessed.
- I turned a corner from believing that I was a failure in a lot of areas of my life to hoping that even when I don't measure up, I still have value.
- I was diligent about recovering from both physical and emotional injuries, even though it takes a long time and really isn't fun.
- I got better at keeping my things organized.
- Clark and I celebrated our 10-year anniversary, and even though we aren't perfect, my relationship with him is the best thing I've created for my life and the life of my family.
It's foundational. It might not ever really end. But if I ever want to run up a mountain, I've got to learn how to walk on dry ground.
Happy New Year.
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