With every day that passes I feel like I lose a little bit of what makes me whole when I’m not writing on the blog. As I said when I began this blog almost two years ago — RM keeps me growing, keeps me honest and keeps me writing.
The “keeping me writing” part has changed a little, because I write everyday for the family website that I own. But that’s a completely different type of writing. There, I write for others. Here, I write for ME.
There is no preconceived topic or plan, I write what I’m thinking at the very moment my fingers touch the keyboard. I work through the intricate, complexities of my mind, that never seems to stop. I question everything and I look deeply into who I am, what I like and don’t like and I make (sometimes easy and other times difficult) decisions to change what’s not making me happy.
Sometimes, what I think I’m going to write about, takes a completely different direction. Today, I set out to write about my kids — and I may still. But that’s the beauty of what I do. I control what goes on the pages of this blog and I answer to no one but myself.
It’s liberating in a way. There is no right or wrong. There is no judgement (from myself anyway and that’s all that matters). There’s no second guessing what’s on the page, and there’s no doctoring it up for the audience. It’s me on a page — and I’ve missed my daily RM writing since I began my other site almost a year ago.
Currently I’m at a crossroads in my career. My other site is a full-time job and I love aspects of it, but it does not fulfill me the way RM does. Nor, does it allow me the time to write — my RM posts or my fiction. Both of which fuel my life and make me happy.
I find peace on the pages of RM. My other site brings chaos, and a feeling that things are never done. There is always another event, another directory listing, another email to answer. Weekends are the busiest. I should be out there attending events, taking photos, networking to grow the site. But when the weekend rolls around, all I want to do is crawl under the covers and hibernate. Bring the kids in with me and have an all-day movie marathon. I want coffee hour to last five hours and I want my brain to become still and quiet.
I offer up suggestions during this ongoing dialogue I have with myself. So why not stay in bed? Go for a walk with the dogs? Head down to the basement and log a few miles on the treadmill, plug in a yoga tape or simply do that 20 minute core workout you’ve been doing on and off? Get off your duff and go for a hike, a drive or kayak on the lake. Or maybe finally organize that office of yours or tackle the laundry that seems to pile up in every room on every floor in a matter of seconds, so you can start your week uncluttered and organized.
But I do none of the above. I become overwhelmed with the task of making a simple decision. I feel a sense of dread that my brain never will. I feel a headache coming on, a pit begin to form in the bottom of my stomach, and the circle of anxiety that begins just beneath my sternum begins to rear its ugly head.
I am paralyzed.
This is no way to live.
I’m missing out on my life.
I’m missing my family.
I’m missing the self-confidant, know where she’s going, decision-maker I used to be.
I feel like all of my passion, my happiness and fun are being sucked out of me, all because I cannot make a decision.
I wish I could blame it on the depression.
So I curl up in my bed, put on a monotonous film because I can’t even decide what movie I’m in the mood for, and I do nothing.
Something needs to change.
A decision needs to be made.
And I think what keeps me from making that decision is that …
I already know the answer.