Could it be that easy?

I have been debating this post for a while now. Do I want to share about me again or do I prefer things the way they are right now? Truth is, I don’t know. And, as so often, I go with the flow and with my gut-feeling.

When I started to write this blog, it was about music. Then it turned into stuff about me. It morphed into a place where I shared poetry and short stories I wrote until it became about me again and finally fell silent for longer periods of time. My entire online persona changed. The way I use social media changed to the point that I only really use IG, and even that I only use sporadically to share personal things.

Personally, I was never one who chased the dopamine high of likes, although I would lie if I pretended not to care about views on the blog. For a while, I was very selfish and maybe even overly confident. I posted on X or IG and expected people to react. I wanted attention. Not getting it was okay, if mildly disappointing. But that slight disappointment also led to me (over-)thinking and coming to the conclusion that I am not important. My presence on this earth is important for very few people, but the majority of people on this earth don’t know that I exist.

That thought would have scared me shitless months and years ago. Now it makes me smile. I did nothing to deserve much recognition. I live my life – a life many people live. I am married to a wonderful man. A man I often underappreciated because I thought I deserve more attention or love or whatever. I was just too blind to see and understand that love is not about big gestures, it’s the little things like filling up the car for me or doing the groceries and bringing back my favourite crisps. It’s sitting on the couch watching a show on TV with my head in his lap; it’s having a weekly date night and talking and laughing so much that people don’t believe us when we say we have spent almost a quarter of a century together.

I have three wonderful teenagers. They rarely fight between them and never do with me. They still come to me with everything that bothers them and although they are on the lazy side (they can be slobs) they also know how to do chores and they take care of their old mom when she’s sick again – like I am right now (and have been for weeks). There is a lot of mutual respect in our house, there is room for everyone’s privacy and there is a lot of talking and laughing and dark humour. There are also mandatory family dinners. I want us to have at least one meal daily as a family. And on holidays and Sundays, I recently started to expect the family to be dressed formally, as opposed to being in a sweat suit or yoga pants.

Last September I started a job as a teacher. It turns out to have been my dream job all along. For now, I have to finish some trainings and teachings at the local university to finalize my contract and become a government employee, but come July that should all be accomplished. I have great colleagues who have the same work ethic as me and who also love their job a lot. I got this one by chance, but I am very grateful.

If you are a reader of the blog or have been for a while, you’ve probably noticed that there are rarely posts about my mental health anymore. There are also rarely new poems. Both go hand in hand. I don’t want to jinx it, but for now I am in a very good place. Of course I still have my bad moments, but I ride them out in private and allow them to exist too.

As for writing poetry or fiction, I am simply not inspired right now. For several reasons. One is certainly the better mental state I am in. But another is the lack of music in my life. It sounds weird for some, I am sure, but music has always been a big influence on me. Right now, with work and all, I am not as open to hearing or searching for new music. The lack of music definitely also comes from using less social Media like X. I follow many musicians and music lovers there, but since I can go days without checking the app, I also miss many great finds and shares. At times, it feels as if I should apologize for being less available. But in the end, no one cares about that – rightly so.

I am just little old me. And I think aging helped me put many things in perspective. I am 41. Probably too old to write random things on a blog like this. I am 41, and after years of chasing shadows, I finally understood that I was chasing my own. A bit like a dog that is chasing its tail.

All my life, I was doubting myself. I was wondering what others were thinking about me and if I deserved their time or their affection/love. I still wonder about it sometimes. But it does not define me anymore.

I wear my black clothes because I like them. I am obese and if I took care of my hormones (ie took meds) and my diet I could lose some weight, but it’s not a priority. I read what I want without needing approval of a (non-existent) best friend. I watch the movies and shows I find interesting. I take the pictures that I find intriguing. I watch the stars and the moon and am in awe of sunrises. I go outside when it rains and when there are storms and I jump into puddles with both feet without fear of being judged. I don’t dye my hair and let my curls show my age. They are brown and white and orange at the tips – some would pay lots of money for that colour, but I am blessed with it the way it is.

There are all these demons looming over me, and there are too many memories of the past waiting to make me bleed. And that’s okay. Because every wound heals again. It makes me weaker at first, but stronger in the end. If that makes any sense at all. Months ago, I would not have been able to write a post like this. One with lots of space between me and everything else. The power the past and some people in it held over me became less and less. It is not gone by any means, but right now it is easier to endure.

Nothing is ever easy for someone like me, but right now, everything feels doable. As if I have a chance to survive the bad moments. I will never be a very strong woman – I am too insecure, but right now I am content and most days I am even at peace. If the cost of this peace is not writing any poetry or fiction, then, for now, that is very okay.

It could be worse.

Thank you for being on this journey with me, and if you managed to read all the way through here – thank you. You are a hero in your own right.