I have struggled this week.

Truthfully, I have struggled to finish the days set before me. And I've struggled to start the days too. 

I've been redrawing boundaries with folks near and dear who should know better but don't. It's hard work, heavy work. I am often riddled with self doubt and a desperation that consumes me. I want to be understood. I don't want impossible things to be asked of me. Sometimes people hurt you most when they are trying to love you. That doesn't make what they were doing less hurtful.

In my family, I am the boat rocker. The one who finds the dirt under the rug. The bridge builder. The yeller. The question asker. The defender. The confronter. The first to apologize--regardless of whether I feel like I have the most to apologize for. The one who never stops trying to make things better. I ask for more. I know I intimidate and exasperate my family. But I know no other way of being. 

I reached the tragic place of being too exhausted from yelling into the void. So I withdrew. For the first time in 30 years of doing family, I stayed quiet even though I had so much to say. I hoped that those family members would respond more to my absence than they had to my constant effort because I was out of ideas, out of energy, out of words. And to my great surprise, a few folks came back. Some came accusing me of abandoning them and that was ironic. And some came cautiously, quietly feeling out the ground I had left empty.

In both cases, I have needed to be clear about what I will and will not accept when people try to love me. I am glad for that down time when I withdrew. It's helped to prepare me for this next phase. But still, I am exhausted. Keeping these people in my life in healthy ways is taking everything I have. Physically, I am barely strong enough to see this through. Some mornings, I can barely see much less think. My stress affects me in my sleep. I clench and grind my teeth until I am sore from the top of my head down through my shoulder blades. I wake up feeling like my teeth are vibrating. My face feels like someone slammed it into the asphalt. 

This morning, all I could think of was that my tongue was the wrong shape. It had been flexed all night and I couldn't remember how normal people hold their tongues--touching their front teeth? Probably not rammed up against the roof of the mouth like mine. If I relax it, it feels like it's going to fill my throat and I won't be able to breathe. That's probably the anxiety talking. But knowing that doesn't solve the fact that I don't know what to do with my tongue. Round and round my thoughts raced while I tried to fall back to sleep. 

I am not ok. But I am trying to be ok. I am the kind of "not ok" that comes from trying to fit the pieces back together. The kind of "not ok" that no one can really help ...unless you want to do my laundry, clean my kitchen, and help me think of soft foods that sore teeth can handle. I have a lot of friends who like to give advice and share experiences. I do not lack answers. I need folks to massage my clenched shoulders and tell me that it's ok to ask for what I need even though I know that. And honestly, most folks advice and relevant experience has begun to stress me out. And my body simply cannot digest anymore stress. 

I hate this season of life. No one wants to be this fragile. I do not want to hurt this badly. Sometimes, I dread going to sleep because I might wake up in so much pain. I'm on a full regiment of stretches, hydration, vitamins, herbs, regular (soft) meals. (I realized that haven't been eating enough because my jaw gets tired so I need to prioritize soft foods if I'm going to feel full). All of this barely maintains functionality. I've become someone who falls asleep with a heating pad on my face. 

Today I woke up at what I would call a 3 on the pain scale. But I don't know what someone else would rate it. All I know is that I have been in 70% more pain at some point in the week so this isn't too bad. Despite the pain behind my right eye and in the back of my head. Trying to account for how familiar this pain has become but also adjust for how annoyed I am that it is still here and I don't know what use a pain scale is except to say that I am still here in this body no matter how much I wish I was a robot or a plant. Still here. Still stressed. Still trying.

To all of the people who will tell you to "manage your stress" and smile like they are giving helpful advice.

How is that working for you?

In this world where every single thing you could love has been broken. In this world where not loving will kill you differently than loving, but both will definitely rip you open. In this world, where truly no one has it all figured out and no one ever will.

You hear me? No one will ever have it all figured out. 

This world, where we need each other just as deeply as we hurt each other. Of course there are seasons where we are stressed to our limit and our bodies cry out for rest and repair. And I won't feel guilty for  any of that. After all, I am here to love and love hard. No matter what I lose. 

When someone tells me to "manage" or "reduce" my stress, I hear "spread your love out thinner" and "care less about the people who make up your world". If you don't know where my stress is coming from, be careful about telling me to cut out the source. Sure, sometimes, the source is toxic and rotten. It needs to go. But sometimes the source is love. Sometimes the source is asking people to love you as hard as you have loved them. Sometimes the source is one last chance. A desperate attempt to make things right.

For a little over two weeks now I have been struggling with headaches and overall soreness from clenching and grinding my teeth at night. One tiny day at a time, I've been inching my way towards that dreaded title, chronic pain. Pain without purpose. Pain without end. Pain with such a distant beginning. Few things terrify me like chronic pain. The need to be so incredibly patient with a body that is not on your side. The need to be so ineffably strong so your pain doesn't seep and soak into everyone around you. The need to advocate for yourself but not constantly bring it up either. 

I'm a morning person so I am taking this one extra hard. I love to wake up in a quiet house, read, stretch and take things slowly with a cup of tea. But when I grind my teeth, none of that happens. I wake up wishing I could remove my face and groggily try to brainstorm things that will make the pain stop. It takes all morning. Today, I didn't feel myself for a full 5 hours. I stretched, drank water, took pain killers, tried (and failed) to finish my tea. But the pain wouldn't let go. 

And I cried even though crying made it worse. And I clocked into my desk job even though I wanted to sink into a pile of blankets and not feel a single one of my bones. And eventually, the vice lessened. We'll probably do it again tomorrow. And that scares me. Knowing that when I wake, it will be back is awful. Knowing that it's reasonable to expect a daily tax of 5 or more hours from here on out. I'm hoping to find solutions but it's so hard to manage pain and seek answers at the same time.

Grief is weird. All of these years of being friends and I still get surprised by the way grief shows up uninvited and unannounced. 

Today is one of those days where all of the people I have left and lost throughout my life combine into one. All of the ways that I couldn't be who they wanted or needed me to be string together. All of the things that I almost said stack up against all of the things that I shouldn't have said and the scale trembles under the weight unable to determine which regret is heavier. 

I feel small and unlovable in a deep and ineffable way. I've determined that these days are just pain for pain's sake. My reptile heart is shedding its skin. No matter how loud and angry I get, there's still all of these soft, broken pieces that it is too late to protect. No matter how nice and accommodating I am, someone is bound to step on the debris. 

And I wonder, truly wonder how long until I really feel whole. But that's not the right way of thinking about this. Tomorrow I might feel whole. Tomorrow I might feel worse. And I know that I used to feel broken all of the time and walk around like I owed the world an explanation for how I could show up in so many pieces. My broken days are much less frequent than they they were 10 years ago. But this last year has conspired to remind me of exactly where I come from in every possible way. I spent a month digging through the corners of my trauma. I feel raw and fragile, like if someone leaves the window open, the winter wind will take me away. 

I wonder if all humans have days like this where the ache is all that is real or just some of us. Music helps. So does poetry and really every other art. Feeling connected to humanity and also feeling the hurts of someone else can help give structure to a grief that could easily drown you.