I huddled on the floor. Under a blanket, I hugged a pillow. I felt relaxed, but my mind was venturing to places I hadn't given it permission to go.
An hour ago, I was pacing from room to room, opening doors and boxes, overcome with stress about how I was going to fix my business's production problems.
I was auditing mistakes — comparing the amount of time reported on tasks to how long it took me to do them. A highly engaged me was toggling my stopwatch app while printing t-shirts and packing online orders.
I'm positive there was a better way I could have spent my time.
Walking around the disheveled house, muttering to myself, I searched for solutions to make the process faster, easier, and more foolproof for a single employee.
I get really into solving puzzles like these, and honestly, it drives me a little crazy. I turn into a ball of live wires, and when I'm in this mode, no one should touch me.
So when my husband offered me a few puffs from his already lit joint, I partook out of necessity. It's the kind that has most of the THC bred out of it anyway, so it's not a big hit to my evening. But it is enough to pull me out of my high-pressured, hunt-for-mistakes, find-a-solution-now mode.
We ate dinner — the same dinner we eat every night. As usual, we watched a movie and a little bit of a show. Our routing is lying on the floor in front of the TV until he feels sufficiently sleepy to move on to his nightly routine part two.
He is very good about exercising and doing self-care things. And most nights I just fall asleep on the floor like a dog.
On this particular night, under the influence of extreme stress and CBD, I lay on the floor in the fetal position, thinking of everything I'd done wrong.
This was not a happy place.
I'm almost 40 and don't have a stable income. Of course, I could go and get a real job, but honestly, I'm not cut out for that. I flunked out of "normal life" decades ago.
I married wrong. My mom tears up when she thinks of the aerospace engineer I dumped. He was so charming and friendly and above all — easygoing! And then what happened to the investment banker I had dated in my twenties? Or that international bank CEO's son I was engaged to? Weren't they promising?
I had to end up with a guy who is perpetually injured, dealing with a brutal history of family traumas, doesn't like social activities, and is most offensively — disagreeable!
My business is stupid. Why am I making graphic t-shirts for rock climbers at my age? Trying to sell my visual comedy to kids two decades my junior while also raising quizzical eyebrows at their trends and feeling the cultural gap grow every minute.
Do you want to know the biggest insult? It's when a parent wants to buy my product for their kid, and the 8-year-old screams, "I don't want it!" That is soul-crushing.
How am I going to "make it"? No one is helping me; I'm all on my own. I don't have the right knowledge; my parents fucked me over. I'm burdened by a litany of past mistakes, watching my savings dwindle, and now, I'm getting old.
This is the stress beneath the stress. The riptide below the waves calmly lapping along the beach.
A wall of shame hits me. My body temperature rises in tandem with my mounting anxiety.
I need to call my main client and see if he’s got more work. Maybe he can give me a full-time job instead of my seasonal gig. I should look into getting a divorce. I could find someone more compatible with the lifestyle I want, right? I should forget about my entrepreneurial dreams. My father failed, and I have his genes. Who was I to think I was smarter?
Under the pressure, I break down. I hate admitting it, but I’ve lost.
But I am learning that losing isn't the end.
Here's what happens when you admit defeat: you have to accept the facts. Now you have to pick up the pieces.
Among the pieces in my hands are some truths: I can’t redo my life. I can’t be reborn or be given a different skill set.
Oddly enough, gratitude begins to sprout from a broken seed. The skeptical part of my brain reminds me not to slip into gratitude as a way to avoid what must be done. But I can't help noticing all the things I do have.
I have a home to live in. It’s not in the best condition, I can’t really afford all the updates it needs, but it’s here and the mortgage is reasonable. It holds my stuff and is in a great neighborhood and it’s not going to fall down. I am grateful.
I have a loving partner. He isn’t going to help me build an empire, and we’re not going to be that cute social media couple with an aspirational lifestyle. But I’ll be the first in four generations (and possibly more) to marry someone I love. And even though my family doesn't get why I married someone unconventional, I know they're inwardly proud and maybe even a little jealous that our relationship is fun and fulfilling despite not being “useful” to each others’ social lives or careers.
And that cute engineer? Our mutual friend’s been texting me all week about how insufferable his recent visit has been, and I remember all the reasons why my exes are exes.
I begin to remember that my business won't be in this state forever. I’ve already started working on its transformation. I’ve just been putting it off because the change will require me to be a bigger person. I’d have to become more responsible, someone with authority and presence. And instead of pushing myself to fill the role, I’ve been overwhelming myself with tiny details that don’t really matter.
I come up for air. I can breathe again. My heart rate returns to normal.
As I count my wins and losses, I also see a new beginning. In many cases, what feels like defeat actually isn't. My relationship, my business, and my financial situation are all areas that need more nurturing and care.
But there are real mistakes that I can pick out of the emotional mess. Priorities I let sit by the wayside. Struggling with drawn-out processes that should have ended when I knew they were ineffective.
The defeat of things not going exactly my way still stings. If only I had folded my hand sooner, could I have moved on sooner, too? A martial arts lesson comes to mind: don't struggle stubbornly, change your grip instead.
It turns out that the moment of surrender/acceptance/defeat is key to progress.
Moving forward, I’ll be better equipped. I’ll do my best to avoid mistakes I've made in the past. I accept the new role I must fill. And yes, that means I might have to become more disciplined. Learn to delegate. Do the hard thing — be responsible.
It’s work, but deep down I want to do it. I want to be more effective. I want all the pieces of my life to work together and form something beautiful and great.
After another cycle of hope, effort, downfall, and surrender, I can see my progress since the last cycle.
There is still a long way to go, but I'm on the way there.
I resonate with so much of this Leslie. "It’s work, but deep down I want to do it. I want to be more effective. I want all the pieces of my life to work together and form something beautiful and great." It's the work of growing up, and it can happen at any age, which is fortunate for people like me. Sending you wishes of triumph in this.
I saw one of your shirts at the gym yesterday!