burned out, bedraggled, and broken. these words speak my soul’s cry these past two months.
it was slow at first, the absorption of my life. they asked me to close the young infant room. nothing out of the ordinary. they liked my energy. they liked how i worked with the children. then they moved me to that room as lead teacher. okay, i’m flexible. i’m happy working with newborns-5. then they asked me to take over opening the young infant room, meaning a seven thirty am to six pm work day. okay, it’s temporary. i’ll do it. then some kids moved away and others moved up to the older infant room so they took my assistant. tl:dr i have been working eleven hour days (in a room with three little nine month olds by myself) for the past two and a half months and it is leaving me beyond tired.*
but more than that, there is trauma unhealed painted over by new wounds that are more pressing.
pressing. that’s a good word for it. life is pressing. pressing new memories onto old. pressing new wounds onto old. like stuffing layer after layer of stuff into a too small vessel. but it is no tourniquet.
the sting of failure. the inability to keep from doing what you know you should not. the constant questioning of whether what i struggle with, what i do, with who i am… is valid.
and is it not validation that we are all after? validation from others? from ourself? from God?
yet, when i [we?] receive little crumbs of validation, the words never sink in, it cannot be accepted. compliments are hard.
my old therapist constantly reminded me to “be kind to myself.” and i find her words coming back to me so often, yet i feel so unable to carry out what she so hoped for me.
what i do that seems like kindness is so often unkindness, a chasing after the wind, a filling of myself that will only be purged and punished later.
and God, oh, God, how i wish it were easier to have a relationship with you. and i know the fault lies entirely on my end of things (which does not help matters), but i am so easily swayed and confused. so uncertain of what real love looks like. so sceptical and so afraid to trust.
my identity is uncertain. my heart is numb. it is so easy to think in negatives and numbers. love and kindness and grace are such foreign concepts.
i vomit words because i don’t know what to write, what i need to write. and i promise i am not really this said and despondent (but then, sometimes i am?). i promise i can hold it together (but what if i don’t want to anymore?). i promise i won’t unload all my sob stories and junk onto you (but what if i need to?).
the quiet voice, the one i haven’t heard in many moons, whispers as i type: “stop trying to do this life in your own strength… that’s not how this works.”
and that old voice so true. it is always right. but to truly be submissive, to truly surrender? play acting is one thing. but in truth? in reality? that is terrifying and i am so scared of losing control. of what could and will happen. of letting others into deep and not running away. i left and i left and i cannot run from life forever.
i don’t know. life is hard. it is like playing a game but not having any instructions or rule book. life is a guessing game and i think i am losing.
*don’t get me wrong, i love my job and my kiddos. it’s just a lot right now. and sometimes i feel a bit burned out.