Giving Myself Time... #Reflections
I feel like I am back to struggling to strike this tricky balance that is time. Like life is not slowing down for my middle thirties and the overwhelming attempt to chase what I should have been chasing earlier on in life is catching up with my fast approaching forties.
The fear of sinking into my donkey years has me overworking my complaining old bones. Knowing these things should've been achieved back when I was nurturing a toxic early marriage leaves me mentally exhausted. Sometimes I can't help but feel like time is running out but my wall clock has me sure that the hours are still eroding the same way.
Why can't I ever seem to appreciate the micro gains? Or the super awesome achievements like being capable of parenting grown children? Why can't I live with myself knowing the time I so crave to read and leave more constructive comments on peoples' works is leveraged by my keeping up with my mothering responsibilities? And it's also the why can't I find myself some enough me times to reconnect and recharge.
The truth is sometimes I feel like I can't afford it. The luxury of not worrying about anything ain't mine and especially because my offsprings feel like my soul extensions. I feel responsible for them and I have learnt to take care of my own the hard way. Actually it was like reprogramming of some sort. The kind you internalise when you realise you and your own are on your own.
Which has led me to always have a problem with trusting people with my issues. But that's a whole different ballgame.
I am learning how to be patient with myself though. The art of celebrating intangible milestones and qualities that I have conquered through time. The what it means to be less mean to me definitely takes up it's percentage as I have never met anyone who could be meaner to self than my former self could.
I felt toxic for quiet a while but time seems to have invited self love back from exile and accommodated it long enough for it want to move back in my traumatised shell.
Good🥰🥰🥰