I was thinking about grief today. I know- a strange bedfellow to the joy of the holiday season. Or is it? Specifically, I was thinking about the way in which I’m grieving the versions of me I’m trying to leave behind. The worst bit, I think, is that I started this little journey into self-growth really angry at myself for bad decisions I’ve made. I was absolutely just lathering myself in sloppy, ugly, regret. I wasn’t particularly motivated to move through it either, until I had a conversation with Sus, who immediately suggested that wasn’t the most productive path forward.
I know she’s right, but that’s a tough pill to swallow. If I’m being honest, it feels good to self-flagellate. There’s something utterly self-righteous and gratifying about being first in line to call yourself a fuck up. That kind of masochism throws a big ol’ blanket on top of all of the consequences. All of the after. It’s a strange way of taking responsibility without really taking responsibility. It’s faux accountability, and the worst kind, because it just leads to that gutting kind of sadness that doesn’t help anything.
What I mean to say is- Sus knows her shit.
What was I losing my mind over? Oh well, all the times I’ve allowed others to devalue me. All the moments when I was swimming in imposter syndrome and allowed myself to be completely scammed in the most egregious way possible. Scam is too generous, because that lends itself to the notion that there was a fooling that occurred, and really, it was not, that. It was a concession. A willing bending of the knee.
It felt too hard to put a high value on myself and too easy to subscribe to a narrative that justified bad behavior and worse treatment and piles of frustrations.
And so, I find myself mourning the version of myself that was so permissive, so insecure, so malleable. I want to hug her, to boost her, to support her, to lift her up. I want to tell her to be brave. Braver. To make demands of people, to hold people accountable, to ask for more and then, if less is given, to make a reasoned determination as to whether the less is still sufficient.
It’s easy to wallow in that kind of grief this time of year, really. It’s the perfect mirror to hold up as one speeds towards the end of year. Taking stock occurs and in that process, there is so much room to assess and judge. What was right, what went wrong, what’s to be done about it all. It’s just as easy to choose hopeful as it is to choose hopeless, really.
This has been a tumultuous twelve months for many of us, for our own reasons. There has been loss and chaos and fear. I have worked in a way that isn’t particularly healthy, and tried to match that time with equivalent fun, and then realized that’s not exactly a good decision, either. Too much is almost always too much. Well, except for hugs and peanut butter. And walks, and laughing- but, I digress.
2025 really gave me a run for my money. It made me ask myself over and over again- who am I? What do I have to offer? Am I good enough? Am I enough? What do I want? Where do I want to go? What do I need?
I consistently asked myself these questions and felt endlessly frustrated that the answers were often different. I vacillated, I wavered.
I told myself I couldn’t run anymore and then I beat my goal time in a race.
I told myself I couldn’t successfully take on more at work, and then, I did, and did again.
I told myself I couldn’t survive letting go of people, and then I did.
I told myself I couldn’t handle people letting go of me, and then, I did.
I told myself I wanted things that I didn’t think I deserved, and then, I started to work on feeling like I deserve them.
And through all of this- I still made decisions that hurt me. Still, I found myself driving into Manhattan on a cold night in December, regretting decisions that I had made months and days and minutes prior.
On some level, I’ve accepted that this is a cycle I am destined to engage in, for now. I’m still growing. I’m still learning. I haven’t found my way to that place of contentedness where I know I’m mostly on the right track.
Some days this feels crazy. I’m forty-five. That’s definitely middle-aged (if not a little over it). When am I going to get my shit together? When am I going to figure it out?
Well, I think never. But I think I’m getting closer. I think my learning curve is shorter. I think that this grief I’m feeling is not the most productive path forward, but it’s also a sign that I’m reevaluating in DECEMBER. I’m regrouping now, before this year even officially comes to a close. And, I’m writing this, so it means that I’m not just throwing a pity party – but rather, I WANT to figure out how to shift. Sure, I’m a little pissed at myself, but more than that, I am strongly motivated to not feel exactly like this come next mid-December.
I guess what I’m saying is that Sus is right (always) but also, not. Regret is unproductive, but grief can be cathartic. Grief can lead to a metamorphosis if one desires such a transformation, and I do- desire such.
I think it’s just parsing out the parts that don’t serve you, which can be incredibly difficult during a time of grief, but also, necessary. You just have to be able to dig in and admit that things feel pretty bad, but they are hopefully going to get better, and the only way forward is through. You have to know that these things are never easy and always take work and that’s really okay. It’s the good kind of work. The best kind of work.
I guess what I’m saying is be sad. Cry a little, or a lot. Be mad. Wish you had done things differently. Accept that you didn’t. Resolve yourself to doing things differently.
Be brave.
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