I’ve thought a lot about the way I navigate through the world. The way I often caveat or couch statements that I make. The way I offer apologies or concessions, to others, to myself, before it’s even necessary. The way I sidestep the thing I want to really say for fear of the reaction I might receive. I’ve gotten better. I have. I’ve adjusted to be less deferential, less defensive, but still, there are those moments where I catch myself in old, practiced habits.
You don’t have to.
It’s fine if that doesn’t work.
I know that others have it worse.
I’m just tired.
I’m sure I’m overreacting, overthinking, overdoing it.
I’m sure I’m being irrational or needy or acting from a place of temporary lunacy.
I’m certain that there are so many possibilities outside of this one that appeal more.
I should be more chill, more accommodating, smarter, braver, and every other possibility that is not this reaction.
There was one person I never did that with- never. My Aunt Ellen. She wasn’t the person who birthed me. She wasn’t the person who shared my childhood home. She cared about me and my future but was not intrinsically invested in the choices that I made, outside of wanting me to cultivate joy for myself. Also, there was a freedom there. She had grown up and moved on from the woman in the stories I was regaled with and also, she hadn’t, at all. There were some teeny bits of evidence of this lack of evolution. This sentiment. The smallest.
Footie pajamas, an undying affection for Mallomars, a tinkling giggle that erupted whenever a silly animal video was sent to her.
It wasn’t a measured thought on my end. I wasn’t deeply contemplative. I didn’t consider implications. I didn’t think about how we didn’t speak or see each other more than or even as much as others in my life. I didn’t work to rationalize. I didn’t grapple with guilt of outreaching with tales rife with confusion and mess. I just called her. I texted.
I told her those things that you furiously scribble in a journal, unabashedly. The kind of things you whisper to yourself in the dark. The things you ask the universe for, fingers intertwined and sweaty palms pressed together. The things you bury deep in your soul, so you don’t have to face them with any measured cadence, but in your own time, and own way.
And yes, I’ve thought about this since she died. It’s occurred to me. It’s been this mostly invisible creature that’s swims around my consciousness, and still, I think, it’s fine. I miss her. That’s normal. I have people. A very small group, but a good one. And certain of those people will forgive my transgressions when I reveal those bits of myself. They will surely understand. They will not grow weary of me or think me ridiculous. They will just understand that previously I had some other outlet for these bits and now, I don’t. Or I’ll just tuck them inside and find a different kind of coping strategy. A different way forward. It will be fine. I’m fine.
Then, a plan shifted, had to shift. And I exercised my most flexible muscles. I regrouped. I project managed. I had patience and navigated convoluted and maybe dishonest conversations. I waited. I made back up plans to the new plan. This was during a time when other parts of life were stressful, and I didn’t have much, but the little I have- I gave it to the new shape of things.
And then, silence.
I sat on my hands to resist the urge to reach out. There was no need. I would not move the needle. Nothing would shift. I would just have to wait. Or would I?
I did that thing you do when you’re younger, perhaps, when I was younger, where you set an arbitrary deadline for yourself. If nothing by this day, by this time, then I’ll sort myself out. I’ll move forward. I’ll do it differently. After all, the plan was always hazy, and things were never set in stone, and there was always a rear exit available.
It doesn’t really matter, anyway? Right?
So, I waited. And then, I shifted. I put other plans into motion. I outreached and booked and finalized. I tried not to give it too much thought. The only energy I manifested was what I needed to get to settled. I would reclaim my power by refusing to make a home of the space that had been created for me, and rather, I would create a new space, one where I stood alone, as I so often do, and choose my own adventures. I didn’t really have to answer to or clear my path with anyone.
All was well and mostly figured out. I went to bed with a clear conscience and well, relief, and then, awoke with dread. I couldn’t put my finger on it. What was so disastrous? I had sorted it all out and the only items left open were small and manageable. Where was this stress coming from?
I exercised and still, a lump sat on my chest. Fine.
I showered and felt so many emotions beading on the surface of my skin. I swallowed, rubbed the bridge of my nose, and sighed, heavily. I would wish it away. It was just a moment. I was just having a moment.
I got out of the shower and finally, cried. I wasn’t letting myself admit that I was disappointed. I wanted to be okay so badly, that I wouldn’t let myself feel anything else. I didn’t want to fess up to having expectations that led me to this place. It was fine. It was all fine.
Except that it wasn’t, and I didn’t have Ellie to call, or text. I couldn’t tell her that I clearly had built up something in the way that you do when you look forward to it, and because it was failing, and falling apart, I was suffering. I felt rejected and sad and annoyed that I had allowed myself the vulnerability of having asked, having reached out, having tried.
I have people. I have Sus and Doug. I have Neva. I have CR. I can tell these people things. I can, but it’s different. In my most honest place, I know I don’t want them to think less of me. To believe that I’m still stuck, because I’m not. Because I just need to cry it out and then, I’ll move on. I’ll rally.
My father told me recently that a day on Venus is 243 of our days here on Earth. So, I guess I just want one more Venus day with Ellie. Just one, which I don’t think is a lot to ask, really. Just one day so I can tell her that this sucks, and I’ll get over it, but for now, I just need to be sad. For a moment. For one or two Earth days. And she would understand, but she’s not here, so I’ll have to just hold that thought close to my heart.
Hold your Ellie’s close if they are still around, because they won’t always be, or you won’t. And if they aren’t, know you’ll be okay. It might take a day on Venus, but you will be okay.
Really.
X
L.
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