Well, it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve had coffee, and I’m happy to report that I survived missing last Friday’s essay without having an existential crisis about it. Between a head cold that turned into a sinus infection, Evelyn having three poop emergencies during Emily’s last-minute senior pictures, Zoey’s heartbreaking sectional soccer loss, and racing to catch the tail end of the girls’ fall concert, I had just about enough energy left to lie on the couch with a warm compress wrapped around my head and breathe through my mouth.
I had started writing something, but I wasn’t happy with where it was going, and quite frankly, I felt like shit. So I didn’t publish it. And for once, I didn’t worry about it. I figured we’d just pick up where we left off when I felt better, which is exactly what we’re doing now.
I’m still working on the feeling better part, though. I finally went to the doctor and came home with an antibiotic that’s helping clear out my sinuses while simultaneously wreaking havoc on my stomach. And with my period threatening to make an appearance any day now, I’m not entirely sure whether I’m dealing with lingering illness, medication side effects, perimenopause, or some particularly obnoxious collaboration between all three.
Anyway, remember when we were talking about keeping the peace a couple of weeks ago? I’ve been thinking about that conversation, especially after a few realizations I’ve had about myself lately.
There’s a phrase I’ve played around with before about how I sometimes think I’m cleaning the house when, in reality, I’m just walking around saying “fuck” a lot and picking up other people’s shit.
I’m beginning to realize that I’ve been doing the emotional equivalent of that, too. And honestly, it’s slightly embarrassing to admit.
I recently saw an Instagram Reel about people who clean while they cook, and it resonated with me because that’s exactly how I operate. I like getting things done as I go because I don’t want another project waiting for me when I’ve finished the first one. It’s why I schedule appointments together on my days off and why I’ve started dictating my free writes into my phone while I take my morning walks. I’m not necessarily trying to be productive every waking minute. I just like knowing things are handled so I can enjoy whatever time I have left.
The problem is that my brain doesn’t always distinguish between things I can actually finish and things that aren’t mine to resolve in the first place.
An unanswered email from two weeks ago? Still occasionally occupying space in my head. A conversation that didn’t go the way I’d hoped? I’ll mentally revisit it seventeen different ways, just in case the eighteenth time produces a different outcome. Someone else’s behavior that I have absolutely no control over? Apparently, I can devote an impressive amount of energy to that, too.
Which brings me back to the conversation about keeping the peace.
Nick and I nearly had an argument recently over some familiar frustrations involving his ex-wife. It’s one of those situations where things can be quiet for a while, and then something resurfaces that brings all those old feelings right along with it. I have my reasons for being frustrated, but he also made a point I couldn’t ignore. I give entirely too much of my attention to something that doesn’t deserve nearly as much space in our everyday lives.
And he’s right.
That doesn’t mean I suddenly stop having feelings about it, or that I shouldn’t be able to express them. But I do recognize that sometimes I speak before I’ve really thought about what I’m trying to say, and what comes out doesn’t always reflect what I mean. There’s no malicious intent behind it, but I can understand how it might be received differently. Then I hear myself, see the reaction, and realize I’m not especially fond of how I handled the situation.
There are moments when my insecurities get the better of me, and I convince myself that Nick doesn’t particularly like me when, in reality, I might just not be feeling especially good about myself. That’s not the easiest thing to admit at 45, but I suppose self-awareness isn’t particularly useful if we’re only willing to acknowledge the flattering parts.
I love my husband, and I love the life we’re building together. I don’t want to spend so much time being irritated by things outside our relationship that I lose sight of what’s actually happening within it. We have a lot to look forward to, and I’m genuinely excited about that.
We’ve settled into the idea of Buffalo being our next landing spot once the girls finish high school in the next couple of years. We’ve been looking at houses, talking about neighborhoods, and imagining what life might look like somewhere new. There’s something wonderful about the possibility of a fresh start, especially when you’ve spent so much time navigating circumstances you didn’t necessarily choose.
But I’ve also been wondering why, when things are finally calm, my brain insists on wandering backward.
It’s almost as though I’ve gotten so accustomed to anticipating the next problem that I don’t always know what to do when there isn’t one. Instead of enjoying the quiet, I start revisiting things that have already happened, looking for answers I probably won’t find or solutions to problems that aren’t mine to fix.
And here I am, wandering around my emotional house, saying “fuck” and picking up the same shit again.
Every morning when I shower, I have a little ritual where I imagine washing away the emotional, mental, and physical weight that no longer belongs to me. It’s a nice way to start the day, and I genuinely mean what I’m saying when I do it.
Apparently, the part I’m struggling with is leaving that baggage in the shower instead of drying myself off and bringing it along for breakfast.
I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing these patterns over the past year, especially through writing. What I’m realizing now is that recognizing something and actually changing it are two very different things. I can talk about letting go until I’m blue in the face, but if I keep returning to the same frustrations whenever life gets quiet, I’m not really giving myself much opportunity to enjoy that quiet.
And I do have things I want to enjoy.
I started a new strength-training routine this morning. Nothing particularly impressive, just ten minutes of functional movements with light weights that I can build on as I get stronger. My hair is growing out because I’ve decided I’m curious about what my natural grays look like, although nobody warned me how irritating those awkward little pieces around my ears and the back of my neck would be. My nails, on the other hand, are beautiful, so at least something is going according to plan.
I’m also thinking more seriously about what I want to do with my writing and photography. I’ve spent over a year building Still Me in Here, and while it hasn’t grown quite the way I’d hoped, I still love doing it. I want to keep growing this little corner of the internet and eventually turn some of that creative work into income. I’m revisiting The Unguided Woman, looking at how I can better utilize Pinterest, and trying to approach the whole thing with a little more intention.
Of course, being an Aquarius means I can come up with approximately seventeen business ideas before breakfast, convince myself they’re brilliant, and then spend the afternoon wondering whether I’m actually qualified to pursue any of them. I’m also remarkably good at giving advice that I occasionally forget to take myself. Add perimenopause to the equation, and there’s really no telling where my brain might end up on any given Tuesday.
But I’m trying to do something different this time. Instead of making some elaborate plan that requires me to completely reinvent myself, I’m focusing on smaller things I can actually follow through on. Ten minutes of exercise. Making time for the creative work I love. Being more mindful of how I communicate. Enjoying an evening with Nick without inviting every unresolved frustration from the past to join us.
And occasionally sitting on the couch watching Netflix because I want to, without turning it into another conversation about everything I could be accomplishing instead.
I think one of the things that excites me most about moving is imagining who I’ll be when we get there. What I’ll be doing for work, how my writing might have grown, what our days will look like when the girls are older and we’re settling into a different chapter of our lives.
But I don’t have to wait until we have a new address to start making some of those changes. I have a say in the direction my life takes between now and then, and I’d rather spend that time building something I’m excited about than continually sorting through things I can’t change.
I’m not suddenly an expert at letting things go. I’m still going to get frustrated, occasionally say something before I’ve thought it through, and probably spend far too much time mentally reorganizing situations that don’t require my assistance. Old habits aren’t particularly concerned with how many essays I’ve written about them.
But for now, I’m trying to appreciate the things that are going right, put my energy into the things I can actually influence, and get a little more comfortable with the idea that a peaceful day doesn’t need a problem to solve.
And if I happen to miss another Friday because life gets ridiculous, I think we’ll all survive that, too.
So tell me, is there something you’ve been trying to let go of that you keep finding yourself picking right back up? Or are you one of those fortunate people who can actually enjoy a quiet moment without mentally reorganizing their entire existence?
Because I’d love to know how you do it.
In the meantime, I’ve got enough actual cleaning to do around here without continuing to volunteer for the emotional kind.
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