I need to fully understand everything—why someone did something, why something didn’t work out, why it wasn’t the right time, job, or situation. I need to understand the motivation behind what people say and why they behave the way they do. I need clarity and closure. I need to dissect every interaction and decision until it makes sense.

Otherwise, I get stuck—

Stuck on ideas, what-ifs, and whys.

But it doesn’t work like that. And part of moving on from people, situations, jobs, and relationships is accepting that I won’t always get the answers I’m looking for. There may never be a good reason or any closure. It may never make sense to me.

Part of this work is grieving the what-ifs.

Grieving a life I no longer live.

Dreams that are no longer possible.

Grieving relationships with people I truly wanted to keep in my life.

Grieving what I anticipated my 40s would look like—who I thought I’d be, where I thought I’d be, and who would be with me.

Grieving life without parents and how different it might be if I had them in my life.

Every day I am grateful for what replaces that grief. Letting go involves embracing new people, new experiences, and new dreams. It means reimagining life and accepting things as they are now.

There’s no going back. And holding on to the what-ifs only keeps you from experiencing what’s coming.

The past few months, I get the feeling like I’m moving forward while feeling like I can’t move. I get momentum only to get knocked back and have to start again. Every time I feel good, the feeling is fleeting. The stress, uncertainty and chaos are always there. There’s never a feeling of being over that hump. So how do you find happiness and stability in a life that has instability and hurt? How do you ask people to go along that journey? It seems unfair.

I have very little to give anyone. I have so little to give myself. But I do have a lot to be grateful for. I have been working so hard on my mental and physical health and I have two jobs that I do genuinely enjoy. And friends that I love.

But there’s an overwhelming cloud over my life that doesn’t go away and has become increasingly hard to live with. It impedes me being able to connect with people, build strong relationships and be vulnerable. I am constantly on guard and waiting.

The weight of my shit can feel too heavy that the only option I see is to be alone. I don’t want others to have to deal with the ups and downs. With my ups and downs. Isolation is easy. I can retreat and deal with it myself or at least get over the humps. I can’t expect others to have to deal with the emotions, stress and chaos that comes with my life as it is now and probably will be for a few years. It’s a lot to ask. I can’t even deal with it.

But it’s lonely navigating this when I can’t let people get too close. I feel guilt when I over share or dump too much. There’s a lot of guilt and shame. How could I possibly be here? How could I let this happen? Why can’t I just deal with it and move on?

But I have no idea what moving on under these circumstances looks like. How I make sense of the day to day and also live my own, happy and fulfilled life. What does that even look like when you are being batted down the second you get the strength to raise yourself up?

I don’t know what happiness, true happiness, looks like now and there are definitely days when I am unsure I deserve it. Maybe this is the price I have to pay. The experience I must go through alone to atone for asking for my peace and freedom while hurting others. Maybe I need to accept that.

I do know, now, that when there starts to be light, when I start to swim above water, the darkness comes rather quickly. Each time more frustrating and exhausting. So much so that I can no longer enjoy the times of light when I know what’s coming.

So much of my experience I can’t articulate the actual pain. I can’t articulate the overwhelming emotions. I feel them but I can’t, and don’t want to, pass them on to others. And so much I can’t even really share opening which is lonely.

It feels lately very much like a journey I need to be on alone. How I travel it without pieces of me dying along the way, while healing myself, I have yet to figure out. And maybe never will. But there has to be some reason for it. I have to believe it’s for something; atonement, growth, or enlightenment. Or maybe punishment for not understanding my own mother’s journey. And having to experience that solitude and pain myself.

I hate the idea that the decisions I made, the choices I made, would impact anyone other than me. And maybe because the biggest choice I made hurt people, so many people, this is what I deserve and should have to push through alone.

I just don’t know when the light will come and stay…

I spent years going to holidays, events and plans I didn’t want to attend. I spent years offering to do things I didn’t have the energy or bandwidth to do. I spent years placing the happiness of other before myself.

And yet no one loved me more, took care of me more, treated me better or reciprocated my energy. Most of the time my discomfort, exhaustion and time was never considered. I didn’t grow closer to people or feel valued.

But even knowing this, I still struggle with setting boundaries. I still have a hard time saying no and sticking to it. I have a difficult time putting my own needs before those of others and expressing myself.

The last couple of months, I have been forcing myself to set “polite” boundaries. As my therapist reminds me, you are not being mean when you calmly and carefully explain to people that the answer is no or that you are not willing to go there. I am not the bad guy just by saying no and preserving my mental and emotional health.

The toughest part has been sticking to it. I hate the thought of people being upset or thinking I am an asshole. Clearly, I need to also work on not caring but it bothers me not to be liked. I want to be the person who is easy going and laid back. I don’t want to upset people. But that too often comes at my detriment.

This week, I set a really small and insignificant boundary and yet it felt like a huge accomplishment. I didn’t get triggered or upset. I calmly explained and said no. I took the anger and annoyance and I didn’t back down. A small interaction helped me see that life will not end when I start to speak up for myself.

I want to be liked but the older I get the more I want to be respected and valued. That means more to me than being a doormat or being easy going. All of my relationships that have felt off-kilter or flawed, were unequal. I need to be able to show those around me what I will tolerate and how I expect to be treated. And as a result, I think they will respect and value me more and I will feel less resentful and angry.

Some of it was situational. Some of it was an accumulation of things that were happening. And some of it was just me. Responding to the news, the weather, the winter, the holidays and being sick. Constantly on edge and struggling to stay afloat. Constantly listening to the voice in my head dissecting my every mistake, decision and reaction.

But those bad months can feel like too much and trick you into thinking that you made a mistake...many, many, many mistakes. They can convince you that you offer no value. You have little light to share. That you are a burden.

This week my therapist said, "I don't know how you are hanging in through all this. It takes a lot of strength." And yet, these past few weeks have made me feel weak and tired. I don’t feel strong.

I know I will push through. That the chaos both personally and in the world will hopefully die down or I will learn to just live with it. But after so many life changes, finding the hope and joy takes energy. It takes determination. I have to force myself to find the happy moments, to track the wins, and to rebuild my inner dialogue that spent months tearing me down. I have to find the good. Within myself and even within situations that are causing pain or don't make sense.

I am constantly grateful for those voices who remind me that people do see my light and purpose and are there to build me back up. They are the voices that step in when I am not strong enough to convince myself. They keep me hanging in through it all.

This is something that has been an ongoing struggle for me. That I hold back pieces of myself when I know someone may not understand or be interested. It made me think about how we can still be authentic with people we love but just not whole.

And then it made me think, can we ever show up whole or are we always editing ourselves based on the situation, relationship and connection? Are there people who see our full selves? How many people have actually been comfortable enough to show their full selves to me?

Maybe that is where we struggle. We are always editing and holding back. We want validation, appreciation and love and if we feel we won’t receive that, we hold back the pieces that may prevent that. But often those are our best parts.

I think this is why I felt so exhausted for so many years. I spent so much time trying to learn who I am and what I want but remained too scared to always fully share that. I learned to edit myself in such drastic ways, even with people I love. I felt hesitant to go too deep and show too much. And that got lonely and felt so draining.

There isn’t anything worse than feeling like you may be too much. The fear of that definitely prevented me from wanting to build any deep connections, especially with anyone new. It takes so much trust and time and can be so risky. And if not reciprocated, it can feel too vulnerable.

But when we shut ourselves off like that, we don’t open up in ways that allow others to open up to us. We risk losing out on connections and relationships that may provide us the opportunity to show up wholly. To be fully seen and loved.

I have been working on this in all my relationships, new and old. Not overthinking, not editing and being open to allowing them to do the same. There’s a freedom in just being the person you are in your head outwardly to the world. Less anxiety, less stress and less fear of being too much.

This past week, I went out on a couple of dates and a lot of the questions were about what hobbies I enjoy in my free time, where I want to travel and what I hope to do at this stage of my life. I get completely overwhelmed by these types of questions because the truth is…I don’t know. And thinking about it makes me uncomfortable.

I was never asked where I wanted to travel. I was never encouraged or supported in picking a hobby that would require me having some time to myself. And I have never had the freedom to decide my own future plans without factoring in the needs and wants of others.

As an adult, I have never made decisions based solely on how I feel and what I want. And I am struggling with how to make those decisions. I am struggling with discovering what it is I actually like and what I want to do. I have never been in a position where there were so many options and where other factors weren’t present to make the decision for me.

How do I know trust myself to make these life decisions? What if I can’t trust my instinct or judgement? What if it doesn’t work out and I have to rebuild everything all over again?

Do I want to stay in this area? Stay working in this field? Get married again? Travel? Learn a new a hobby?

I don’t have answers to those questions yet because I don’t enough experience with focusing my life on me. And I may never really know. It may evolve and change as I continue to grow. My biggest focus is trying to enjoy the unknown and live in the “I don’t know” comfortably.

So I knew instantly that I had finally entered the stage of just not giving a fuck.

After a rough few months that followed a rough couple of years, my anxiety and overthinking are definitely not gone but I have noticed that they are not all consuming. I have started to actually accept that I can’t control people. Rationally, I always knew this but it took me some time to come to the stage where I could accept it as truth.

Therapy, mediation and experiences have helped me start getting to a place where I am really only thinking about my own behaviors and reactions. Not worrying about everyone else.

When things are not going the way I want to them or in a way that makes me comfortable, I am learning to to be ok with that and focus on myself. I can choose to be miserable, angry and sad or I can find things that make me happy and shift my energy.

I can’t rehash things. I can’t get fixated and let things consume me. I can’t go back in time and I can’t change people. And I don’t have to always engage.

But I can change my outlook on my life. I can change the way I react and the way I let things impact my mental health. I am clearer on my expectations and boundaries and I know that is all I can control.

And it has been amazingly helpful to hear others who are struggling with similar or difficult situations, working through uncertainty and rebuilding their own lives. It makes me feel less like I have to have it all together to be a functioning, valuable, and worthy adult.

I don’t think those who really know me will ever call me chill but I do think that this is a good sign. I think I am learning to use tools that help me to adjust to this period of my life that can often feel unstable in a healthier and happier way. So instead of feeling overwhelming anxiety and responsibility for everyone and everything, I am allowing myself the peace to feel free and relaxed.

I keep waiting for a time when I will be "in a good place" but honestly, have no idea what that place looks like. Thinner? Saner? More comfortable in my skin? Having all the answers for who I am and what I want? What if that all changes?

Life is so chaotic and unpredictable that the idea that I will ever really feel like I am coming out the other end healed and done working on myself is unrealistic. We are never really done.

Once I feel I have tackled an issue and am ready to break bad habits, a new trauma surfaces and the work continues. The cycle of highs and lows continues. 

And so instead of focusing on what it will take to get me to a place where I feel "done", I am working on being comfortable and happy in the mess. There are really good weeks, followed by really shitty ones. Sometimes I feel like I have made huge progress only to have a small crisis and feel like I am starting all over again. Constantly waiting for a sign or for my therapist to tell me when I am done with all the work.  

But while I wait for things to get better and to feel consistent, I am not really allowing myself to just live with the freedom of the ups and downs and the imperfections. I am too focused on this concept of completely healed and happy to not just be happy in the moment. And all the while, working in a place that reminds me that life is short and that I may never even make it to a place where I feel done. So I might as well enjoy and embrace being a constant work in progress.

She is horrified as he says no. 

It is one of the most relatable tv scenes. 

I spend all day thinking about others.

"Are they ok?"

"Are they mad at me?"

"Do they need any help?"

"Can I do something?"

"Did I do something?"

"Are they sad? Mad? Disappointed?"

"Do they hate me?"

And just like Jess said, "It's hard."

This extreme empathy is exhausting and often supersedes my own needs. I spend most of my time focused on the wellbeing of others and as a result have not taken care of myself. It feels selfish to put myself first. My need to people please makes me feel like I have to take care of everyone and everything and not be a burden.

But this extreme is a result of a lot of things built up over the years. Some of this is just my personality. Parts of it has to do with my childhood. And a huge chunk has to do with my marriage.

I felt that I needed to offset things by being overwhelmingly caring and empathetic. I wanted those around us to know we cared and that we were there for them. Validate their feelings, lend an ear and help however I could. But the whole time, when I needed something or even just some understanding, I wasn't able to get it. I felt foolish or like I was overreacting. I held back my emotions and thoughts and questioned my reactions or need for assurance. I was often dismissed. I felt like I was silly and anxious and sometimes even crazy.

My fears, concerns, anxieties and feelings were never validated but rationalized and pushed aside for logic. My time, my passions, my wants and my career were not considered or prioritized. The assumption was always that I would find a way, figure it out or sacrifice. 

So, I didn't ask for much empathy or understanding from anyone. I didn't ask for help. I didn’t ask for what I needed. And I didn't expect it.

But constantly trying to "suck it up" or push it aside can lead to complete breakdowns and depression. It can lead to not feeling like a priority or not enough.

There has to be a balance. We have to be able to validate and support those we love even when we don't understand. We have to be able to take care of ourselves and create healthy boundaries. Even when we are still learning what those boundaries look like. We have to feel heard and be appreciated and not asked to give up our whole selves to people while still feeling important and valued.  And we have to be able to comfortable making mistakes and having emotions and feelings that are valid even when others don’t understand.

After his death and then the pandemic, I realized that I was that someone for so many people. Constantly checking in, ensuring others were OK, putting people’s needs before my own and in many cases at the cost of my mental health.

But there was no one to see if I was off. No one could hear the change in my voice. No one could see the exhaustion. And there was no one to check if I was OK. No one asked.

When I finally found my voice to loudly say that I wasn’t OK, it was met with confusion and disregard. There was little empathy or understanding and a lot of looks of pity and annoyance that filled me with shame. How much more did I need?

I was clearly at fault. I let myself get to that place. I had to pull it together. Be grateful. Look at the good. Learn to ask for help. Heal myself. I was broken and I was responsible. I felt crazy.

It was impossible to convey what the past twenty year had been like. Coming from disfunction and chaos all I wanted was stability and happiness. The house, the kid, the good job.

But it was isolating. Floating from infertility and loss into adoption. How isolating parenting can be. What it is like not to sleep for years while still parenting and working. How difficult it was without a mother. Holidays were not mine. Job decisions were not mine. Free time was not mine.

The whole time my gut nagging me with doubt. I didn’t stop to listen because how could I not be happy? It wasn’t about me. I was the lucky one.

At some point I realized that no one was coming to take care of me, tell me what to do or save me. My happiness and wellbeing was solely my responsibility. I had to be the one to put myself first.

That realization brought so much loneliness. It still brings so much loneliness. There is a loss of hope. What is I go the rest of my life without finding someone who will put me first? What is that is feeling I have been searching for is actually unrealistic and unattainable?

I can take care of myself. I have come to that realization over the past year. And with some amazing friends and sister, I know I have the support and love I need. But every once in a while I dream of a version of my life where someone makes their decisions taking me into account. Where someone’s first thought is of me and my feelings and needs. The comfort of not doubting, holding back or apologizing for what you need. Where someone is paying attention. Where I am not competing for attention or blending into the background. And even better, where someone is taking care of me so that I can take a break from always having to take care of myself.

Sometimes they are not even trying to hear or understand you but rather placate you. Or worse, ignore you.

And the more I am dismissed, the more that anxiety kicks in. The more I am compelled to prove myself right. The more I push back, over communicate and panic. I need to be heard, to be seen and understood. There may not be a worse feeling for me than being misunderstood.

A friend once told me that would be the word used to describe me; misunderstood. I build such big walls around myself that I don’t really allow people in until I feel safe, if that is even possible. This friend was surprised that the person I am is so different than the person I present to others.

Most of my frustrations in life come from not being able to get people to understand me.

A few years ago, I was on a school mom group text when a friend responded in the wrong chat about how I was so annoyingly perfect. She quickly realized I was on the text.

It stung for a longer than I want to admit. Mostly because I didn’t see my perfection as trying to be better than anyone else but rather the only way to keep my anxiety, people pleasing and overthinking manageable and feel some sense of control in my life, which often felt out of control. I used perfection as a guarantee that I had done all I could to make things go exactly as planned so no one would be disappointed.

Years later and I am still an over thinker and over communicator. Often to the point of being misunderstood. Too many feelings, too many thoughts, too much anxiety. I am very rarely at peace. And that is my own doing.

Overthinking is a constant obstacle. I know the root of it is a combination of neurodivergence, mother issues, lack of confidence and years of feeling misunderstood by the person I was supposed to be the closest to. Being let down and hurt by the people who should love you the most, created walls that even I don’t know how to let down. I have used it as a way to keep myself safe.

I often feel it is so much easier to be alone. To keep the circle small. No one to have misunderstandings with because I can’t shut it off. No one to project my anxiety or concerns on. No one to ask for reassurance constantly that things will be ok even when that is impossible to promise.

No one to disappoint and annoy and no one to disappoint me.

“Jack is going to take us all out tomorrow!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Mom…”

“No, he is! He wants to get to know you girls!” Jack smiled and nodded, still not opening his eyes. Not sure Jack knew where he was.

“Are we getting a new dad?”

We managed to get her away from Jack and into a cab only to have her faceplate in front of the cab as we tried to get her into the house. My sister was screaming as she lay there in the pouring rain, while the driver was having a heart attack thinking he had hit her. Bandaged up, we put her to bed and took shifts to ensure she didn’t get sick in the middle of the night.

I wondered if this is what a midlife crisis looked like.

I didn’t have a wild time in my twenties. We graduated, got an apartment, got married and started planning for kids, careers and homes. I didn’t go to clubs or bars or on dates. I didn’t have the opportunity to be totally irresponsible. I had to be careful, cautious with my money, take care of myself and create some stability. I couldn’t make mistakes.

The next twenty years were spent being a responsible, functioning, successful mother, wife and professional. Not that it wasn’t fun, but it didn’t lend itself to feeling free and unburdened. I don’t think I ever felt free and unburdened. Maybe those four years in college.

There is a lot of judgement, especially towards women, when they end marriages in their forties and start to live for themselves. It is automatically assumed that we are going through some sort of midlife crisis, and maybe that is the case. But often, we are just reclaiming our unburdened freedom to live life on our own terms and without worrying about the perceptions of others.

This isn’t easy though. I struggle with the idea of how I look to others. Do people think I am losing it? Think less of me? Do I think less of myself?

Making decisions based on what I feel like doing or what I want is a complete shift. What I wear, what tattoos I get, what I buy, where I go and what I do are all things that would make me pause and consider the perceptions of others. How would my in-laws feel if I got a huge tattoo? Would my husband be horrified if wore something out of character? I was constantly editing myself.

And so, making mistakes in midlife is a new concept for me and one I am not yet ok with. Allowing myself not to overthink or get wrapped up in what I “should” do is pushing me out of my comfort zone. I am learning not to judge myself and to be patient and forgiving. I am relearning how to live life authentically and that comes with mistakes and discomfort.

There are so many blogs, articles, and books by women now in midlife who are reexamining and redefining the roles and expectations that we have been desperately trying to fit ourselves in and that others expect of us. They talk about things we had been discouraged from discussing or questioning - sex, relationships, needs and wants, freedom, redefining monogamy and marriage.

But the message is always the same. If a midlife crisis is what brings you to living unapologetically and for yourself, then embrace it. Enjoy the journey, craziness and mistakes that will inevitably come with it.

But her reminders to journal things that I am checking off my list and the ways in which I am moving forward and adjusting, has really made me focus on what is working and not get caught up in what I haven’t yet figured out.

I have never been alone as an adult. I have never taken care of my own bills and retirement and healthcare. I have never made my own decisions on where I live. I have never had the freedom to make my own travel plans. I have never taken a job without considering another person and their schedule.

And in less than one year, I have:

• Found and moved into my own place, creating a new home for us.

• Lived off my own salary and paid all my bills and expenses on time and in full, paying for my share of the kid’s expenses as well.

• Got a part time job that allows me a new experience as well as my own spending money without worrying about supporting my kid and paying my bills.

• Made decisions about tattoos on my body without the worry of judgment or caring what someone may think.

• Took care of car issues, insurance, and retirement contributions.

• Started tracking my owns spending habits and priorities.

• Joined a writer’s group and took some writing courses to actively focus on my passion.

• Learned to listen to my inner voice and make decisions based on what makes me happy.

• Started to articulate my needs and wants in a relationship without worrying about being a burden and setting expectations much higher…still a work in progress.

• Took my kid on short vacations alone.

• Recommitted to my mental health by finding a therapist I trust and connect with. Someone who is focused on the positive and moving forward.

• Survived holidays without my kid when I would have thought that would be unimaginable.

• Have forgiven myself for not doing more years ago and for choosing myself when I knew the impact it would have.

• Still managed to keep my head above water at work and run successful programs even when life was kicking my ass.

The days are still hectic. Trying to balance my own freedom and happiness and not feel the guilt for a kid who didn’t ask for this, will always be a challenge. There are still nights when I can’t sleep thinking about the fact that any safety net I had is now gone. I have no real plan for where I will eventually end up after he graduates. I panic about never being settled or being able to afford my own house. I don’t know what the second half of my life is going to look like. I think about the what ifs a lot.

The joy in the small wins is something I never really appreciated. Taking things slowly and step by step is not instinctual for me. The past few years have been a humbling experience for someone who thought she had it all together. But working in a building where people are living out their last few days or hours of life has been a constant reminder that we don’t get another chance to create our own happiness. We don’t get the opportunity to do it again. And those small wins are what add up to bring us happiness and peace in this life.

We chuckled as he sighed and opened his car door, glaring at us in the backseat.

One slow step in front of the other, he basically skated up to the convent door. There waiting patiently for him was Sister Simon; our 83 year old librarian nun.

She carefully took his arm as they both slid across the convent parking lot to the car. There is still speculation on who was holding who up. We tried desperately not to laugh at the expression of annoyance on his face. We lived for these ridiculous moments.

“Wow! So icy this morning. Thankfully, I have your dad to help me and drive me in the mornings!”

She plopped into the front car seat and we nodded with smiles.

Without a word, he gave us one last look in the rearview mirror to confirm he didn’t find us funny, and headed into Boston to drop the three of us off at school.

We suspected that he only drove Sister Simon because he had convinced himself that this act would secure his place in heaven and that when reaching the gates, Peter would wave him on through regardless of any past indiscretions. We also knew, and so did they, that he could never say no to the Sisters.

And so on many a winter morning, he would pick Sister Simon up at the convent in Revere, take her arm, and walk her to the car. Most days they would sit in uncomfortable silence for the thirty minute ride into Boston in bumper to bumper traffic; my father silently cursing us under his breath while Sister Simon was silently praying for his soul. Finding topics of conversation was a struggle and we would have our Walkmans turned off just so that we could listen to them try and communicate but not have to participate ourselves.

I thought of those moments this summer as I was carrying stacks of books up two flights of stairs and moving desks into groups of four the day before my kid started eighth grade at his Catholic school. I, too, could not say no to the Sisters. So there I was, spending hours preparing the school for students with four nuns. Sweating in an old, Catholic school and hearing myself say, “Yes Sister. No problem, Sister.”

Karma.

“Identify what you want to change!”

“Be vulnerable.”

“How do we keep from being more wounded by making the same mistakes?”

“Healing clears your vision.”

I read about anxiety, relationships, communication, and parenting. I worked on my patience and expressing emotions. I reflected on my own relationships with my parents and how their own marriage shaped my expectations and feelings of worthiness.

I unpacked a lot of shit. Some stuff for the first time.

I was determined to fix myself. Change myself into someone happy and grateful. Someone who wasn’t sad and depressed. Someone who was completely content with their life. Someone who had it all together.

I didn’t talk to anyone or let on that I was struggling. I never mentioned the nagging thoughts that kept me up at night or the gut feeling that was literally making me unable to eat.

I knew I needed a dramatic change. How else would I feel better? So, changing myself seemed like the obvious place to start.

But my quest to change myself led me to the discovery that although I was full of faults, I was also full of unmet needs. I was running on empty and none of that was being acknowledged.

I wasn’t being seen. And changing myself wouldn’t make me any more visible.

It also brings me a flash of confusing and often competing feelings and memories. Mother-daughter relationships are notoriously complicated and ours was no exception. We had our battles, our disagreements and our periods of coldness. I would say she didn't understand me. She would say the same.

Ironically, we probably understand each other better than anyone else.

I think in many ways, I represented all that she wanted to be and could be and when I wasn’t living up to that she was disappointed. When I was living up to that, she was jealous.

I felt disserted and alone. I felt her critiques were too harsh and her love conditional.

But she plays a pivotal role in both my best and worst memories of childhood. She was the reason behind the big highs and the direct cause of some of the lowest lows. She was the reason I finally went to therapy.

I was reliving one of these low moments with my new therapist recently and after I was done with the story, I realized she looked sad.

It was a moment in time that I write about quite often, but it really was the first memory I have of questioning my own worthiness after years of thinking love was unconditional.

 “I can only send one of you back to school next semester. Your sister is doing well, so I am sending her. You are flucking Calculus again and can’t get it together. You can come home, get a job and maybe take classes at community college. Once we figure something else, maybe you can come back.”

I lit my cigarette and cracked the window. I didn’t even really smoke but this seemed like a good time to start. It seemed to be doing the trick but I could see my hand shaking as I brought it back up for a puff.

There I was at 20, smoking a cigarette in my mom’s van as she drove me home for spring break, being told I was a failure. A failure not worth investing in any longer. Ironically, my downward spiral, my inability to “get it together”, was not self-inflicted. It was the result of a family that had suddenly and unexpectedly broken apart. I was a causality of my parents’ own temporary downward spiral. Their lives had been turned upside down resulting in two confused and very alone college kids with no back-up plan and no direction.

I was struggling with classes, my job and life in general. Truthfully, I really couldn’t get it together; everything had fallen apart.

That conversation in the van never went away. Even as an adult, I can go to a dark place replaying it over and over again in my head. And I used to feel sadness, especially as a mom.

But I didn’t want my therapist to feel sad for me as I talked about my mother. That is probably why I didn’t even bring her up the first few sessions. I don’t feel sadness or unworthy anymore when I think about that day. In some ways, my own divorce has allowed me to fill that sadness with empathy.

She had just lost her own mother. Her marriage was over. She wasn’t in a place to be able to take care of herself, never mind us. Her response to me had more to do with her own feelings of unworthiness. She saw my failures as her own. She was upset with herself for letting me get to a place where my whole futures was at stake. She was scared.

As I talk about my mom with my fourth therapist in fifteen years, I am realizing that I have started replacing the hurt, sadness and anger with empathy. Not for her sake, but for my own. I am now a mother making mistakes. I am a mother who has had similar situations of wanting more for my kid, setting high expectations and falling short myself.

I am also mothering without my mother and I am scared.

I would stop at Starbucks on the way to class and get a small vanilla chai tea. This was an especially indulgent treat in 2003 but I convinced myself that it would keep me engaged. I then sat in a room full of older adults and seemingly much younger kids, pretending to have some sort of grasp of the world and what I was doing with my life.

On the way home, I would listen to Delilah dole out wisdom to the heartbroken, all while ignoring my own feelings of disconnect and doubt. Halfway home, I would pass a McDonald’s. And every single time I passed it, I had the same random thought. “If I was single, I could stop and get dinner there. I could just eat McDonald’s whenever I wanted.”

It was so random and absurd but there was already this sense that at 24, my life was not my own. My decisions were tied to someone else. I needed to account for my time and money spent. It wasn’t in a controlling way but rather a sense of obligation and responsibility that I felt, and have felt over the past twenty years. I needed to think about everyone else first. Choosing jobs, passing on grad school and law school, finding a home and planning vacations always included and prioritized everyone else. Even dinner choices were not solely mine.

I passed that same McDonald’s a few weeks ago. It was a bizarre realization that I could eat McDonald’s whenever I wanted. Especially ironic now that I don’t want to eat it. But the feelings of being tied to something, someone, or a routine were gone. And although eating McDonald’s is hardly a way to celebrate independence, it was freeing to know that my decisions have now become my own. I spend my time and my money the way I want to. No one is checking on me. No one is asking questions. And no one gets to weigh in on my choices.

I still make a majority of my life choices based on my kid. But my free time has become my time. I don’t rush in stores anymore. I don’t hesitate when buying something small but seemingly unnecessary or ridiculous. I watch what I want. I eat what I want. I keep the heat on the temperature I am most comfortable. And all of my future plans are taking into account only my goals and dreams. Scary and overwhelming but definitely thrilling.

I still struggle to make my own choices and not rely on input from others. It is still an effort to actually look inward and ask myself what I want. I still have doubts that I am able to make the best decisions or the right ones. I still try to put others first and worry that I will be seen as too selfish or assertive. I am still struggling to trust myself and to put myself first. Struggling not to feel guilty for putting myself first.

I did stop at McDonald’s the other day on ann impulse but I forgot to throw the bag away. My teenager got into my car and promptly found it. He picked it up with a mixture of disbelief and betrayal on his face.

“When did you get McDonald’s without me?? You can’t get it without me!”

At some point though all that pretending turned into anger. And then eventually, detachment. I had spent too many years begging and crying. I spent too many years ignoring my own needs. I spent too many years pretending it was all okay. And by the time he was willing to fix anything, I had already completely detached. I had already completely checked out. I was too far gone. I was tired, hurt and had given up.

And although I tried really hard to put in the effort when he did, I didn't have it in me. I had already mourned the loss of the relationship. I was at a completely different stage and so it seemingly came out of nowhere. The reality was that I had not been strong enough before to believe that I could be by myself. I thought I needed someone to take care of me. I really didn’t think I could do it all alone.

I take the blame for a lot of it. I didn't understand healthy relationships. I was so young. I didn't even understand myself. I expected perfection and I gave too much. Then I got mad when my energy wasn't reciprocated. I held myself to unrealistic expectations and I didn't allow myself to stop and think and feel. I didn't give myself time to heal. I didn’t ask myself what I wanted.

Detaching can be freeing and frightening. It seems almost impossible to be able to just walk away after so many years, memories, conversations, tears and milestones. But it is a culmination of the push and pull that so many relationships go through. Eventually, you grow tired of repeating the same cycles without any progress or change. That exhaustion is the only motivation to focus on making yourself strong enough to walk away when you can’t make the relationship strong enough to stay.

Stuck in a state of uncertainty. Mostly about myself, my abilities and what I want. Stuck in a constant state of overthinking and then never trusting any of my own thoughts. Stuck in a feeling of knowing there is more but not even knowing what more I want.

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t stuck. The only thing in life that truly motivates me is the happiness of others. I would move mountains for my kid, my sister, and those I love. I wouldn’t hesitate or think twice. But can I do one small thing for myself? Impossible.

I was never great at making decisions. I have made huge life changes like moves, jobs, health routines, and even divorce. But most of these took years of deciding and were often just safe choices. The right choice. Choices that were the best for everyone around me but not necessarily the decision I would make for myself.

Even my divorce, which was a seemingly selfish decision, was prompted by my realization that I was not the mother I wanted to be and not because I wasn’t the person I wanted to be.

I have no idea how to make life choices for myself. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what makes me happy. I don’t even know what I find fulfilling and exciting.

My very patient therapist keeps reminding me not to get stuck in the big picture but to focus on the small, healthy changes; reading more, journaling and writing, yoga and walking, giving up alcohol again to clear my mind, and eating healthy. She assures me that these will bring me to a place where I can see who I want to be and what I want in life. Small steps.

I am not so easily convinced.

If I am not making life decisions based on everyone else, how do I decide how to make them?

There are some days when I still feel like that 18-year-old kid who confidently, arguably overly confidently, ignored the advice of those around her and went with her gut. But even she selected colleges, partners, and jobs based on what those around her felt was best. Disguising it as her idea and a show of independence.

“Going to Bryant was smarter than going to liberal arts college to write because I got a job right after graduation.”

“Getting married at 24 allowed me the stability I needed at that time. I didn’t miss out on what I wanted to do.”

“I loved working at schools so I could see my kid every day. It was the ideal situation, even though it was difficult not to have my own space and people.”

There was always a logical reason I did what I did. But none of it was ever related to me.

I have a picture in my mind of what happiness and success may look like for me. But I have very little motivation or confidence to do what it takes to make that picture a reality. I am completely stuck.

“Start by writing 2-3 small goals every day and focus on getting those done”, she reminded me.

“What about the rest of my life? When do I plan what I want to do with the rest of my life?”

My new therapist already looked exhausted by me. She patiently smiled and said, “Let’s focus on getting to yoga and finishing the laundry for a bit before we start planning your life goals.”