This week was extremely hard for me.
I kept going and going and going despite all the signs that I was doing too much.
But I was wise today.
I made space for the people that would tell me that I needed to stop.
And, at the end of the day, with the call where there was no set purpose, I listened.
When my mother died, I frantically tried to reestablish normalcy as quickly as possible. I went back to school the Monday after she passed. I did not miss a single day of school because of her death. I worked as hard as I could, laser focused on my goal of becoming valedictorian so I could honor her in my speech.
And I have always done this. Doing more because the grief seems both more and less bearable when I am overachieving. More bearable because I can avoid it. Less bearable because it is never resolved. There is never space to just be.
This year, although I know better, I still continued to push myself beyond my limits.
I know I was trying to prove myself this week because, although I know better, I became deeply attached to the actions of others.
And that, as it inevitably does, made me doubt myself.
But, in conversation with my friend Tyrone today, I was reminded that the lives, choices, and actions of others are both out of my locus of control and not in response to me.
And that shift opened the space I so desperately needed.
It was a reminder to focus on what I could control and let go of those things that are not my load to bear.
I am grateful for the chiseled cracks in my armor etched by my community today. Questions about joy, concerns about my health and well-being, reminders that I am important not for any thing that I do, but because of who I am. Reminders that I have to prioritize myself and my health because all the things will get done or they won’t, but I am not replaceable to those who love me.
I know all these things.
But the space reminds me to feel them.
This week was extremely hard for me, but it is over, and I am still here.
This weekend, I will rest and regroup.
And try again on Monday.