Part of my recovery has been attempting to construct a life that I feel is worth living. Re-discovering my independence, motivating myself to come back to center after being thrown so far.
I have spent the better part of two years clawing my way through muddy emotions ranging from being thankful to be alive to wanting to crawl in a hole and be ignored for the remainder of my existence.
In some aspects I have achieved some of the goals of my recovery, I am stable enough to be employed full time, I moved out of my mother’s house, I am financially independent for the most part and I don’t cry every. single. day. I also have love, trust and support on an intimate level.
But today, I started out crying. The one lingering piece of my recovery, arguably the hardest part has been developing a sense of self-worth, re-building self-confidence and understanding that this heinous crime does not define me.
I have this habit, like most humans, of approaching my life as a balancing act. My catch though is that everything has to be perfect, house clean, fridge and pantry stocked. I push myself to obtain this false “perfection” and then fall apart when things aren’t the way I think they should be. I have been pushing and pushing myself, grinding myself down, guilt tripping myself because my house isn’t perfectly clean, I don’t always cook dinner and when I do, it isn’t always healthy, I’ve gained a lot of weight in two years, I don’t have the motivation to lose it either. I have picked myself apart from the inside out, systematically attacked myself until I couldn’t take it anymore and lost it this morning.
I have been going through crying spells, quite a lot of them actually. I feel terrible for being so down, like I should somehow suck it up and not cry, not let it be known that inside I am still deeply shaken, still pushing myself to overcome this massive trauma.
It is really hard for me to understand that life is not perfect, dirt exists and houses will always be dirty in some way, there’s no such thing as having and doing it all and it’s okay to fall apart. People will still love you if you haven’t done the laundry this week and have purposefully put off cleaning the shower. Also coming to terms with the fact that my self-worth is not attached to my ability to clean, my weight or my “togetherness”.
I’m incredibly grateful to have someone at home willing to hold me when I’m at my weakest, most vulnerable. I don’t know what I would do without my support system, you guys are my world.