The Seaweed

I want to eat something comforting. I want cookies and milk and to cuddle up with a show. But I will feel shitty about eating the cookie, have anxiety about my perceived waning discipline throughout the week, and feel bad for not getting work done.

I feel overwhelmed and tired and embarrassed and not sure where to go and I feel like I'm not doing things well. Everything just feels overwhelming and it makes me want to bury my head under the covers and forget how awkward I looked in the opening frame of my last video or how little difference I see in myself despite all of my hard work. 

I'm having a hard time. I don't want to eat today. I feel like I'm being lazy today. I feel like I have so much to make up for.

Right now I’m looking at myself and saying: "Ok, Bethany. Those are the facts of how you feel right now. I'm proud of you for writing those out. It's normal to look at those and want to be saved. For someone to look at you and see that you are hurting, that you need help, and for someone to come rescue you. It's normal and okay to want a superhero right now."

"It feels like you’re drowning and you don’t want to just be saved, you want someone to say 'Wow you’ve been drowning for this long? In this deep of water? How in the world did you survive that? You are so strong for surviving that. I'll get you out of here and take care of you, you’ve done enough. I've got you from here'. 

I know you want that so bad. I want that so bad. And it’s okay to sit in that. You truly have been through so much and this weight is so hard to bear. But look at you. You’re bearing it. I think you’re treading water a little better than you think. In fact, I think you’re actually swimming. It may be through seaweed that clings to you and makes you feel like it takes everything in you to move, but I think at some point you’ll break free of that patch of seaweed enough to look back and realize that you swam through a mile of tangled sea and you’re now a pretty damn strong swimmer."

That’s not what I want to hear in the seaweed, though. I want a lifeboat. I want a flotation device. I want a hot coast guard man to come pick me up and tell me I don't have to swim anymore. Idk where i’m going with this analogy.

You know what, I have been swimming really hard. And honestly, I might want someone to look at my strictness and discipline and have equal parts admiration and pity. But I don't get to have that. I can't have that. That path will lead to the need for it over and over again. 

But, I can give that to myself. I can look at myself and say “Wow, you’ve been drowning this long? In this deep of water? All of this water has made you so mean to yourself because you’re not sure why it feels like you’re not moving even when you’re working as hard as you can. You assume there must be something wrong with you. You’re swimming the best you know how, and the waves are splashing up, getting salt water in your eyes, while you try to breathe and kick through the tendrils beneath. Sometimes your swimming turns into desperate thrashing and it seems it would be all too easy to stop fighting for the surface. Somewhere in your head, you’re mad that some people don’t have as much seaweed in their part of the ocean. You’ve instated rules about which ways you’re allowed to swim and that’s because someone yelled at you for swimming certain ways and that’s hard and scary. I’m so sorry” 

And I’ll say back, “You know what I am mean to myself and I am mad that my dad didn't let me ride on his back as he swam through the water for me like all the other kids got to. And I'm resentful that my arms are still tired from when I had to pull him along. I want to stop feeling like somehow even though I’m just trying to survive in this ocean, I’m doing it all wrong.”

I'll listen to myself say that and I'll cry. I will float on the surface for a moment, lifting my legs out of the seaweed, and for a second, I won't be scared of how long this patch of tangled growth will cling to me or how I'll get out of it. I'll just cry.

And then I can get a little snack, maybe even milk and cookies, and I can grab a blanket. I can sit on my couch and cry and watch a show today. I would love to make my time in the water a little bit enjoyable. Because in a few hours, I'll get back up and keep swimming in the ways that I've been taught to swim and explore new strokes and fight with the seaweed a little bit more. And I'll take breaks again when I need to, because I can’t swim forever. 

I know this stretch of seaweed has an end somewhere. I know how proud of myself I will be when I break free of the grasping ropes and how strong my shoulders will feel when I glide through the clear water with ease. Embracing the open waters, marveling at speed and grace which I’m now able to move with after my legs have been challenged day after day, it'll seem like there was never any seaweed at all. 

I’ll swim past people, and they’ll ask how I learned to swim so well. There will be those who look at me angrily because I don't have as much seaweed in my part of the ocean. I’ll meet a friend or two who’s trudging through the seaweed I know so well, and I'll cheer them on as they fight their way through.

And I’ll prepare myself for the wicked greenery I know is inevitable in my path, but I’m a damn strong swimmer and I know how to float on the surface when I need to.

xoxo, Bethany