Winter Blue

I feel myself slipping into this dark space. A loneliness. And yet my family is around me, and somehow that makes it worse. It feels like they’re crowding me, putting more pressure on me. Like everything is on me. Like I’m supposed to get all of this done, and I don’t even know where to start.

My body is sore because I’m not healthy. I’m not working out. I’m disappointed in myself. I keep telling myself I need to do more. I can feel myself letting the loneliness take over—the isolation. They try to talk to me, and I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to say anything. It makes me feel bad, and it makes them feel bad, and it becomes this horrible cycle.

I see myself doing it. I want to be mad at myself, like, just pull yourself out of it. But how do you actually pull yourself out of it? Then I start thinking about all the things I need to do, and it becomes overwhelming and annoying. So where do I start? That’s the question. Where do I start when there are so many things I have to do?

I know—make a list. I always know that. But even the list feels heavy.

I need to pay the kids’ school lunch account. I need to run my budget because I haven’t done one in months, and it’s been sitting in the back of my head. One of those things you procrastinate on because you’re scared to open that door and see how much you’ve let go. But I also know I have to do it, because it’s the only way I’ll start to feel better.

Then there are the excuses. My printer isn’t working, so now that’s another task. Why isn’t it working? Can I fix it? Do I need to buy a new one?

My bathroom still isn’t fixed. Every time I go in there it’s cold. No shower. No sink. I just want my bathroom back. So I have to make a checklist for that too. How do I tackle it one piece at a time? Insulate the pipes. Close up the ceiling in the garage so the cold air doesn’t reach the bathroom upstairs. Then the flooring. Then tile. Then drywall—which means tearing down the old tile first just to complete one wall. That task alone feels like a mountain.

And then there’s my business. Everything I need to do there—again, starting with finances. The budget. Looking at what I did all year. I know I should feel proud, and I do, but there’s fear around being proud. Fear of balancing pride and humility. That’s a whole other conundrum.

What else is bothering me? My house. I quit drinking so I could focus on my house, focus on my business, and be more present. So how do I start being more focused?

My mornings are full. I get up, make sure all three kids are dressed and ready for school. They’re unfocused, doing their own thing, and I have to remind myself to breathe so I don’t yell. My patience is thin, and I get mad at myself for that too. But I get them out the door. I get them to school. On time. That’s my responsibility, and I do it.

Then I come home.

The house is a mess. It’s quiet. It’s just me. And all I want to do is sit down, turn on a show, and not do anything else. Then I grab my phone. Facebook. Scroll, scroll, scroll. Thirty minutes goes by. Sometimes more. And I’m mad at myself because I just wasted time doing nothing—when I have so much I need to get done.

And now it’s the middle of December, and I’ve barely started Christmas shopping. Another stress. I should be excited to buy gifts for my kids. But how can I be when I haven’t looked at my finances and I don’t know where my money should be going? I don’t want to feel like the worst parent on Christmas morning because the tree isn’t overflowing with presents.

I know that’s not what matters most. I know if I talk to my older kids, they’ll understand that this year might look different—and that’s okay. There are far more important things. But I still have to do it. I still have to try.

I need to make a list. I have a lot of lists I need to make.

So where do I start? Where do I start when my head is jumbled, full of everything at once? When sitting and thinking about it all just leaves me overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed.

What should I do?