My life has consisted of serial efforts to meet or exceed expectations, obvious or imagined, in a wide variety of roles, both familial and those I’ve adopted. The past 18 months, I’ve been trying to succeed at fibromyalgia, depression and anxiety. I’m so tired of clinging ferociously to my climbing rope, aiming for a plateau that’s never quite visible to me.
It’s a good rope with strong fibers combining to create a tensile lifeline. The individual strands include my husband, family, friends, professional care, medication, painting, and gardening. If I never rise out of this particular episode of major depression, it won’t be due to faulty equipment. I feel like I’m responsible to get better to reflect the love and support I receive. I worry what they think of me and my circumstances, how long it’s taking for me to regain strength and stability. I pick at those fibers.
What if I let go? What if there is no plateau ahead and this effort is in vain? What is out there away from the rock face? What would it feel like?
If I stop holding on so tight, my whole body could release the tension from trying so hard to be worthy of my rope. Maybe I wouldn’t fall. Perhaps this time I’ll actually be able to let the weight of my world drop. I’m so tired from desperately wanting to be and do good,
When life events shake our world, because they always do and usually just when we think we’ve got it down, do we hold on tight and try to remain the same? Or do we let go?
Though I’ve pledged this to myself many times previously, I am going to let go and see what happens.