Finding where you fit as an adult is difficult. Sometimes, the adolescent fears only hibernate during your early twenties and then reemerge from their slumber in your late twenties. Being displaced for a season doesn’t help that. Being single doesn’t help that. Struggling to figure out “family” both biological, fictive, and spiritual doesn’t help that.
Last week, I moved into (more) permanent housing. In the next two years, I want to save to purchase a house. I am still in the phase where I feel like I am at an Airbnb. It’s home, but it doesn’t feel like mine. I struggle to do things in the common areas and still feel safest and most comfortable in my room. I don’t want to connect. This is no one’s fault, but my own for all childhood traumas, anxiety, and apprehension, ultimately, I must put blame on myself for not allowing myself to move beyond it.
Today, I cooked a meal in my new home. It was different. The spice cabinet was on the left of the stove rather than the right. There were fewer cooking instruments at my disposal. The counter is easily overcome by 5 grocery bags. However, I cooked a meal to prepare for the week. I dirtied pots and pans and bowls. On a day, where I feel least like myself. In a space, where I feel most like myself, the kitchen.
I look forward to the day, where I feel like myself again and can stop acting. Confident. Jovial. Extroverted…kind of. However, I take these tiny moments as wins. You gotta claim victory where you can.
I didn’t write this because, my thoughts are often inconsistent, but I will tell you what has been on my mind this evening. In Galatians, there is a call to “bear one another’s burdens”. When I have heard this phrase used, it was an admonition to share in the carrying of other’s burdens. The same way that Christ undertook the burden of sin from us.
However, my struggle is allowing people to carry it for me. I would let something crush me completely before, I called for someone to carry it for me. Carrying other people’s loads feels instinctual. Allowing someone to carry mine feels sick-inducing. I don’t know how to let people in because I don’t. Everyone is held by a tether where I slowly and incrementally draw them close, never knowing what minor mistake or mishap will release all the slack.
My most persistent thoughts are questions?
Why am I so resistant to letting people in?
How does someone allow others to share in their burden?
Life does not progress in a linear fashion. There are assumptions on how life should be ordered, but the older I get the more I realize that’s not going to happen. However, I am grateful. Life is nonlinear and I’m grateful for it.
It’s my nonlinearlife.
If you want to know more about it. Start at the beginning when I have kids with four other women.