Giving Up & Filling Voids: Pools & Beautiful Kitchens Can’t Fix This
Emotional roller coasters have an incredible way of warping your thoughts. The last week or two had me in a tailspin.
I know what it boils down to; why I’m constantly searching for something.
I’m afraid of failure.
Not generalized failure — not the kind where I’m afraid to let any and everyone down. It’s an internalized fear that I cannot live up to the person that I’ve made myself up to be or the person that I want to become. Maybe I never truly believed that I could be that person and when my confidence takes a plunge, I’m staunchly reminded of my shortcomings.
No one is more judgmental of me than myself. When I’m failing to work harder, reach further or be better, I fall down the rabbit hole of comparison. I start to base my creations, my work ethic, my talent and my outcomes based on the illusion of success of the people around me. This leads me straight down the path of dysphoria.
I’ve been weaving in and out of that state for the last month or so. Last week, it got to the point where I didn’t want to rehearse with the band. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to book another tour or any shows this year. I wasn’t writing. I wasn’t playing. I was barely interested in music at all. I got wrapped up in my head; my lack of confidence spun so fast that I was grasping onto anything that could ground me. So naturally, that search started at home and suddenly, I was desperate for change.
So I looked.
When they say to “be careful what you wish for,” heed that advice.
Because I searched for a new house and it was within days that I walked through a property that felt like the home that I always dreamed of. The biggest problem was not that we couldn’t afford it. The problem was that we could. However, doing so would come with a bigger cost: throwing the music on the back-burner.
So I put the house to the test. I wanted to see if Evan had the same feeling walking through the house as I did.
I’m grateful that he didn’t.
He liked it, said that we could make it happen but I knew immediately that the house did not evoke the same emotional response in him as it did for me. I couldn’t put that kind of financial burden on my partner when he wasn’t head over heels with the idea, especially after hearing him say:
“I feel like you’re giving up on your dreams.”
The statement was a sucker-punch. He was right.
I hesitated sharing any of this because of shame. How privileged of me to be so sad that I attempted to bandage it with a beautiful upgrade of a home? There are children in cages and families suffering deplorable conditions JUST to find a safe space and a new life. There are people dying just trying to survive.
What is my fucking problem?
Our minds are masters at tricking us into believing that our wants are our needs. Anxiety can swiftly turn a bad day into a week. A month. A year. It will hold you hostage until you call it by it’s name. Until you recognize the shame you feel may be because of it.
I’ll have the house of my dreams one day but it will not be because I’m trying to fill a void. It will not be because of shame or apathy or dysphoria.
It will only be because we both want it. Because we’ve worked our asses off for it. Because we both know that the timing is right, despite the challenges it may bring.
Keep working. Keep talking about mental health. Stay open and vulnerable but above all else, don’t forget to play.
“But we missed the point the whole way along. It was a musical thing and you were supposed to sing and to dance while the music was being played. But you had to do that thing, you didn’t let it happen.”
