Extreme Weight

Ever feel literally the weight of the early on you where you feel like you cannot function, let alone be creative?

Who do I give it to? My wife? Do I pile on my stresses on her plate, in hopes of freeing me? Surely this is not the smartest as all of us married men should know.

Do I lose it on my kids? As wonderful as mine are, there is much room for annoyance and outburst. But if I over do it and filter my junk onto them, does either party benefit?

What about my higher power? My God? This is the best sounding board I would think but the last thing I want to do is say “why God, why?” When I already know He is not to blame.

Rocket science aside, I am to blame. I am the one feeling this pressure and I have let it burden me to this extent.

I’m writing my first novel and have been doing amazing up until the last week or so. Moments of wanting to relax or moments of stress have deterred me and gratefully enough, I have felt annoyance in letting ‘things’ get in the way.

Simple in thought but trying as all hell in constant accomplishment. Sleep, work, family, exercise, eating, wife and writing. This is my day, and then the next. Then the next. Repeat.

Throw in a weight gain (and not muscle as I used to add) and life drama. Throw in lining up 2 schools for my 3 kids. Throw in wife business. You can see and understand how the pressure mounts.

How about addiction thrown in? Poor choices? Lack of strong friends? Lack of direction at times? We’ve all been here and this is nothing new but the struggle exists and I am living it, as are you, in your own offshoot of drama, possible lack and rusty visions of where you’re going and what it all means.

A post like this deserves a positive spin or a great, assuring ending, like 99.9% of all movies. But like I’d like to see in mass media one day, not every ending is positive and not every ending is an actual ending.

Each day is a new page and I get that. And that’s sometimes all I can hold onto.. that everything can reset itself and all can be new every time I open my eyes each morning.

The ruts I experience are merely my own traps I’ve set for myself months in advance, sabotaging my future. I steal my own victories way more than I experience my chance at standing on the podium and taking gold for my actions.

As the green grass dies and winter strolls in to say hello, I embrace betterment. I take responsibility for the weight I bear. I won’t run from reality. The season is new and it shall be mine for the taking, all talk aside.

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