On Choice

“If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” -Yogi Berra

Last week, I asked what people thought of Purpose; the idea that we each have a single Purpose. I received truly lovely feedback, much of which was at odds with what I think is the current overwhelming view of Life Purpose, ie:

Finding Your Purpose = Winning Life

I am obviously tinged with a certain ire, if you cannot tell from the above statement, for I believe that this focus on Purpose has been incredibly detrimental for many people, including myself. Rather than helping, I have come to wonder if this search for Purpose hurts people’s psyches more times than not. And why? Because, to put it bluntly, many of us are unable to discover that Passion, that Idea, that Thing that will bring our lives meaning and so we feel that we are somehow failing.

This idea is so huge; so encompassing; so IMPORTANT, I have fallen under the weight of it; as have others I have spoken with, all with the same weary, hallowed-eye look.

Then I realized something, something key:

Purpose is based entirely on Faith.

Faith that there is a higher being; that there is a plan; and that Something is influencing our lives and ourselves.

What do I mean? Well, Purpose must come from somewhere.

God and Purpose

“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” (Proverbs 19:21).

“And I did not create the Jinn and mankind except to worship Me…” (Quran, 51:56-58).

Oprah and Purpose

“There is no greater gift you can give or receive than to honor your calling. It’s why you were born. And how you become truly alive.”

** HAHAHA! **

Did I just put Oprah and God on the same level?

Only slightly.

I am pointing out that one most have Faith in God to believe His words on Purpose (whether it is a Lord’s Purpose, or the Sole Purpose of worshiping Him).

Just the same, one most also have Faith in the intelligence and wisdom of Oprah to believe what she says as well.


Now, I came to the conclusion some time ago that faith is a choice. For example, we can choose to believe that God exists, or we can choose to believe that he does not exist. (Side note, Oprah does exist, in case you were wondering).

Personally, I decided to not make a decision on the matter. After studying for years, I came to the conclusion that there is no undeniable indication there is a God; just as much as there is no undeniable indication that there is Not a God.

It is up to Humans to decide on what we believe. Sure, society and family have key roles in belief a lot of the time… we believe in what those around us believe more times than not… but, it is still us choosing one thing or something else.



We get to decide.

And I think that is very much the same way with Purpose. I have spent hours in deep and dark depressions because I was trying to find my Purpose. I am not a passionate person (Passion, apparently, being the road map to Purpose); so I do not have anything that I am passionate about. I enjoy things. I like to read… some of the times. I like to watch movies… some of the times. I find archetypes and symbolism interesting… but I would not label those interests as passion.

(Even now, I am tempted to wonder if my interest in archetypes and symbolism is something Purposeful… even after hours and hours and hours of trying to retrain my brain from thinking in this way)

In the end, albeit not as thoroughly as I wish, I have come to the conclusion that Purpose is as much based on faith and choice, as believing in anything. And as such, it is a choice to believe that Purpose is a hyped up term that is propagated to help the human masses feel like there is something more to their lives and the world that they live in.


It is a choice to believe that there is a Purpose for everyone.

I tend to believe the former; which is bleak. But, it is like a story I once heard about Christian missionaries traveling to the far reaches of  Denmark. The missionaries met with these pagan worshipers as they huddled around roaring fires inside their halls, darkness howling with deep ice and frigid cold outside windows shuttered to protect against nature; and the missionaries told these Norsemen and women that the frozen wasteland out beyond their warm halls was like their pagan religion.

It was cold. Unknown. Blackness.

But Jesus Christ brought light.

The missionaries told them if they believe in the light and the warmth of Jesus Christ, that no matter the hardships of their lives, they would be met with peace and rest in the afterlife.

From what I understand, many Norse decided to believe in Christ.

They chose to believe in something that brought them comfort; and there is absolutely, positively nothing at all wrong with this choice.

As today, in the face of terrorism, and globalism, and most importantly ease of life in the first world especially, there exists a need to feel as if there is a reason for living. Any reason. And that is NOT a terrible thing.

Sometimes people really do seem to find that Purpose. I have seen it; that all encompassing joy in what they are doing in their lives.

Kudos to them (said only with a tiny itty bit of sarcasm).

But then there are the Others… cough cough… me. I start to think about Purpose and I spiral into depression because I am WASTING TIME!



So I choose not to go down that path.


In this day and age it is sometimes hard to remember that we have choices. When working the jobs we work, we think we HAVE to be there because we have to pay bills, and we have to support our families. Sometimes it doesn’t feel as if we have a choice when dealing with difficult family relationships, or hard friendships, or illness, or pain.

Trapped and shackled.

I am achingly familiar with these two feelings.

But, despite the risk of sounding trite and new-agey… there is always a choice in how we approach anything and all things.

For instance, lately, the fact that the U.S. President Elect is who it is, feels like a choice that has been taken away from me.  But honestly, I can choose to fight him and his administration by getting involved. Or , I can decide to try to give him a chance, or attempt to change how I view him (yeah, no).

Or I can decide to do something else.

There are always choices. And this, more than finding a purpose or believing in a God, gives me hope. I get to decide how I want to live my life. Sometimes it feels like there is something working against me, but that again is only a belief, a thought, and I can work to change that thought into something more productive, or more…hopeful.

My PERSONAL conclusion, then, is that Purpose does not exist, not for me at least, and that I will live in the moment, not worrying about if I am living Right or if I am walking the Right Path; rather, only focusing on whether or not I am living well, and by those rules that I have placed upon myself… to be kind, giving, and to never cease asking questions in attempt to understand.

And that is my choice.

Be well, lovely readers, in this Holiday season and beyond… and remember, there is ALWAYS a choice.



I have come to the conclusion that humans do not have individual Purpose; that there is no such thing as a specific Reason for an individual’s existence.

This goes against almost all new age theory… you know, the Martha Beck and Oprah Winfrey theory sect… but I am fairly certain.

Of course. It is all belief. There is no way to prove Purpose or No Purpose, no more than there is any way to prove God or No God.

Unless maybe purpose is existing and being content with existence. Or trying to find happiness in day-to-day endeavors.

What do you think, dear readers? I am curious to know before I write on about my reasoning.

All in Black

In mourning

I have spent this week mourning.

My husband does not understand. Though he is not in anyway, shape or form a Trump supporter, he is a political historian and economist. He sees this week’s election in the terms of politics and the market; neither of which are much to comment on. A Republican (albeit a faaar right one) is now in office. There is a peaceful transfer of power underway. The market recovered after it’s initial 700 point dive.

These are the things he responds and reacts to, and, as such, wonders why I have been in constant tears over the last four days.

The grief was/is real. I did not sleep Tuesday night. I spent most of Wednesday crying. Thursday was a little better. Today I have only cried twice.

My husband asked me why, truly puzzled. I could only shrug, because you see,  at first, I just knew that I grieved. I grieved for my country, feeling a deep sense of despondency, a sadness so big and so gigantic that I could not find words to describe the depth and breadth of my hurting.

Wednesday felt the worst. Dark and bleak. The rain incessantly fell on the car windshield as I sat sobbing out front of my house, talking to my grandmother, begging her to tell me that these things pass, that this is not the first of the United State’s mistakes and we have emerged before, and we will again.

She told me that this was true, citing those traumas she had lived through.

She tried to comfort me.

I could not be comforted. I railed against Republicans. I was so filled with anger at the people who seemed to have voted for racism, sexism, bigotry, homophobia, xenophobia, and kicking the wheelchair of children with cerebral palsy (an affliction my brother struggles to live with).

They voted for someone who admitted to being a sexual predator! And many because they just “didn’t like Hillary.” I was so angry. I could not even look on the face of my best friend’s husband because he voted for Trump. He disgusted me.

I KNEW, I knew I was being irrational and ignorant. I KNEW it was/is not that black and white. And underneath the anger, I felt kernels of shame, because I knew that half of the population who voted for Trump were not so simply defined by the message that Trump spouted from his pulpit.

And as Wednesday moved to Thursday, I started to emerge from the anger. I started to think a little more clearly, and I slowly started to wonder if maybe, just maybe this might be a good thing, healthy for our country. Maybe because we now see what is wrong, what is out there, what is actually going on, we can start to address those things.

My husband calls the election results the impact of geoeconomical downturn; I think he is right. And I get it, I really do. I have lived in those towns decimated by jobs being shipped overseas. I have seen the meth addiction (though I moved away before seeing the opioid one). I have known those people who carry a feeling of hopelessness about them… who believe that no-one cares about them… who believe that they are getting the shaft.

And largely, they have a point.

The media didn’t care, or didn’t realize. I didn’t care. Most of the democrat party didn’t care or didn’t realize.

… but we do now.

And I hope, intellectually, that by having these people’s plights highlighted for all the world to see, that they will be helped, their lives will be made better, and in doing so, their fear and hatred of The Other (the seed of all racism, bigotry, sexism etc.), will disappear with understanding, education and exposure.

This is where I am intellectually: Hopeful tinged with a touch of pessimism.



But. My heart hurts. The tears roll down my face. I worry about all those minorities that I both know and don’t know. I read about the hatred that is being found in schools, SCHOOLS for heaven’s sake, and I just can’t even comprehend the totality of what has happened.

I grieve.

And that brings me to today.

At first, I didn’t understand what I was grieving about. Was I grieving for humanity? For the protection of our planet? For our future as a country?

All of those things are worthy of grief, yes, but in reality, I realized today that I am grieving the loss of an illusion.

You see, dear readers, I thought we were so much farther along. I thought we were a nation moving in progressive ways. I thought we were more open then ever to homosexuality; and we were at least having conversations about Black Lives and police brutality.

In my circles and in the media it seemed that we understood that Muslim does not equal terrorist, and Latino is a rich, vibrant culture to be celebrated and welcomed.

I thought the entirety of our nation, when putting aside politics and religion, was progressing, learning kindness and acceptance, or at least having conversations that would lead to those outcomes.

I was wrong. So incredibly, terribly, horribly wrong because we are not there yet, and we might not be for a long time.

And that is why I grieve.

I grieve for a nation that hasn’t made it to that place, and I grieve because my thinking it had was all smoke and mirrors.

I grieve for a nation that was of my own imagination.

Because, you see, I thought they were a basket of deplorables. I thought it was a handful of people at Trump rallies.

I was so wrong. Ignorantly wrong. Arrogantly wrong.

And I grieve for my loss.


I could end this post there, leaving it with grief, but we move forward because what else can we do, and it is what we SHOULD do.

Moving forward, we will try to protect those who are in the line of fire; try to protect our Earth; try to protect the inalienable rights of EVERY SINGLE HUMAN BEING.

And hopefully, we will try to figure out what to do for those who voted for Trump.

Friends, the problem and the solution is so vast and so multileveled, that I don’t even know if it can be fixed. I look at my country and I see so much work to be done. Is it possible to change the geoeconomical forecast for those who overwhelmingly voted for Trump? I don’t know. We live in a global world, and anyone telling you otherwise is lying to you. Those manufacturing jobs are not coming back. It doesn’t matter how many tariffs you put on China. There is always India.

And there might be a resurgence of mining jobs etc., maybe even a small boom in those West Virginia and Kentucky towns… until there isn’t because there isn’t anything more to dig up (or, policy puts a stop on fossil fuels under another president in the future).

Change has already started, is already changing the landscape of all. And not Brexit or Trump is going to be able to stop globalization or the “fall of the white man.”


We, ALL OF US, must redefine how we live in this world and how we fit into it; and that includes those who voted for Trump. There is a plight. Absolutely. There is terrible fissures in our country. People need help. And just as I will work to protect and help those affected by Trump and his followers, I will work to protect and help the followers too. Because, my illusion wants to become reality, and I want it to become reality.

We are humans in this together. I want that future and I will work hard and tirelessly towards trying to make that future exist.

But not yet.

Tomorrow I will let go of the anger and hurt and disgust.

Today, I am still crying.



Family Food Football
A ton of negative comments, cartoons, and articles have hit my news feed today.

Here in the States it is Thanksgiving.

Traditionally, or at least how I understand it, this day is supposed to mark the generosity of Native Americans towards the Europeans that risked life and limb to settle in a “new land.”

Yeah. Not so innocent, of course. And my news feed today reminded me all about how those terrible, horrible Europeans (my ancestors) stole land and killed the native population, and were a disease on the continent.


It just… I don’t know.

Is there terrible history involved with the colonization of the Americas? Um, yes… what form of colonization does not include suppression and killing?

Should these things be celebrated? Absolutely not. And there should be recognition, teaching, and understanding of the horrible nature of the past.


For every person I know that lives in the States and celebrates this day, Thanksgiving has nothing to do with those pilgrims and has to do with three things:








And in that order.

Is it a holiday based in lies? Yeah, okay maybe, but as all things and everything, interpretation and association change. We change. Society changes.

Definitions change.

Thanksgiving. Giving thanks. Being thankful. In the end, I think that sums it up, nothing more or less. So, I choose to make this day about being thankful, and I am purposefully ignoring those who would like to make the holiday a political bashing ground.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and readers in the United States and around the world. I give thanks for you, because every single one of you deserves it.

Now go eat some pie.

Kind in an Asshole World

Kindness. The Royalty of Awesome

This weekend my husband and I came across several different versions of a particularly special kind of person.

It is the person you most dread seeing.

The one that can keep you fuming for hours and hours after the interaction.

The asshole.

We went to Costco for our monthly influx of bigger-than-needed items, and the store was awash with such individuals. From the middle aged guy in the truck  telling the poor women with the three kiddos to get “out of the f*cking way” in the parking lot, to the woman with perfect makeup and high heels (at Costco, on a Saturday!!) who stared through us until our son was a little bit loud then her stare of death shriveled our heads, the place was teeming with the unsavory.

On the way home (our son playing with his new DanTDM character in the backseat reminding us of how awesome the world is), we exchanged stories of the meanies that we interact with on a day to day basis.

There are a ton.

So unhappy.

Now, I have spent time analyzing this, that the rudeness and unkindness is because of the unhappiness, so I am not going to go down that rabbit hole today; rather, I just want to give a shout out to those who are kind.

I want to give kuddos to those who smile in the face of the glares, the snide remarks, and the rude hand gestures.

I want to give every single one of you kind people a virtual hug.

The world needs kindness.

Especially towards those who are unkind.

Keep up the amazing work.

*insert virtual hug here*

Existential Questions of a Preschooler

A Monty Python Belief System

“Where does God live?”

“Is God stronger than Hulk?”

“Who would win in a fight; the Devil or Superman?”

“Who is the Devil?”

These are some of the questions I have fielded lately from my five-year-old. He is intensely interested in God and the Devil, and how they fit into his reality. He wants to know where we go when we die; where Heaven is; and the biggie, if God is so good why are there bullies?

In part, these questions stem from the Christian preschool he goes to, but I think it has a lot to do with his essential nature as well.

This kiddo is a thinker.

The problem lies in the fact I am also a thinker, and therefore must be very aware of how I answer these questions. Belief for me is a fragile thing, based on years of thought and reading and more thought. I have gone through my existential crisis and have, through tears and terrors, arrived at my own belief system.

It does not, necessarily, encompass any one religious thought.

But. I can’t explain that to my preschooler. I can’t talk to him about faith and the act of choosing belief (because all belief is a choice). I can’t speak to him about the fallacies inherent in all religious systems; the tension between what is said and what is acted; the irony of picking and choosing and pressing on others a hodgepodge of thought.

No. What he wants to know is where God lives, and I find that my answer is simple: Heaven.

Where is Heaven?

Another dimension. This is a concept he understands from his video games.

What is the Devil?

The biggest bully of them all.

My husband believes in God, a traditional Christian God.

I believe in a bigger and grander being, something that cannot be identified with a pronoun.

My husband’s version is the one I tell my son. God is love. God is good. Where is God? In your heart.

Is it right? I don’t know. Maybe one day he is going to call us out for “lying” to him about the existence of God, Devil, Heaven… and he will be right to do so. And we will have a conversation then about belief and faith. But until then, the concepts that are black and white,  good and evil, are those concepts he understands.

And, by the way, his conclusion is that God is totally stronger then Hulk, but only because God has access to Captain America’s original serum.


Happy Friday, lovely readers!

The Long Wind

Fork in the Road… Bahahahaha!

It is Tuesday morning.

Another storm is gracing us with high winds and rain. The winds are particularly fearsome. As I write this, the house creeks and groans against the onslaught. This morning, someone woke to a tree coming through their living room. The nature of where we live, unfortunately.

I spent most of the night awake staring at the ceiling. My son came in and curled up in our bed at some undetermined point, so as I stared, I listened to the small whine of sound he made with each breath. We all have stuffed noses right now; mine is obnoxious, his is somehow sweet.

I thought about this decision I have made. I thought about going to the library and checking out books on real estate; to supplement and add to the knowledge of this 90 hour training that I started yesterday.

Sadness crept in as I thought about those real estate books stacking up on my bedside table. Before there was Jung, Lacan, and whatever weird book I was reading (Stiff, was the last one). Now. Real estate books.

Am I mourning?

I told myself I would carve out time for the intellectual, for my thought experiments, but my 1 a.m. brain was having none of that; at 1 a.m. the world is coming to an end, didn’t you know?

I will though, because despite the need to do something different, I am still a “big-headed owl” that thrives on the labyrinth that is thought. I will make time.

Oh, and did I mention that after making the decision and taking the first (irreversible) step, my voice left?

Unable to speak. Unable to communicate.

My yoga teacher would have some thoughts on that one… good thing I am not telling her.

A rambling for this morning. A touchstone blog.

Recenter, my lovely readers. Take a breath and a piece of freshness.

And remember, as I am trying to, that all things are for a reason.

Cheers, lovelies!


The Shadow

          Shadow Man
Shadow Man

We did persona and the anima/animus earlier this week. I will talk a little bit about my progress with those archetypes next week, but before Friday bleeds to the weekend, I thought I would put another archetype out there for you to mull over.

This one is the most intense, in my very humble opinion.

Let me know what you come up with.

Terminology and Names

Archetype: Universal, primordial images

C.G. Jung: Born July 26, 1875, Jung was a Swiss psychologist who founded analytical psychologist, as well as coined the terms “archetype,” “collective unconscious,” and “extroversion and introversion.”

Collective Unconsciousness: A shared unconsciousness, different than a personal unconsciousness

Projection: A process of placing a shadow trait on someone else, or something else

Shadow: Archetype that embodies that dark or negative

In his book on primitive mythology, Joseph Campbell explains that “a polarity of light and dark, above and below, guidance and loss of bearings, confidence and fears (a polarity that we all know from our own traditions of thought and feeling and can find matched in many parts of the world) must be reckoned as inevitable in the way of a structuring principle of human thought.”. Jung, much more succinctly, says that man “ought never to forget that the world exists only because opposing forces are held in equilibrium” (Jung).

There is light and there is dark. There is God and there is the Devil; such is duality of nature. In his Red Book, Jung says that it was only by recognizing his shadow (which he calls the serpent), uniting himself with it as a man would with a woman, does he negate the influence the shadow has on his person.

“Thus I built a firm structure. Through this I myself gained stability and duration and could withstand the fluctuations of the personal. Therefore the immortal in me is saed. Through drawing the darkness from my beyond over into the day, I emptied my beyond” (Jung)

The Shadow

“Unfortunately there can be no doubt that man is, on the whole, less good than he imagines himself or wants to be. Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is” (Jung).

The Shadow is one of the hardest archetypes to confront, as the very definition of the soul’s archetype are those things that remain hidden in the darkness. The shadow is those things that we do not like in other people; the slips of tongue that cause embarrassment; the flashes of darkness that everyone of us experience at points in our lives.

“The shadow is a moral problem that challenges that whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and it therefore, as a rule, meets with considerable resistance” (Jung).

Jung speaks specifically of the idea of projection; the process of projecting on others and the world an illusion-based reality.

So, what do you fear?

What do you dislike in others?

Where is your shadow?

The Good Life as Seen on the Shopping Network

f46e8897b13e9519fdd7c00e4154bcdec5c83ea61fd7443ee44c717bac7649d4Back in the day, I would wake up in the middle of the night and meander my sleepy self to the bathroom for a nightly pee. The bathroom was located slightly down the hall from my room and around the corner from the hallway that led to the living room. Inevitably, every time I went for my nightly pee, I would hear the sound of the television from the living room. I never peaked around the corner, but I could always conjure the familiar sight of my step-father asleep with my baby brother on his chest, the shopping network channel displaying a woman with too much makeup trying to sell completely random and wacky stuff.

Only wacky stuff was sold at 2 a.m.

Social networks are kind of like the old shopping networks. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram… and that is only naming the ones I am familiar with and not the billions of others…they all have people trying to sell wacky and crazy stuff to others.

It’s a familiar complaint, one I am sure that you, my dear reader, are familiar with as no doubt you have at least one of these accounts. The perfect pictures and posts that are all about the awesome and amazing time a family had on the vacation, effectively leaving out the part about the screaming and terrible scene their kiddos made at the airport that required security.

My particular favorite sell is the super skinny women pretending to eat really terrible food. This giant cookie with the two inches of frosting, oh yes, it is going in my belly. Wrong! It is going within inches of your mouth and not even a morsel of that caloric frosting will dust your perfectly puckered lips.

But. Everyone will think it is going in her belly thereby defying all laws of biology.

Get in me belly.

Hawking the wares. Selling the wacky.

In the day, it was “you would look so fabulous in these huge sapphire earrings, and OMG, they are what price?!”

Now it is more like “OMG, I DO look fabulous in these earrings,” so let me post pictures of myself calculated to show off the earrings and hide the duck neck I am developing as I age…

…and we’ll just ignore the fact these earrings are giving me an infection that requires massive amounts of antibiotics, a drug that I am taking to get rid of the infection but will simultaneously make me more receptive to other infections.


In a meandering way, this brings me to my point.

Social networking is the devil. I mean, it’s nice to quickly touch base with old friends, and when I lived far away it was perfect for posting pictures of my son for my family to see; however, it is so filled with the false, the veneer, the mask, that it is just a big pile of horse poo.

I know. I know. This is old news, EVERYONE knows that social networks are horse poo, but I write it in reference to my own current issues.

I felt like a failure even before my old teacher also sent over waves of disappointment about what I had done in my life (see explanation here). After talking with her, I felt like an epic failure. Every time my formerly fat friend runs another race and posts pictures of her wonderful and easy time doing it, I think about my own swollen knees and lament about my race days being over. And then there is an old coworker who is truly changing the world with her high style and her feminist thought and her push to the top. She is wonderful. Inspiring.

She makes me feel like shite.

And I’m a reasonably intelligent person, so I know that what I see is not the entirety of truth. That runner friend probably downs Tylenol and wakes up aching. That chic changer-of-the-world likely questions her decision to not get married and have children, placing her career first. I get that the story is only half of what is posted… but…

It’s the pressure. Do you feel it? Even when you know you shouldn’t? That spark of I am not good enough in *fill in the blank* when looking at your friend’s sites?

I try more or less to stay away from friend’s social sites. I am on Twitter but only to follow celebrities (yes, I am one of those people). All the others, I avoid.

Because, really, it is the same as the shopping network. Back then, I didn’t need those wonderful, better than you can believe deals in my life; and now, I don’t need people’s wonderful, better than you can believe lives either.

Do you?

Cliche Number Four Billion and Change

I have become a cliche.


This amuses me.

As I type, I sit on my couch. My son is playing Minecraft. He is currently killing a zombie will simultaneously trying to save  his best friend. In an hour I will take him to karate. He is four. He has a red-stripe belt and is very proud that he is the youngest, but highest ranking belt in his class.

Tomorrow, I will take him to four hours of preschool. I will go for a run while he is in school. I will go to the grocery store. I will do the random chores I have to do to keep the house running. It might include picking up a Papa Murphy’s pizza, or it might not. This depends entirely on whether or not the husband is feeling fat. If his stomach is protruding too far past his pants then pizza is out. I am not sure what is for dinner then.

Saturday I will go camping with my son and husband along with another father and his two boys. I will effectively be the mom of the weekend, which means that I must ensure that everyone has food, is somewhat clean, and in general does not die.

On Monday, I will take my son to school for his fours hours. I will come home and do laundry, go to the grocery store, vacuum, and clean the bathroom.

Tuesday there is no school. I will try very hard to keep my son from watching too much television and playing video games all day. I will take him to the store. I will take him to the park. He will end up watching too much television and playing too many hours of video games anyway.

I will take him to karate.

Repeat. Repeat.

I do our families finances. I cook our family food. I do our family laundry. I clean the family home.

I occasionally golf.

I try not to gain weight by running and doing the elliptical.

I cry almost every single day while standing in the shower because I am ashamed at how terrible I feel about the privileged life I lead.

I suppose, my dear reader, you saw that one coming.

The dichotomy between having the privilege that so many women covet, and the terrible, horrible guilt of being miserable in it. Not because it is hard, though it can be a challenge, but rather, because it is not hard.

My brain has atrophied.

I am dying.

And I have no answers.

I have chosen this life because it the best for my son. He does not have to go to a daycare. I am raising him, not someone else. He has someone who can take him to whatever extracurricular activity he wants to be involved in with no worries. I don’t have to juggle work and school schedules, or work and sickness. I am on call 100 percent of the time, and not just for my son. My husband works continuously. He has a one track mind. The only thing he is able to accomplish is work. I allow him the space to work like that by taking care of everything else. The world would cease to turn if he had to do anything more than work.

I have PURPOSEFULLY and with FULL UNDERSTANDING made the decision to have this life.

I am dying.

Not in a real physical sense. I am in good health. We all are, thankfully. I would never consider suicide because of my son. But it doesn’t change the feeling. The soul-sucking, I am becoming less and less and less of who I am. I losing. I am lost.

And I have no solution.

I went to a therapist the other day. She essentially told me to stop complaining about my awesome life. Ha! That’s the thing. I KNOW about my awesome life.

Why can’t my brain get with the program.

What can I do to change? I don’t like being miserable.

Do you?

This is anonymous. I don’t want the vultures to come down on me, reminding me of how much I should be thankful for… my husband reminds me constantly, wanting to know what the f*ck my problem is… if I knew, I would change the problem.

It is identifying the problem. Figuring out the solution.

Welcome to the cliche.