by Kelsey Marie Harris
These past couple weeks have been about adjustment. Adjusting to the change is season. Adjusting to returning to work. Adjusting to working in a school with no kids. Adjusting to things dying, and new things growing in the garden. Adjusting to the needs of my partner, despite my own.
I’ve always thought of myself as being skilled at adapting. I’m used to being uncomfortable, physically and mentally. However, what I’ve been taught recently is that I’m more selfish than I give myself credit for.
I’ve been made to realize my self-loathing is low key a form of being self-absorbed. Not wanting to burden my loved ones with my troubles, and in turn escaping inside my own head, becoming closed off, is contradicting.
I stand on the principle that the endless pursuit of happiness is overrated and overwhelming. Someone special informed me, romanticizing melancholy is just as destructive.
In hindsight, these past weeks have been about listening, giving credit when credits due, and learning to balance. I’m making the effort to pull myself out of my head and into reality especially when my dark hole starts to feel too cozy. I’m learning that I too force others into a position of having to adjust to me, and I need to take accountability for my influence on the discomfort of those I love.