I first posted this on Instagram via my “alter-ego” @50s_are_fab ,who is still, of course, me, but different... the compassionate-self encouraged me to post the same on my @itsLaura_Lynwith1n Instagram page, where I have more “followers” and, thus, my vulnerability is more at risk.
So, with a little nudge from family and my true self... both calls an octave louder than my self-critic, I confess...
Honestly, nothing feels too fab for me lately. I’m tired. Exhausted. “Up” one minute—way, way down the next...
I’m my own worst critic, and #iknowbetter bc I have coping skills—ones I’ve learned and practiced for decades, new ones too—I have “sayings”, inspirational quotes, beautiful scripture, prayer, Jesus.
I have a beautiful, healthy (right now) family with all 7 of us home for another 20 hours. I know I’m blessed which makes it worse—fuels my critic—smolders my ability to self-care.
Nothing is working.
Here I am. Sad. Still feeling the depression of the times—compounded.
I know. I know. I know.
Anything and everything could be worse.
Still, I will allow myself, against the so-called advice of my self-critic, to feel the sadness—to feel what I feel—it’s okay—it’s me...
I try hard to remember the blessings in the storm, the joy in the cracks, but it’s not always easy or obvious.
However, on Thanksgiving Day, I sat on the lap of my #mainman—feeling fab in plaid, connected to my husband, my children, our 7-person corner of community—and that was a personal experience of #alliswell.
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