Its never too early for a mid-life crisis, apparently

What if I’m not who I assumed I was? There are too many times where I’ve felt like I'm following a script that I didn’t write or agree to perform— and the only reason the production hasn’t fallen apart is because if you asked me what I would do or think differently, I wouldn’t have an answer.

But what if I’m neither a writer nor an artist…but in fact, these are personas I’ve adopted as a band-aid—a pliable form of comfort or crutch of control to cover deep-rooted trauma? What if these are identity tropes that I borrowed from the ether as a means of masking a harsh truth: such levels of ‘creative’ (sometimes dumpster-fire) self- expression is contrived for public attention and acceptance, aimed at inhaling validation and exhaling confirmation of worth and value that otherwise remains unseen if not outwardly defined.

I’m middle-aged. Single. Solo parenting. Drowning in neurodivergence. Sludging on a corporate wheel, shackled to bills, and trapped by social obligations. And wondering if it would make a difference if I stood still. If the winds of this forward march stopped whipping up long enough to give me a chance to breathe, think, or make a self-governed choice. The world would certainly keep spinning and few would notice my lack of participation with the exception of my kid and my dog aka my dependents. Surely God would have a perspective and would eventually let me know. For now though, He is silent.

Meanwhile, I creatively emote into a void. Inconsistently.

So if I were to let each thread fall, would it matter? And would the possibilities found within a new season elicit excitement?

Meh.

Thankfully I’ve joined a women’s book club at church. I’m realizing it’s not other people I struggle to have boundaries with--its absolutely myself and probably because I’m always near an edge, blurry. In better defining who I am as I race toward age 40 and allowing God to inform my identity vs building on scraps, false starts, and outdated method of survival, perhaps saying goodbye to what no longer fits👋🏾, will yield freedom. Or at least something enjoyable, meaningful, and gratifyingly different.