Ugly Truths

I spent three days justifying (to myself) a shirt purchase (for myself) this week. I kept comparing it to what I should be doing with that money and to what we’d spent on everyone else this month, questioning whether I’d earned it before clicking Add to Cart.

Not to jump right into a whole ‘woe is me’ soliloquy, but I wanted to start off with some context.

The ugly truth is that I’ve been running on empty for most of this year. I’m talking burnout, existential crisis, the whole enchilada. And it's my fault because nobody ever asked me to run myself into the ground.

My husband, the Balkan Storm, has been anything but neglectful or unsupportive; he’s usually the first one telling me to buy the thing, do the thing, go visit the thing, and stop overthinking all the things.

Which…kinda makes this all that much more annoying. Because if nobody is actually telling me no, why am I compelled to justify my spending? My downtime? My purely self-serving interests?

Quick impression of my brain: You don’t need that. You haven’t even earned that yet. Don’t you think that money could go toward something more practical?

Like the shirt. Which is currently on sale for $27. I don’t need it need it, but it would look perfect for an outfit I’m planning.

As of this writing, it’s still sitting in the cart waiting for me to decide if I’m allowed to purchase it.

It’s $27, and I’m sitting here in analysis paralysis.

It’s a goddamn shirt.

The shirt is just the latest example. This all started the way it does in many families, when girls earn approval for being responsible, understanding, low-maintenance, and never ‘too much’.

Then they grow up and wonder why they can't buy a stupid shirt without guilt.

I’m being dramatic, but only a little bit.

“Family takes care of family” is one of those generational mottos that seems impossible to argue with. Of course, family should take care of family. People should support each other in hard times.  

But…for how long? For how much?

Before I continue, I promise this is not a “my family ruined my life” article. Quite the contrary.

My husband, my mother, and my friends have all supported me. And the kids…are GREAT. I’m genuinely proud of who they’re becoming, even if the process hasn't exactly been straightforward.

But in that process, I started acting like my own priorities had to wait.

I started this platform with Beautiful Lies, a piece on how I dreamed up fantastical lives in my head to survive a lot of ugliness, and used that same tendency to create a better one.

And while it had what I feel like a lot of ugliness to it, it was meant to be hopeful. But now I realize I can't talk about beautiful lies without eventually getting to the ugly truths.

Here's one: sometimes I don't want to be needed by anyone.

Sometimes I just want to not be available to a single living soul and not feel guilty about it.

Being constantly available can feel like death by a thousand ‘small’ requests.

There’s always someone who ‘forgot’, who’s avoiding something, who is overwhelmed, or needs help wording a message. There are always at least two people who are hungry at any given time, and at least one who’s emotionally overwhelmed.

Yes, I’m including myself in all of the above.

When I said something along those lines to my mother recently, she said, “Welcome to being the mother.”

(Or maybe she said woman. I’ll have to ask her. Either way, it still proves my point.)

That right there says so much about our lineage, and I’m sure it’s true for so many families.

I’m not blaming women for this; it’s just that we witnessed our mothers and grandmothers show love by making holidays, keeping the peace, remembering special events, anticipating others' needs, and I could name a hundred other examples.

These are good things that bond families and create traditions, and I’m grateful for them. I just don’t think anyone intended for us to internalize that love means your own life should always come last.

It gets more complicated when someone you’re supporting hasn’t quite launched yet, because what starts as help becomes expected, and by the time you realize it, you're burnt to the studs.

And you can’t even be straight-up mad about it because you love them. You just want to be able to step back enough to let them become capable without you, because that’s how adults develop.

But every time you try, guilt pulls you right back in to help.

The ugly truth is, there’s always a wall, whether it’s compassion fatigue, financial strain, resentment, emotional exhaustion, burnout, loss of identity, loss of freedom, declining health, new priorities, or simply reaching a point where you realize helping someone else has become the sole focus of your existence.

You feel guilty and selfish for wanting parts of your old life back while also being deeply committed to the life you have now.

You grieve the life you thought was ahead of you, and then you feel guilty for even admitting that because there is so much to be grateful for.

You can fiercely love your family and still admit that some seasons of life ask more of you than you expected.

You tell yourself the season is temporary until you finally figure out the actual goal was never returning to your past, but figuring out who you are right now.

And then deciding what to do with that.

Damn.

The ugly truth is I’m tired. I’m especially tired of having to muster up patience that I don’t always feel.

It chaps my ass to always keep my words in check for the sake of 'healthy, cooperative relationships' with people who wouldn’t extend me the same courtesy on their best day.

And I'm a writer. I have a lot of words.

The uglier truth is that no amount of patience and correct verbiage brings understanding from people who pretend you don’t exist.

Sometimes people benefiting from your efforts would rather act like you aren’t involved at all, which is pretty goddamn rich when you’re the one making appointments, cooking meals, talking with teachers, having hard conversations, celebrating achievements, and helping build the stability they seem to think came out of thin air.

Nobody has to like that, but pretending otherwise doesn’t make it any less of a reality.

I’m raising a kid that isn’t biologically mine. I do it because they needed someone to, but also because I love them. They chose my home, and I take that seriously.

The actual truth is, it’s a beautiful privilege. Don't mistake my frustration for regret - I'd do it all again in a hot second.

I am working on all this, though. I’m still feeling a skosh guilty for taking time for myself this summer in beautiful, sunny California.

The Balkan Storm and I are still noodling out what our future looks like after all this. It might be a consulting gig in the Caribbean (no shit), maybe a 2-bedroom home on the west coast, or a multi-acre farm and animal rescue.

Hell, maybe all of it, who knows?

Either way, wherever we go, I’m making damn sure I’m never gonna be Wisconsin- cold again.

That being said, I’m still me. I’m still gonna overthink a lot of stuff, and overextend myself at times, but I’m self-aware enough to know that doesn’t automatically make me virtuous.  

The ugly truth is that there will always be SOME reason why your future has to wait until things settle down.

But you can’t treat your own life like a reward you’ll get around to once everything else is taken care of first, because if you do, there's always one more thing.

So I went ahead and bought the damn shirt.

I can't wait to wear it in California. And once the family joins me after my respite, my only logistical concerns will be what time the park opens and whether we hit the beach before or after lunch.

I mean, I'll probably still overpack and overthink, but our weird, complicated, wonderful little household is going to make some memories. And after all this, I'm making sure we get a fun family photo.

At least I'll have a cute shirt to wear in it.

Heather Papovich is the voice behind Unfinished Business. She's seen some things. She'll tell you about them.