Odd that the disaster of November 8, followed by November 9’s heavy fog of shock and devastation, should be the thing to kick my ass back in gear.
The year 2016 has not been a good year for me.
For a lot of reasons, which I’ll only skim through here. I quit one horrible job only to unwittingly start an even more horrible job, one in a toxic workplace that wrecked my spirit and self-confidence with the ease of a boot heel crushing an ant. I fled and I floundered. I turned to freelancing and dipped my toes in sex work–the former only semi-successfully, although growing more so as time goes on, and the latter not so much.
My libido crashed and sunk like the Titanic, and I am still scouring the depths, trying to find and raise the wreckage.
My partner and I discussed marriage, only to decide to wait until we were more financially stable, only to then reconsider now that it’s clear our constitutional right to marry may soon be threatened.
Worst of all, my writing has stalled. I have scores of ideas, but finding words for them is a struggle.
Yet I woke up this morning and felt very keenly that I was ready to get myself together again. To go back to building this blog and my writing career and reclaiming my self-esteem, re-realizing my self-worth.
I know this is nothing like the inspiring blogs and articles and calls to action that so many others are writing: the ones saying so beautifully that we will be strong, we will persevere, we will fight. But my therapists have always pointed out that I have a problematically internal locus of control. When something goes wrong, I always look to myself, inside myself, for problems to fix–because I tend to believe that I can only make a positive difference in the world I inhabit if I am the best that I can be.
So. Here I am.