A Moody New Years Day Post I'll Probably End Up Deleting

We’re on day 3 of crippling anxiety. I say “we” because when you’re married, someone else gets to experience the full breadth of your emotions — especially the less than ideal ones. No one is more thrilled about this than the dogs who have logged a record number of cuddles and butt scratches. But I’m feeling badly about it, so I’m confessing here — on the first day of the year of our LORD 2024 — that I’ve been incapable of peeling myself from the couch since about 6:30 this morning. It’s been 8 hours so far, and I’m feeling especially pathetic. But if you can’t admit these things on your own website, where can you?

Typically, my meltdowns schedule themselves annually on or leading up to my birthday. Being a naturally introspective person, having a birthday a week before the end of the year isn’t preferable. But since I was violently ill the week leading up to Christmas and am still suffering the ramifications, I guess this year’s iteration is a bit delayed. And here I’d hoped we were skipping it all together. How fun for me.

This may never see the light of day because ringing throughout my mind with every letter I type is the notion that I’m being too negative and no one wants to hear or cares about my latest episode. That, in some way, I’m tarnishing a fresh new year with my heavy feelings. So who knows if it will be published or how long I’ll leave it up before immense embarrassment takes over.

When I say I’m introspective, I mean that in the most critical, analytical sense. One year ends, another begins, and I can’t help but feel I didn’t get it all the way right (again). I wasn’t as creative as I’d hoped. I invested a lot of my time, energy, and bandwidth into things I’m not sure I should have. I cared so much about things that mattered very little to others. I’m not sure I actually helped anyone — let alone myself. I read that some years are for planting and others are for sowing, and I’ve got to be honest, I can’t help but feel like a shitty gardener.

It wasn’t all bad. I deepened relationships. I tried to make the things around me beautiful. I had some great experiences. And maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had two weeks to be sick and spiral out on the couch and come undone to realize that maybe I should have done this one thing this way, or maybe I shouldn’t have done that other thing at all, and maybe that random neck rash was a warning sign (there are 2 people tops who will understand this reference). I want to be one of those people that posts about “another incredible year,” but I don’t know how. I worked so hard. I tried so hard. And I don’t feel especially fulfilled or purposeful as much as I do burnt out and directionless and a little sad.

I’m hoping that writing this will help get it out of my system. That maybe I’ll finally be able to separate myself from the sofa and shower or change into a fresh set of loungewear or stretch or call my parents and wish them a happy new year. Right now, I just don’t feel up for any of it.

If a new year feels less like “365 opportunities to blah blah blah” and more like a blank canvas that you have no skills or tools or wherewithal to paint, I am with you. We will sort through this as best we can together.

All my love,

Natalie