It happens time and time again. My heart races, and I feel I should be apologizing.
Apologizing for the blog post I wrote that wasn’t quite my best.
Apologizing for fixating on the same subject day after day.
Apologizing for being home, for not working, for being sick.
I feel I should apologize to my husband for the long processing time for the disability cheque.
Apologizing for my anxiety, for my depression.
Apologizing for my inability to filter out smells and sounds – for being overwhelmed.
Apologizing for my meltdowns.
My heart pounds and the anxiety grows, and once again I feel like a failure – and I want to apologize for that.
For my sickness, for my fears, for my exhaustion that doesn’t allow me to get enough done.
For my failures, for my pain, for my brokenness…
For my inability to understand, or to speak.
For my struggle to learn, and to work, and to move forward.
For my obsessions over my past,
For my fixations on things beyond my control.
For my dreams, for my passions, for my desires.
For the colours I choose, and the clothes that I wear.
For the floor that is sliding, and the carpet that is tearing, and the wall that has cracks.
For the room that is cold, and the heater that is on, and the plants that are growing – and those that did not.
For the day that is dark, and my head that is pounding.
As a wife, as a mother, as a writer, as a daughter, as a Christian, as a Canadian, as an Aspie, as a human, as a woman… I am sorry. I can’t get it right.
I can’t explain it. I can’t change it. I can’t overcome it. I can’t mask it.
I am me, and I am sorry.