one hundred eighty two point five

[I wrote this 4/25 and sat on it, decided to share it anyway]

Six months is one hundred eighty two and one half days.

Yesterday, while sitting outside on my deck, I realized that six months ago, I turned 29.

Six months ago, I struggled to get out of bed.

Six months ago, I bailed on a birthday party because I was convinced everyone there hated me and only invited me because they felt sorry for me.  Anxiety told me so.

Six months ago, I finally went to the doctor and said — I can’t do this anymore.

One hundred eighty two and one half days later, here I am.  I still fall apart.  I still question if I am good enough or worthy.  I still have days where I lock myself in the bathroom at work and cry.  There are days that I struggle and I come home and go straight to bed.  There are days where I feel like I could burst through a wall with how happy I am.  If you are reading this and waiting for the leaf to turn and for the light to shine on your next 182.5, it’s coming.  It will happen.  I promise.

What in this world will happen in the next 182.5?  I turn 30 and I can hardly believe it.  I don’t feel any sort of crisis about it, honestly.  I feel a lot of peace.  My 20’s were largely spent figuring out what in this world I am doing.  Guess what?  I still don’t know.  I had this idea that my job would define me and that’s not how it turned out, really.  Maybe I should be doing something else, but I don’t know what that would be anyway. But, my job doesn’t define me.  I don’t find who I am in the place I make money, and I’m okay with that.  I find my my worth in the faces of the people I love and in being the bright spot in their day.  I find my worth in places I never thought to look.

Even though I really have no idea what I am doing, I feel more at home in my own life than I ever have.  I think that 30 will be a good look.  I’m not in a hurry, I know that.  I’m just enjoying it.  Whatever ‘it’ is — I’m loving it.