I feel like I am transforming, like a caterpillar into a butterfly. Well, I’m still in the caterpillar phase I think, but I can envision becoming a beautiful butterfly one day.
It’s difficult to describe this week in one word, but I feel it has begun to change me (in a good way). I began teaching again, and walking into that classroom, I feel comfortable. Not necessarily inthe “this is my comfort zone and I refuse to leave it” (though maybe that’s part of it). No, it feels more like I am moving in the direction of doing what I am supposed to be doing in life. I think for so long I had these ideas of what I should do in life—based on societal and familial expectations—not what I wanted to do or what I was called to do. Now, I get to focus on those things.
For example, I wrote an article on a potential new law that was introduced in the House, titled the PUPPERS Act. I love animals, so anything animal-related in politics always pricks my ears (get it?). As I was writing it, I suddenly felt like my two loves—animals and writing—got to intersect, and I got really excited.
Then, for the first time, I submitted one of pieces of short fiction to be published on Medium. It will be published Monday. I’m really excited about that one, too, and I’ll tell you all about it (and link to it) on Monday. Promise.
I’ve encountered difficulty in treating writing like a job, though. This has to because I work 25 hours a week at my day job, and then I started teaching again on Tuesday, so that means preparing lectures and activities as well as the actual act of going into the classroom to teach. So, I’ve been upset with myself that I haven’t devoted my time to writing like I should, like I want to.
One thing I have done this week, though, is realize, at the very least, that I can’t allow others to bulldoze me anymore. Really, this week has made me see that it’s time to make a change and control what I can control.
I know I have responsibilities, though—rent (now that I’ll have my own place in 2 weeks), Belle, credit card payments, student loans—and I have to be able to take care of those. The problem is I’m torn. I know and understand I have adult responsibilities, but how much longer do I ignore my gut and my mental health? I feel my creativity is being squashed like a highly undesirable bug. When do I say “no more”?
I know I am going to sound like a whiny millennial, like a child who doesn’t get her way, but the hard truth is this: I don’t want to do it anymore. And what’s wrong with admitting when you don’t want to do something? What’s wrong with admitting you aren’t cut out for something, or it’s just not what you thought you wanted?
As I told my therapist, I feel like I should have already figured this out, like I should have known before I got to this point. And that just makes me angry and frustrated with myself.
The plus side is this: I have an idea of what I want. At least for now. So that’s what I’m going for.
Because I know one day the transformation will be complete.