If you haven't already seen it, please read Tim O'Brien's amazing novel about Vietnam, The Things They Carried. The idea of what those soldiers carried, tangible and intangible, has stayed with me for years.
The idea of things carried arose today in a painful, ultimately (I hope) life-changing way. This diary is not overtly political, but the personal does connect with the political. Self-reclamation and autonomy are political acts.
I don't want to tell the whole story, both because it's too personal and because I don't have the words. But a short introduction should suffice.
I have a secure job that I'm leaving because I've been unhappy for years.
I have a wonderful boyfriend and friends. I am a good, educated, kind, rather likeable person. And I have spent many years in a haze of self-loathing, belittling myself, feeling that I fall short, attaching myself to unhappiness because I thought I deserved it.
After a long, difficult conversation today with my beloved, at the end of which we parted uncertain as to the fate of our relationship, I took stock. (Copious tears were involved here, and an inner anguish I'm ill equipped to describe.) And then I sent this email:
Dear X,
I've spent the last hour since you left thinking about the things I've carried.
They are heavy things. Needlessly heavy.
I carried my sense of failure about my first real boyfriend. I carried my sense of failure about [my grad school love]. I carried my sense of failure about [my ex-husband]. I carried the failures of every male that I loved and lost, who never loved me back, who betrayed me. I carried it, either because I wanted to carry the failures (in order to feel bad about myself) or because I simply didn't know how to put them down.
I carried the hopes, dreams, anxieties and failures of both my mother and father.
I carried the expectations that my parents, teachers and mentors had for me.
I carried guilt and anger and anxiety, sometimes for myself, but often for others who refused to carry them.
I carried frustration about not "reaching my potential."
I carried worries about my health, worries about my family's health, worries about money.
I carried profound grief for the loss of my mother, who was also my best friend.
I carried these things because I thought I needed to, because I thought that the fact I could carry so much, so well, defined me.
I thought that carrying these things made me strong.
In fact, carrying these things has made me very very tired. It has made me behaviorally lazy, in that I have been more likely to carry these things (out of habit or perceived duty) than rid myself of them.
Carrying these things has made me unhappy. It has made me believe that I deserve to be unhappy.
I have participated in these feelings. I simply kept carrying the things that produced the feelings, and behaved as though I didn't have a choice.
I have a choice, and I am tired of carrying what I've carried.
I don't want to be the person who carries these things anymore. I realize that if I am to grow, to be happy, I must put all the burdens down. I must figure out what else to pick up.
I want to choose positive things, lighter things to carry.
I know that this is my work. No matter what my job might end up being, this is my real work: rebuilding myself. Building myself up. Being the person that I really want to be. Discovering myself.
I am sorry beyond words that the things I've carried have hurt you. They have. You have even tried to carry a bit of my burden, things you didn't really need or want to carry. I'm sorry for that.
Before you left today, you put down the burden of carrying our relationship. Although I am in pain, I see why you did that. The burden of carrying our relationship should never have been yours alone.
I'm not sure what to say right now, or how you are feeling. The best I can do is tell you the truth.
What happened today has been one of the biggest wake-up calls of my life. After you left I saw the person I've become -- really saw her -- and said out loud, over and over (as though the words came from somewhere deep inside me): "I don't want to be her anymore. She isn't happy. She pushes happiness away."
It is a wrenching thing to cast out the "I" that I'm familiar with, but I owe myself that. I need to see who I can become with less encumbrances, less mental and emotional fetters.
I want you to know this: I see the love and comfort and support that you've given me. I'm sorry that I haven't acknowledged them in the way they deserve. They are among the biggest blessings I've ever had.
I'm starting to really believe that your love can't change me or save me or make me better. Only my own love for myself can do that.
But your love is precious to me. It is a quantity and quality that I don't want to squander. It is something that I truly want in my life.
I hope when you return from [your trip] that you will be willing to discuss things with me. I understand that you have concerns and doubts about our future together. I understand that you need to think things over individually and also that you want to communicate about our future together.
I hope also that you will consider what I've said here. Believe me, it has cost me something to write these words. What it has cost is (excruciating) awareness that I am the agent of my own unhappiness, and that if I am ever to be happy, I must be the agent of that also. It is my work.
And I hope that you will be in my life, as my lover and dear friend, as I do the work I've always needed to do. My heart tells me that I can do my work and serve our relationship well also. I believe I can do both, and I very much want to.
With love and hope for a new year,
ZZZ
I realize that this diary might be perceived as self-indulgent. I accept that criticism. However, I hope it is seen by someone who has also doubted him/herself into unhappiness and has decided, for once, to practice self-compassion that leads toward healing.
Peace.