I threw in the towel today.
As much as I refuse to admit defeat and use the words, "I surrender", I did just that.
I surrender to the expections I have placed on myself to being everything to everybody.
I surrender to the unexpected events I have endured, worrying about the what-ifs that would've changed things and the what-ifs that may never be.
I surrender to the facade of being a good mother, in the face of actually being a good mother.
I surrender to what is left of me.
I have been forced to realize the status of my self-being: being suddenly deprived of everything I sought so hard to achieve, yet also feeling that perhaps I had never achieved anything in the first place.
So I'm taking a time-out, a "forced" (tell me, who admits defeat, willingly?) "medically-supervised" (read: borderline clinical depression) leave-of-absence from my job, so I can re-focus, re-adjust, refine and re-find my mind, body, spirit because, somewhere, I lost myself.
Where am I?
As I stood in the hallway of my doctor's office, staring out the tower window looking down on the street below, I contemplated what a leave-of-absence meant.
Surely others have way more on their shoulders, yet why can I not do the same: grin and bear it?
So, I will take these next few weeks to gather my wits, "take a breather", learn to de-multitask, and focus on spending some time mending my spirit.
But in true Cheryl-style, to add insult to injury, I came across a book today, and I couldn't decide whether to throw it against a wall or curl up with it. It was a book on highly successful career-driven women and how they balance work and family. I bought it. If it's a secret, I do want in. But I'm not sure I'm ready to tackle my issues just yet, so this book will likely remain decoration on my nightstand, to taunt me, perhaps, or maybe it'll sink into my subconscious during sleep and then I'll finally know....