Really, there's nothing wrong at all with me. I have a pretty fantastic life. My children are sweet and loving and pretty wonderful. My husband is beyond loving, supportive and kind. My faith is deep and sustaining. Any want or need I might have is generally promptly fulfilled. And yet I keep having days where all I want to do is get back into bed. Days of being tired and grumpy and impatient. Days where the thought of planning meals for the week and then shopping for the groceries needed to make them has been so overwhelming it has brought me to the brink of tears. Days where it's hard to see the point of doing anything productive because the things I do matter so little anyway. Days of feeling inadequate. Unfocused. Off my game. Days where my sweet husband has held me and listened to me and wiped away my tears.
We're not really sure what's going on with at the moment, but we are exploring a few possibilities. I've been really, really tired a lot of the time (ask my kids how often Mama conks out on the couch in the afternoons), so we're looking into what we can do to improve the quality of my sleep. Another option is depression and/or anxiety. I dealt with both of those as a college student, so I'm definitely pre-disposed, but I've been fine for almost 10 years now. And the final option is that it's just a passing schlump, a "phase I'm going through", if you will. We'll see.
This all sounds very grim and serious, and I want you to know that there's no need for alarm, I'm going to be fine. I have a great support system in my family and a few close friends. A lot of the time I feel perfectly happy and normal. Some days are happy and productive and fun, and some days are long and exhausting and hard. Most days are a little bit of both. Some days we eat a glorious home cooked meal, and some days we get takeout. Some days I vacuum and mop the whole downstairs and play with the kids in the yard, and other days I play Threes on my phone and feel guilty about how much screen time the kids are getting and how I'm a terrible mother.
Why am I telling you all of this, you ask? It's because I feel like it needs to be OK for people to struggle with things like depression, anxiety or just general schlumpiness. It needs to be OK if we're not happy all the time. Nobody is. And for it to be OK, people who are having a hard time need to be willing say "Hey, I'm actually not OK" without having to feel ashamed or afraid of the consequences if people know. Because people who are depressed or anxious or struggling with other mental health issues already feel ashamed and afraid enough as it as. What they need is for someone to hear that and know that and love them anyway. To let it be OK that they're not OK.
So this post is me telling you "Hey, I'm actually not OK right now." Is that OK?