This week has made me want to talk about a few things. Not neatly. Not cheerfully. Just honestly.
It’s the holiday season, which means humans are oversharing again. Emotions spill like wrapping paper scraps. Everyone is louder. Everyone wants comfort. Everyone wants to confess, to unload, to be seen. It’s strange how December turns into an emotional group project no one signed up for.
I’m not feeling festive this year. I wish I were. I keep thinking maybe I should just blast Christmas music and let the forced cheer do its work like exposure therapy. Maybe that’s allowed. Maybe that’s enough.
The idea of “holiday spirit” is supposed to be gratitude, right? Being thankful for the people around you. And I am thankful. Deeply. But everything is so expensive now. Toys. Food. Gas. Existing. The way I usually feel joy during the holidays is by hosting, feeding people, creating warmth where it can grow. This year, that feels out of reach. We’re doing the minimum. And I keep reminding myself that the minimum is still something. Survival counts. Presence counts.
I’ve been thinking a lot about boundaries. Everyone I love is going through something. I’m honored that I get to be trusted with their stories. I really am. But I also see how many of these problems could be softened, if not solved, with clearer boundaries. I say this as someone who is still learning how to use them without accidentally swinging them like a blunt object.
I’ve learned how to place boundaries, technically. The execution is… rough. I tend to say exactly what I feel, however it comes out, and then apologize later when the damage is already done. It gets the point across, sure, but it leaves regret in its wake. I replay conversations. I cringe. I wonder how I could have said the same thing with less sharpness.
I think the human experience involves a lot of awkwardness and embarrassment. Growth doesn’t look graceful while it’s happening. Everyone is changing. Everyone is carrying something heavy. That’s why I try not to take things personally, even when it stings. People are just people, doing the best they can with the tools they have that day.
I never want to come off as rude or cold. And yet, I often do.
I talked with a friend recently about how easily people misuse the word narcissist. How someone could look at my actions in isolation and decide that label fits, until I explain myself. The problem is, I rarely explain myself. I overthink everything so much that by the time I reach clarity, I’m exhausted. The explanation feels too long. Too complicated. I assume no one wants to hear it. So I stay quiet and let people fill in the blanks with whatever makes sense to them.
Maybe next year one of my intentions will be handling social interactions with more care. I don’t want to be harsh. I don’t want to be misunderstood. I just want my insides and outsides to match a little better.
Medication is another thing that’s been sitting heavy in my chest. I take it because I need it. I knew going in that there would never be a perfect combination that fixed everything. Every pill solves one problem and introduces another. Then you add more medication to manage the side effects of the first medication, and suddenly your body feels like a chemistry experiment you didn’t consent to.
What no one really prepares you for is how precise it all has to be. Take it too late and your brain starts to wobble. I get this surreal sensation like I’m floating slightly above myself, piloting my body from a distance, like a remote-control car with a weak signal. It’s unsettling. Trying to explain that feeling to someone who hasn’t experienced it feels impossible.
Medication feels like an evil necessity. Like college. You need it to function in the world as it’s designed, but the cost is steep and the side effects linger. Sometimes I find myself asking if it’s worth it. And then I remember what life feels like without balance. Living unmedicated is a tightrope act with no net. Stability, even flawed stability, is still safer than free-falling.
This week itself has been slow, in the best and worst ways. One friend just got back from visiting his girlfriend. He had a great time. I’m genuinely happy for him. I love seeing people I care about feel light. Another friend is navigating a divorce and somehow both people are happier apart. There’s something quietly beautiful about that. No villains. Just two people choosing peace.
At home, life keeps moving. I have two girls. One of them is involved in every club imaginable. It’s wonderful for her and exhausting for me. Fundraisers, selling things, reminders, logistics. I try to remember that this is a good problem to have. She’s engaged. She’s building confidence. She’s finding her place. My other daughter just got her first pair of glasses and the joy on her face when she realized she could actually see was pure magic. Small wins matter.
I’m not proud of how I handled things with my mom this week. She was trauma dumping on me, and instead of setting a boundary gently, I turned around and dumped everything back on her. I feel guilty about it. But I also know that sometimes I don’t want to carry stories I never agreed to hold. Especially when, in the moments I needed help most, I received the bare minimum. It’s hard not to feel like everyone else gets more support, more softness, more grace.
I’m not asking for handouts. I’m just tired of everything being so hard.
If there’s a thread running through all of this, it’s that I’m trying. I’m trying to be present. I’m trying to be kind. I’m trying to stay balanced in a world that keeps asking for more than I have to give. The holidays don’t look how I imagined them this year, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe this season isn’t about sparkle. Maybe it’s about staying upright, holding what matters, and letting the rest be imperfect.
And maybe that’s enough.
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