It’s Christmas and I know I’m supposed to feel cheerful but instead I’m realizing that I’m actually in The Big Suck.
Like everyone else, I’ve spent most of this year hiding from Covid. And while you’d think I would have reached this point months ago, I’m just now really feeling the weight of it catching up to me. I think that I’m getting depressed by it and staying home all the time is affecting my mental health.
There have been so many good things that have happened this year. My husband survived cancer (for now…there’s always that lurking feeling in the back of my mind, wondering if it has come back.) My daughter legally changed her name and gender marker right before Covid hit and she now has a good job. My middle son is starting college next month. My youngest son is waiting to find out if he got accepted to the universities to which he applied. And of course, my husband got a great new job and I’ve continued my writing work this whole time, including getting new clients.
So what I can’t understand is why, if so many truly great things happened this year, do I feel so blah and unmotivated? I feel like by all rights, I should be happy, but for the most part, I’m just not.
I have a lot of anxiety about the future and not knowing if my husband or I will come out of this pandemic unscathed. I know that worrying about future “what-ifs” robs me from finding joy and peace in the day-to-day order of things. But I can’t seem to stop myself from worrying anyway.
There’s also the hormone shifts of perimenopause, which I’m sure isn’t helping at all. It’s not surprising that shifting hormone levels would make me feel depressed, as I experienced rock bottom depression after the births of each of my three kids.
I feel like every day I’m confronting my own mortality and I just don’t like what I see. I haven’t done nearly enough with my life, yet I can’t get motivated to try to do anything to make my mark on the world before it’s too late.