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I am tired of working so hard.

Everything feels like work to me somedays. Even the things that are meant to be self-nurturing require some show of effort on my part.

I was driving out to a friend’s house this evening for a home-cooked meal, and I both wanted to cry and was ashamed of wanting to cry. I was thinking about how tiring life is right now. I was thinking about how hard I am working in so many aspects of it all at once.

There is a part of me that wants to say, “I don’t want life to be so hard,” and another part of me that is shaming me for what a privileged life I have lead. It’s true that I’ve had a lot of privilege in my life. I’m also not sure how much time I’ve actually spent in my life up until recently; rather, much of my time and energy thus far seems to have been dedicated to avoiding, escaping, or denying my life.

It feels as though I am waking up more and more these past few months. Or, accepting more and more. It feels as though I am perhaps in my life for the first time in my life. And, it is hard. There seems to be quite a bit of it that I don’t particularly like, privileged as it is.

Like, the idea that life really may just be about moments. I hate that. And, it might very well be true.

I drove home having gotten to rest for a few hours with some really good people who let me rest. I got to spend time just enjoying being me in the company of others. It was easy and wonderful. It changed everything about how I was experiencing myself. I drove out wanting to cry. I drove home feeling grateful. It was a really great moment. I didn’t have to work in it at all.