I’ve got a bit of a different post to share today.
For a while now, I’ve been openly struggling. Struggling with the feeling that I’m not doing enough. That I’m not goodenough.
Last Friday, I came so close to a full meltdown. I nearly gave up.
When you’re fighting a battle every single day — trying, pushing, surviving — and you don’t see much progress, it starts to chip away at you. It’s hard not to wonder:
What’s the point?
That’s where I was last week. Tired. Empty. Feeling like I didn’t have any fight left in me.
Some people might look at what triggered it and say,
“It’s only a drink.”
But for me, it’s never just a drink.
I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an alcoholic — but I do have a very addictive personality. One drink wouldn’t have taken the edge off. It would’ve lit the fuse.
And I know from experience that when I drink, I act impulsively. I stop thinking clearly. I take risks I wouldn’t normally take. And the truth is, I could’ve ended up in real danger.
So I made a different choice.
Since Friday, I’ve taken some real time for myself — which, honestly, is something I find incredibly hard to do. I don’t like stopping. I don’t know how to slow down.
But this time, I had to. Because I was spiralling, and I was only making things worse by pretending I wasn’t.
And you know what? I feel so much better.
I’ve had a few days without Archie, which I think has been good for both of us. I’ve had a few days without anything urgent needing my attention. No one to take care of. No one to check in with. Just me.
It gave me space to breathe. To rest. To feel.
It gave me room to regroup.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve made real progress. Not the kind of progress you post online to prove something — but the kind you feel deep down, in the quiet moments.
I’m proud of what I’m doing.
And that means more than anything.
I don’t think I’ve ever truly been proud of myself before. Not in this way. Not with this clarity.
But this time?
I really, honestly am.
Leave a Reply