The Sunday Morning Feeling
Hello everyone and welcome to my first post on my blog, You are my muses. I’ve been going back and forth about what this blog should be out. There are so many aspects of my life that I want to touch on, but I will admit I’m a bit nervous about putting some of it out there. So, let’s start small, and quell my anxiety before more people discover their part as my muse. I’ve tried to start a blog before and even had my own website, but it got lost among the chaotic past projects I never completed, and now I don’t even remember the name. But I think that it’s time that this idea gives me completion butterflies.
It's hard for me not to dive right into the deep stuff and divulge my darkest secrets and experiences. I want to word vomit all over you. But that would be impolite according to my southern bell grandparents. So, let’s start with an introduction. My name is Grace Foreman. I am 29 years old. And I have a story to tell. This blog will almost be a diary riddled with code words and clues as to what I really mean. Someday, I know you’ll crack it, but today, I hide behind it. I feel a should list my mental health diagnoses like they’re a title, but let’s not give them that power.
Honestly, it was social media that got me through the experience. I could be labeled whatever they wanted but I always found my solace online listening to others experiencing the same thing. It’s too bad that I now roll my eyes at the self-diagnosed progressive experiences on TikTok when I started in the same place. I never posted. Just like I never posted pictures of myself after it happened. I just listened, laughed, and felt a little less lonely.
Right now, I’m mostly working on my own self esteem. Life has taken it from me, and it seems like no matter what I do, I’m still not satisfied or proud of myself for doing it. I got my fucking PhD during the worst years of my life, and I’ve barely stopped to feel the accomplishment of it. Gratitude brings me back to Earth when things get dark now, and I am addicted to the feeling I get when I complete something. I know that kind of goes against what I just said about not feeling it, but the bipolar moods keep me on my feet. Oops I just dropped a title. Bipolar Disorder. I got that one last but let’s talk about it first.
My stepmom says I had it for a while before I had it. In a motherly way. Don’t you dare come for her. And for me, that resonates. It wasn’t that I became different, I felt the same, but it just turned up the high to boil my mind. And the way people looked at me differently. That did make me feel different. It was either from the weight I gained or the delusional performance I put every so often. Probably the latter. Somewhere there was a girl that believed things that are too embarrassing to even think about now. And I get a jolt of electricity when I do, along with the escaped words saying I fucking hate myself. But was it really my fault? How had that become who I was? Is God laughing at me? Is this how I will be forever? Yes, it is.
But then one day, it stopped. The delusions were laughable. Taking a shower was easy. I took baby steps, waking up to sprinkles of myself each day. Somehow, I began to win the fight against my mind. I started with no energy to complete a day, and then it went to one hour, followed by two, and so on. I added habits into the core of my day little bits at a time. My brain fought against it, sending me crippling anxiety each time I tried to better myself. I pushed through the pain starting with projects I used to love. I was so satisfied if I accomplished one thing. And the next day, I would push myself further. Harder. Until I started to feel things. Until I felt the Sunday morning feeling.
It reminds me of church when I was a child before the crippling fear of being possessed started from a 3rdgrade religion class. It feels like innocence. Like wet dew on the grass as you let your golden retriever out and dad making pancakes bigger than my head while we all clung to our pajamas for as long as we could. The calmness of unlimited possibilities and an ease on the stress of everyone’s life. I had lost the feeling. And now, at 29 years old, it was back. And it has honestly changed everything about my life. I always thought that I needed more stimulation to be successful, but truly, I needed this beautiful calm instead.
The sound of typing. The sweat after a mile run. Watching a new movie or reading a new book. Making coffee at home. Spending time with my family. Checking off a task on my to do list. Confronting what I avoid. Practicing and prioritizing self-care. Writing. OH, SO MUCH writing. It all gives me this feeling I lost years ago before life got too hard. I’ve started doing artwork and poetry again despite the teacher that failed my art in high school. I’ve looked back at the happiest times of my life and dissected them to figure out what would make me happy now. I hold myself accountable and constantly fight impatience with self-discipline. And my new mantra is I can do anything.
So, now that I know it’s time to push, I will be posting on this blog weekly about topics relevant to my journey or simply topics I find thought provoking and interesting. Maybe something about mental health, trauma, and advice or photographs of the flowers that lit up my soul. Either way, I hope you stick around because You are my muses.
