So here’s the living hard truth about why you have not heard a peep from me in a long time.
I finished my manuscript back in October. I didn’t believe it was good enough, too cheesy, and there was no way of making it good enough and it was stressing me out and making me sick so I had to put it away. Again. The message of the book was true for my early twenties, but who I am now and what my life is like now is nothing like the fantasy of what it was throughout this book. So I felt like it was a false description of my inner reality. How could I put a book out that no longer represents me? That isn’t me. That is a longing for the past. I can’t and I won’t. So in the drawer it went.
Coincidentally, or not, I started having some weird physical symptoms that then spiraled me into some pretty severe health problems. I had a chronic sinus infection for the entire month of October, took antibiotics for the first time since I was 19 and slowly it went away. A few weeks later, during Thanksgiving, I had a huge meal and then almost fainted, my muscles tensed up around my face, and I couldn’t get up from my in-laws couch the next two days. Embarrassing, I know. I’ve been walking around with extreme fluid retention around my eyes. My body would wake me up in the middle of the damn night shaking and sweating, unable to get up and even go to the bathroom. I thought I was having blood sugar issues, but my glucose levels were fine.
Upon coming back home, I completely changed my diet because apparently, hence says my mom and husband, I was only eating pasta and bread. They were right. My doctor also acknowledged that I wasn’t eating enough. So that belief drove me to a keto diet and some crazy fucking anxiety. Always wondering if I had eaten enough and never touching sugar and carbs for one month straight. On the third day on my way to volleyball I felt better than I had in three years, but then crashed with symptoms the next day. I’ve been living my days with chronic fatigue and stress about what is going on with this foreign body of mine. Oh, and my cognitive function is at its lowest and I’m sensitive to sounds and people talking and messes on the counter.
I claim that I am burned out of being a stay at home mother. There, I said it and I don’t feel shame, judge me or don’t, I don’t care. Unless you have a posse of close mom friends you do life with together every day, my advice is to not freaking do it, do not stay at home. Allow me to rephrase. I am not burned out of watching my daughter, I’m burned out of being alone all the fucking time doing and seeing the same things every damn day. No wonder my body began to deteriorate. I have pockets of separate friendships with other moms, but not a squad. And I’ve always functioned with a group of girlfriends. It’s exhausting scheduling and making plans with all these separate people.
Here is what I’ve learned about raising babies and postpartum these days. Our society is so individualized that civilization makes it impossible to live a village like existence depriving mothers of good health. During hunter-gatherer times, women weren’t worrying about postpartum depression because it was known that the whole village raises the kid. Now, it’s on the moms and their deep ass cash pockets to hire help. And it is because women work now. I am not hating on moms who work because I’ll be one of them on the sooner side, but my point is is that the reason it is so lonely being a SAHM, is because nothing will be routine and you can’t guarantee being around the same friends week to week. Why? Because some moms work certain days or hours or work from home or go into the office, so planning with other people is a pain in the ass because nothing is predictable.
What happened to just doing everything together as a society? What happened to raising kids together? Why did our women pride have to take over and demand independence and income creating such a status hierarchy pyramid of values and comparison. It makes SAHM’s feel like shit, which is why I have reached the end of my era. Job pending. Book killing?
As for the book, sure I’ve submitted it to a couple of agents. Heard nothing. But, here’s where I’m at. Do I keep adding to the manuscript until it feels like me, until I like it? Do I throw it away? Do I say fuck it and self publish it, just so I can complete the damn thing already? That’s the other thing about being a writer… and a perfectionist. I’ve started telling myself that I can’t finish things because of this book. But I can’t finish something that I feel so far away from. If there are any friends or writers reading this, please grace me with your advice.
Life is hard. And it’s been hard for me for one year now. I am no longer ashamed to admit it. I still don’t know where the weird physical symptoms are coming from. And I don’t know what I’m going to do with my book or potentially pending job. I’m tired, scrambled, insecure, and not sure which way is up. I have reached a point of surrender. And throughout all of this God is and will be the only one to bring me out of this. Not sure how I still believe in the guy, but I still really do. Another piece for a different time.
Perhaps, I am here for a reason. Hoping that my story is similar to comedian Matt Rife’s. Interviewer: “What was it like to get to this point of success and not caring about negative comments?”
He replies, “For being fucking rejected and feeling like a loser for 10 years before this happened. You reach a point and you say, fuck it. I’m going to be me because everything else just isn’t working.”
So, me writing this sort of agitated and restless substack is coming purely from my heart. Because if I’m going to write more and write honestly and authentically and get somewhere with it someday, then I cannot give a rats ass that reader’s know too much about my personal life. I do not care that my husband’s ex-wife is probably reading this, I cannot care if his 40 employees might stumble across it or my sister at that. I no longer care about my reputation. I’m out with me. I’m over having boundaries with my writing. It’s me or it’s nothing. And, today on this sweet Christmas morning, I chose me.
Happy HO HO Holly Jolly Day!
XOXO,
Kelly Jett.