I belong here.
It makes me cry. I belong. Here.
Here with my family. I belong as a wife to a very supportive husband who I don't know how he can cope with my depression and anxiety. I belong as a mommy to a sweet two-year-old who tantrums and says "Mommy BIG" and wraps her arms around my neck to give me the biggest hug when I pick her up from daycare.
Even when I feel like I'm being a terrible mom, that both of them deserve someone better. Someone healthier. Someone who doesn't keep failing at everything, who keeps falling short. Who sometimes still can't believe that I have a family who loves me.
I belong here. I'm doing okay. Good enough. That's the goal. Good enough parenting.
I belong, here, at work, even when I feel like the world's biggest fraud and failure, whose anxiety gets in the way of work sometimes and I'm slower at getting tasks done when I should be working faster and faster, dammit. My boss and coworkers and employees all deserve the very best ME that there can be, I keep thinking, somebody better than me.
But I belong here. With them. My failings and all. We're all in this together, as evidenced through our work together through some thorny issues that, you know, I'm actually doing okay. That they've got my back. And I theirs.
I belong here, as a blogger, even when I completely totally suck at maintaining my Facebook page and don't do Twitter and write infrequently, and even badly at times. But as much as my writing varies, the camaraderie of fellow bloggers stay the same. I belong here. I'm doing okay.
I belong here on Earth. Even as I struggle with my compulsive thoughts, which I'm glad to say, rarely come to surface the same way as before thanks to therapy and medication. I'm still working hard on keeping them tamed. I belong here, among my fellow humans, even though I feel like such a fraud and a fake and like an alien sometimes.
I belong here.
And I'm doing okay.
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