Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

I feel that I deserve a bout of self-pity. I have been so strong, so together, so responsible, so stable for so long that I need a break. I need a break to collapse into myself, collapse into the weight of being alone, of feeling alone, of being tired of taking care of my daughters and myself with no shoulder to lean on, day after day. Is something wrong with that?

Don’t I deserve a patch of self-pity to counter the up-beatedness that I have been inhabiting lately? Do I always have to feel like a living self-help book? Can’t I regress into just plain pain without feeling the need for remedies? Why can’t I just be without feeling that I am failing if I am not focused on picking myself up? Why do I need an aspirin if I have an ache? Why can’t it work its way through me, do whatever it needs to do, and then be released when we’re both ready?

Why can’t all moods and feelings be equally valid? Why is only the positive respected? Don’t we all need some downtime, some time to recoup? I mean isn’t that what vacations are for? So there it is. A self-pity party is really a mini-vacation of the body and mind.

And I've made my reservation.

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