Lately I’ve been experiencing a feeling I’ve had off and on for just about as long as I can remember. It comes and goes, as most feelings do, but this now it remains. It’s that feeling that something is wrong but I can’t really pinpoint the problem. Is it just one thing? A combination of things? I don’t know. I can’t explain it, not even to myself. This is frustrating because so many things in my life are going well for a change, yet I still have this nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right. I’d like to tell myself it must not be that important. But if it’s not that important, why does this feeling bother me so much?

            It’s a twisted feeling…almost a knot inside. More than five years ago, I was under stress similar to what I’m going through now-- a separation, job stress, and worries about the future. I developed a headache on my right temple. Sometimes, it was so debilitating, I had to stop everything and just hold my head on that spot until it went away. I don’t get headaches for the most part, and I’ll maybe go through a bottle of Tylenol every two years. But this was different. I finally went to a doctor, literally, to have my head examined. It turns out I had an inflamed artery at that very spot. Stress aggravates it. However, as life became more manageable and the stress dissipated, so did the headaches. I moved on.

            In the past month or so, the very same headache has returned. Sometimes I stop whatever I’m doing, go into a quiet room, and close my eyes and rub that same spot on my temple until the pain subsides. The twisted feeling has been back too. I fight both of them—the headache and the stomach knot-- with everything I have, because both are reminders that I’m not on top of my game. There is a nagging voice in the back of my head, almost every day, telling me “I told you so.” Honestly, that’s the nicest thing the voice ever says. It can get devastatingly cruel, that voice. I know who is saying it, meaning it definitely belongs to someone. Distractions quiet the voice for moments at a time, but overall, it remains. The voice is loud, and it’s self-assured. I suppose my fear is what invites this voice stay.

            Is the feeling related to all of the change in my life? But I’m not afraid of change. It’s the way things work—the natural order of life. Change has been the theme of my life in the past two years, for certain. I’ve changed just about everything but my job. But now my job has changed for reasons completely outside of my control. I’ve been charged with taking on an incredibly huge responsibility. People are counting on me like never before. I’ve been tasked with what appears to be the impossible. As people I’ve worked with for years move on to other opportunities, I remain in my little cube, waving them off with every sincere well wish I can verbalize. I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the faith decision-makers must have in me to take on such a magnificent amount of work.

            Driving home, I glance in the rearview mirror at my youngest daughter. She’s looking out the window, smiling, singing her own song and content in her own little world. She, too, has such faith that I can handle anything and everything that comes her – our – way in life. I say a silent prayer, thankful I have the means (at least for now) to continue to care for her. I pick up my oldest daughter from school. She bounds toward me with beautiful energy, full of stories about her day and, quite literally, spilling over with love for me and for life in general. Her greatest concern is who did or didn’t play with her at recess. I hug her just a little longer when I greet her, so thankful for everything tiny detail about her. And I wonder…how does God have faith that I can do this? Be a capable mother to these to precious human beings for the rest of my life? They are so amazingly beautiful, unique, funny, and loving—my greatest achievements. But me? I was given this responsibility? God don’t you know me? Don’t you know how much I’ve messed up? You more than anyone know my faults and flaws and you STILL gave them to me?

            I, along with so many others in my general age group, have enjoyed some good fortune during the past few years. We barely remember the recession of the 1980s. We, for the most part, got good jobs out of college and quickly rose to the top of the pay scale. Our first homes were like mansions compared to the first of homes of our parents and grandparents. Driving a luxury car isn’t a luxury—it’s standard. In order to make sure we keep “not good enough” at arm’s length, we make sure our children don’t feel deprived. To hell with life’s lessons—there are just too damn many people to keep up with. The $30 thousand millionaire used to be somewhat of a joke just five years ago—now it’s a walk of shame because they’ve been called out. Times have been good--really good-- until now. Reality has slapped us with such force that the red on our cheeks just won’t go away—part from pain and part from humiliation. We are learning our lessons about an excessive lifestyle. And like most life’s lessons, this one is hard to take, and it’s also the perfect opportunity for us to learn and grow.

            Current times have definitely contributed to this twisted feeling. Disposable income is still there, but I worry more when I spend it. It doesn’t seem like it will be as easy to replace. There are no guarantees. Of course, there never were, but it was too easy to live like there would be. I have the job I’ve worked to get since, literally, grade school. I just built my own home and only my name is on the mortgage. I have two girls who depend on me for everything. Where did all of this responsibility come from? Who decided I can handle this? I am twisted, literally, inside wondering why….and how. I can’t help but wonder how and when I’ll screw it all up.

            I’ve spent much of the last year coming to terms with reality. The reality can be something as small as the realization that I’m now the only one who has to take out the trash. I have to bait and trap the mice in the garage—and yes, throw them away when they’re caught. If something breaks, I have to fix it or else it stays broken. If a box is too heavy to be moved, I either break my back moving it or it just doesn’t get moved. There are things up high I can’t reach, things about my house I still can’t figure out (sprinkler system among them), and there’s certainly no financial cushion from my significant other. There have been positive realities, too. I’m doing better than OK in so many areas where I was certain I’d fail, or areas where I was predicted by others to fail. I’ve had moments of absolute peace and joy, just as I imagined I would, but at one time didn’t dare believe possible. I’ve also come to the realization that there is a high likelihood I will spend the rest of my life alone.

            Now stop.

            This isn’t an invitation for you to tell me “there’s no way you’ll be alone” or “plenty of people would be honored to be with you.” That’s not what I mean. Sure, if I really wanted to be just “someone” I could. But I don’t. Anything with the word “just” in front of it is no longer an option for me. In previous blogs I’ve joked about becoming “the cat lady.” Funny thing, I just got a cat. I have to laugh about it…one down, 19 to go. I have to think about what’s next for me, even though my preference is just to bury myself in my work and in the day-to-day details of raising my two daughters. And for the most part, that’s what I intend to do for as long as I can. I may not know everything I want, but I am learning what I don’t want. One thing I don’t want is to be without a plan when my daughters are grown and go off to college and begin their journey into adulthood. I know I can’t plan everything because life is all about throwing curve balls. Quite possibly, I see myself doing volunteer work once my career has ended—some sort of mission work in another country. Maybe I just go get the beach house I always wanted and get a job to get by and just enjoy the scenery. The difference would be a small bungalow for one—and my 20 cats—instead of the place where my kids and grandkids gather every Christmas. Part of the twisted feeling is knowing that the way things are now won’t last. My job, as it stands, can’t last. My kids will grow up, go to college, and have careers and families just as they should. I’m looking at a blank canvas. I don’t want it to stay blank, I just don’t know which color to choose first.

            I guess the twisted feeling is all related to worry and fear, and as a Christian, I know I shouldn’t dwell on either. But as a mere human, I also know I can’t help it. I don’t want to disappoint those who have such faith in me, from my employers…to my daughters…and yes, even to God. I feel enough disappointment in myself to cover where they may lack anyway. I want to look at life, as it is now, as an opportunity for something greater rather than a daily symbol of failure. It’s hard to do at the end of the day when the girls are tired, confused about their new life, missing their father, and needing their mom to take a break from her all-consuming job and just be with them. It’s hard to do when I spend more time in my car going to and from things that don’t really matter than I do at home where everything matters. It’s hard to do when my head is throbbing so hard—right at that same spot—that I can’t help but think the only reason I have the headache is because I’m drowning in stress. It’s hard to do when I don’t have a clue about what’s next, and when that voice in my head saying “I told you so” just refuses to give up.

            I guess that’s why I feel so twisted, because everything is twisted. I suppose it’s up to me to untangle it all and start painting, just concentrating on one brush stroke at a time…not worrying about the inevitable mistakes but enjoying the process and holding onto hope—my new favorite word—that the end result will be beautiful and perfect, in its own imperfect way.