Not Myself

This past week has not been easy.

I’ve been dealing with unexpected dental issues that landed me in a dentist’s chair this afternoon. On Tuesday, I saw my family physician about a mix of perimenopause symptoms and a psoriasis flare. I’d also run out of a medication that usually keeps my anxiety at a manageable level.

Between the lack of sleep, the intense anxiety, and the constant urge to claw at my ears, I haven’t felt like myself. I’ve been fighting my inner critic every step of the way.

I’m often amazed by the human brain. It lets me function, carry knowledge, and move through the world — and at the same time, it can work against me. My reactions swing between extremes: snapping into action so I don’t look “incompetent,” or shutting down completely and slipping into flight mode and procrastination.

On the difficult days, it’s not that I don’t know the answer. I do. I know what I know, and I know what I don’t. I just can’t always get the words out of my head and into something that makes sense. I get flustered. I feel small.

Then comes the rebuilding — the urge to prove my worth, to show that I’m capable, to claw my way back to solid ground. All while trying not to let anyone see the struggle underneath.

It always feels like a setback, so I force myself to remember the good things: the great idea I had last week, the lunch with colleagues in the eDiscovery industry, the small wins that remind me I am intelligent, confident, and happy.

These days are exhausting because I’m working so hard not to let those inner demons win.

It’s just tiring.