We carry a lot on our plates these days, although I’m not entirely sure that’s anything new. It just looks different than it used to, what with all the technological advances happening around us. The world is changing so fast that it feels impossible to keep up with it all. I can barely keep up with the dishes in my sink, much less the constant pummeling of horrible news that seems to be getting worse by the minute. Our circumstances feel quite dire, and at the same time I often feel as though nothing that I do matters, that it doesn’t even push the needle in the right direction. This is not to say that I will ever stop trying. I am far to stubborn for that. I know what I like, and I tend to go out of my way to make sure that I get it.
Much of the time it is ourselves that likes to hold us back from things. Fear has a tendency to keep us stuck in one place, essentially cutting us off at the knees. We crawl through life when we could be walking. We become a victim of our circumstances rather than the writer of our own story. What would happen if one day we just decided to write a new one? What if we decided that we deserved better than this? I did that once in my choice to leave the restaurant industry for something that felt more aligned with me as a person. Some days I struggle with wanting to go back, because it would be a hell of a lot easier than the path that I have set out for myself. And then I look at the 86 tattooed on the back of my ankle and remind myself why I walked away from a dream in the first place.
I had to start over. I had to tear down my life and build it back up again. It was terrifying and one of the hardest things I have ever done. I burned through my savings, racked up debt, and spent an awful lot of time crying. I lost friends and I lost family, but I found myself under the pile of rubble. And as lonely as I find myself most days, I am happier now. I like the person I am now. To me that is much more important than checking off whatever box people like to stuff me in.
I made about a million mistakes along the way and I am sure there will be more in the future. It still sucks. It still feels like I’m failing, even though we are supposed to do that sometimes. It’s hard to not feel like I’m a failure for even trying, even though logically I know that I’m not. The critic inside of my brain is brutal at times. I say such horrible things to myself, things that I would never say to another human. We have a tendency to be the hardest on ourselves, and as much work as I have done I am still not exempt from that rule. That’s part of why I try so hard to be kind to others. They are probably having some similar thoughts as well.
Maybe part of growing up is shedding that extra weight of what others expect from us. I know damn well that many people did not expect me to go into sex work. Some people even shunned me for it. Others subscribed. Either way I’m still going to do what makes me happy. We have such a short time on this planet. I, for one, intend to enjoy it.
Mad love, Jenna
