Lately, I’ve been learning to accept that I wouldn’t be okay every day… and that’s okay.
To be perfectly honest, I haven’t been in my best shape since late last year, when the toll of having a job meant giving up my passion projects and my time to travel. My days became repetitive: I wake up, go to work for 8 hours, go home, and then sleep. I know many would argue that I could always manage my time or push myself to do better in those 24 hours, but it wasn’t that easy. At the end of the day, I was exhausted and my energy is so drained that I no longer have the power to do anything else but take a rest. It wasn’t easy, and this situation truly consumed all of me.
I’ve had moments of pure elation — like when I hopped on that plane going to Vietnam, or that time when Mark and I were chilling by the beach in Bohol — but most of the time, every day just feels like a battle and I was smacked in the middle, struggling to survive.
I felt unforgiving for the ways that I’ve lived those past few months. The days got darker, and by the day that I hit 25, it went from dark hues of blue to pitch black. The days got harder, the questions piled up, and the guilt of not moving forward became heavier.
Was I doing the right thing? I’m 25, where am I really headed to? Do I even want where I am today? Is money all that there is? What about my dreams? What do I want? Is every day still worth it?
Needless to say, I was too hard on myself. Every day, I pushed myself to be more productive, to be more positive, to be better, and in the end, I crashed so hard, my heart broke and the pieces went flying all over the place. The shards were too small, picking them up gave me wounds that added up to the pain.
I was trying so hard to be the strong woman that I’ve always wanted, but little did I know that I was a flimsy pyramid made of cards. All I needed was one big blow to send me going down into nothingness. I felt like not being okay meant being defeated, and I tried to put up layers and layers of armors only to realize that they are too heavy for me to carry.
I wouldn’t lie, I am still hard on myself, but lately, I’ve learned to accept that things will get hard, and it’s okay if I couldn’t always cope up. It’s okay to fall behind. It’s okay to make mistakes. I’ve always been afraid of doing the wrong things, of not living up to expectations, and of losing to my self-made and ridiculously high set of standards. The turn of events from the past few months had me thinking, and while I still haven’t had everything figured out, I’m trying to take one step at a time. One step towards acceptance, another towards forgiveness, and another to finally move forward from the past.