My year essentially started with me standing in my sister’s living room, with her arms around me as I sobbed — and it ended the same way.
It should be noted, crying uncontrollably (especially in public) is quite possibly my 7th circle of hell.
Yet in 2017, I found myself unable to get through an entire day without welling up a bit, if not curling into full fetal position, sobbing and eating Nutella, straight from the jar, with a spoon.
Which was odd, as 2017 was “my most successful” year-to-date on many professional and forward-trajectory life fulfillment fronts.
But that seemed to be a huge part of the problem. The more I accomplished and succeeded, the more I pulled myself into analyzing the failures that fell between the peaks. I would be standing in a grocery store, looking at a package of green olives, and burst out crying that my life should feel so much…better.
The happier I should have been, the harder it got to knock the feeling that I wasn’t.
