Going Back In Time
If I could go back in time, which I frequently wish I could do, there are a lot of things I might tell myself. I thought it might be useful to make a list here of some of the situations and advice I would give to my former self.
1. When I was in high school and frustrated that all my classes seemed boring and my teachers were holding me back from what I could actually do, I wish I could sit with myself and say—there’s what you CAN do at absolutely maximum and what you CAN do taking things at a pace you can sustain every day. Yes, other people tried to tell me something like this, but I couldn’t hear them. Sigh.
2. When I was struggling with my dissertation my final year at Princeton, I wish I could go back and tell myself that I could come back to it when I wasn’t pregnant anymore and that “pregnancy brain” is a real thing without it meaning that I was stupid or worthless.
3. When I was first trying to get published and I went years without a contract with a “real publisher,” I wish I could go back and tell myself that yes, I needed to learn skills and become a better writer, but also I would keep learning those skills forever and that mostly it was about patience and continuing to send things out and waiting for the universe to find the right person to edit it.
4. When I was writing a book a month for a few years and frustrated that they weren’t selling, I wish I could go back and tell myself to get a job. Because that would have been useful in many ways. But more than that, I wish I could go back and tell myself that I didn’t have to work at a frenetic pace to be worthy of “real writer” badge and that I would be writing more books than would get published for the rest of my life and this was a good thing. Many books turned to be a kind of journal for me, and that is a fine use of time.
5. When my marriage was clearly over and I was terrified about my future, I wish I could go back and tell myself that I am brilliant and capable and I work very, very hard. And also that this isn’t my fault and that sometimes things just happen that are beyond our control.
6. When I was injured and continuing to run every day, I wish I could go back and tell myself that this was making it worse and that me in ten years would really wish that old me hadn’t done this and had taken rest instead because the rest deficit just kept getting larger.
7. When I hated my job every damned day for several years, I wish I could go back and tell myself that it wasn’t really the job. It was me I hated and my new life I hated and that the only way to fix it was tiny, little gifts to myself like good food and long walks with podcasts and music and that it would get better. A lot better.
8. When I was suicidal and felt like I wasn’t worthy of remaining alive because of the many failures in my life, I wish I could go back and tell myself that this wasn’t my own actual judgment of myself. It was a voice I’d installed in my head long ago to protect me only it wasn’t protecting me anymore.
9. When I was trying so hard not to be angry after certain tragedies had accumulated because I believed that “good people” didn’t become angry, I wish I could go back and tell myself that pushing the anger down didn’t make me a good person. It made me an abused person.
I am trying to learn how to “let go” and also how to accept that I did the best I could at the time, with the information and the resources I had. I am trying to hold close the previous versions of myself who worked so hard all the time with so little and who deserve to be seen and celebrated and honored.
I am one of those people who would NOT go back if given the choice. I would not want to try to live my life over again. It was hard. But I also have none of the nostalgia for childhood that other people have. Childhood was awful. It was incredibly difficult and I don’t think children were kind to me and I don’t think adults were very kind, either. It wasn’t easier to not have choices and responsibility. I felt trapped and alone and powerless. Being an adult is better.
Still, somehow I wonder if me seeing the past clearly can help other people who are in similar situations.
My marriage was 100% over in 2018. I wasn’t able to accept that for many reasons, mainly because it seemed so awful for my kids (which it was and still is). I still am not sure why I refused to see reality. Pain and not fully deconstructing but those feel like just words that don’t fully explain the confusion and paralysis.
When we had lunch after your presentation at Sunstone in 2019 (which is the only time I've ever eaten at a Joe's Crab Shack, come to think of it), you were pretty clearly deconstructing but, at least in conversation that noon, uncertain of the effect on your marriage. Granted, it was none of my business, of course. Do you think you were denying it to yourself at that point, or just not saying publicly that you could see the writing on the wall?
Because honestly, if you wanted to go back in time to 2019, I'd probably say the Mette of that period was clearly in a lot of pain and confusion. I was, and still am, a relative stranger, but that was pretty apparent. I had no idea if there was any way to make it easier for you. But it seems to me that at least now you have, through much pain, come out into more clarity. It still hurts. But you seem to know who you are and what you're worth much more clearly now.
From the outside, it seems that's worth something. I admire you a great deal. You have overcome SO MUCH. I'm looking forward to the new books - and, someday, maybe Linda Wallheim makes some tough decisions as well.
But, then, Kurt - to the extent that he reflects your ex - was perhaps him as he should have been, not as he actually was.