For a day, I did not want to live
What I gave up to go on
Right now I don’t want to live.
Why is that? My partner’s voice is calm. He knows I mean every word, but—experienced therapist that he is—he doesn’t flinch.
I am so tired.
Of what?
Of everything.
What is everything?
Work. Writing my newsletter. Writing my book. Researching my book. Calling my parents. Meeting friends. Even reading.
So, if you take your own advice, what can you take off your plate?
I consider my overflowing plate in despair. There’s nothing I want to take off. Yet I know if I don’t, it’s going to break—and me with it.
How I lost my will to live
It has been a tough year—years, really—but this was the first and only time I felt like giving up, when living became a burden I was not willing to bear.
And the reason wasn’t a sudden turn for the worse in my dad’s years-long battle with cancer, an unexpected project that spiked my workload, an existential crisis, or some other catastrophic event.
It was that, the day before, I’d gotten a raise.
I had had a performance appraisal call with Mark, at the end of which he offered a raise I didn’t deserve, but that he said reflected my “long-term potential.” I had teared up at his trust, and for a day walked on air.
But then, as I settled into bed, I remembered the other thing he’d said: I noticed you haven’t been at 100% this year, and that’s OK. You’re going through a lot.
You haven’t been at 100%. You haven’t been at 100%. You haven’t been at 100%. Mark’s words replayed over and over—the first time in five years I’ve worked for him that he wasn’t 100% happy with my performance. I had underperformed, yet he had given me a raise.
That whole night, I fretted. And by morning, my bubble had burst. Mark believes in me. He expects bigger and brighter things. But I have nothing more to give. I am so tired. I… don’t want to live.
Giving up to go on
Considering my partner’s question—what can you take off your plate?—I came to a sinking realisation: I was going to have to give up something I really hate to, if I were to rekindle my desire to live.
What about your newsletter? He asked.
NO. I recoiled. I have an obligation to my readers.
Then what?
I scanned my list for a palatable target—work, newsletter, book, research for book, calling parents, meeting friends, reading. A painful path emerged—kill two tasks in a single blow.
My book. I felt sick. I’ll have to stop writing and researching my book.
My partner smiled encouragingly, pulled me in for a hug. That’s a start.
And so, two months ago, I stopped working on the most meaningful, rewarding project of my life. It didn’t free up much time—only four hours per week—but the relief was instantaneous. As soon as I deleted “Write book” and “Research book” from my tasks, I felt an immense weight lift. To the point where I felt able to add, in their place, “Morning brain dump” and “Meditation”—activities to help me cope with what’s left on my plate.
Giving up on my book felt like giving up on myself. But it was necessary. Because, as I’m learning time and again, I cannot do everything. To give more to work, I have to give less to something else. And at this point in my life, when I’m walking on the emotional eggshell of my dad’s impending death, my book is the price to pay.
Because life isn’t always about choosing what you care about over what you don’t—you sometimes have to choose between things that are equally important, no matter how painful.
I miss writing my book. I’d like to one day get back to it. But I know that day isn’t today. Today, all I have to give goes to work, exercise, meditation, this newsletter, calling my parents, meeting very few friends, cross-stitching in lieu of reading, assaulting my partner with back hugs while he’s doing the dishes and unable to defend himself. That’s it.
I can’t do everything. None of us can. But I paid my price, and most days I now wake up excited for what life has in store.
Do you?
What do you think?
If you’re feeling overburdened like I was, what will you take off your plate even though you hate to?
Because we’re only human. And it’s the choices we suffer that make our lives worth living. Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone who needs it.
On that note, Val Thinks is going on a summer break. It will be my first holiday in over a year and I plan to do absolutely nothing. I even entrusted my boss’ newsletter, which I guard more jealously than gold, to a colleague—another difficult decision I’m glad I made.
I will see you back in your inbox on Friday 18th July.
Until then… Stay thoughtful, and have a lovely summer!
Val
Val, you will be missed. Only recently have I come to look for your Friday letters. First of all I find them intimate, heartfelt, stimulating, and of course it's how I know its Friday! I take from today's note the notion of paying better attention to the notes I leave myself. Which is to say my 'to do list.' Like how many interruptions will I allow now that my piano teacher has returned from illness. (he's 92, and sharp as ever!). Just more rigor to my intentions which have been in-place for years -- in my case. coffee, stretches, piano, filmwork, and a few more like taking a walk.... try to get enough sleep! This is the one that needs work. Come back soon Val!
Val, you will be missed. Only recently have I come to look for your Friday letters. First of all I find them intimate, heartfelt, stimulating, and of course it's how I know its Friday! I take from today's note the notion of paying better attention to the notes I leave myself. Which is to say my 'to do list.' Like how many interruptions will I allow now that my piano teacher has returned from illness. (he's 92, and sharp as ever!). Just more rigor to my intentions which have been in-place for years -- in my case. coffee, stretches, piano, filmwork, and a few more like taking a walk.... try to get enough sleep! This is the one that needs work. Come back soon Val!