As with the changing of any new year, I have been exceptionally reflective these past few weeks.

That reflection, however, has not sweet fruits born. It has sunken me into depths of self-reflection that are necessary, yet hard to swallow. Telling, yet unbelievable.

I am lost.

I have been struggling for some time to determine what brings me to life. Having years ago come face-to-face with the pressing desire to meet my end, these seasons of internal review are more powerful than they were before. They are riddled with “what ifs” and “but whys”, though not nearly providing an answer or directive for answers to either of the inquiries as one would presume.

I feel like I have abandoned so much of me.

I have distanced myself from so many things that, at the pinnacles of my joy, defined me: motherhood, comedy, entertainment. 

I drove myself closer to “the things I am really good at”. These things and roles and professions that served others…seemingly removing any service of myself from the equation. My actions rooted in the pleasure, success, financial gain of those who “needed what I had”.

And in that, I lost myself. 

I lost what interested me. I lost my connection to a whole host of people I truly love and felt awakened by. 

My intellectual stimulation has flat-lined. 

And sure, there are universal climates of the day at play. But it’s not all that. It’s me.

It’s. Me.

I’ve chosen so many of the circumstances that have me in this place. It’s due time I take ownership for them. I feel them. I sink into them instead of ignoring them for the next shiny opportunity to serve someone else’s dream, drive, or passion. 

It’s 10:17pm, nine days into the new year.

I am devastatingly sad.

I am lost.

I am on a mission to find myself, or die trying.