The Lie of Balance

The modern woman is supposed to be a prima ballerina, effortlessly dancing the roles of partner, parent, and professional on the tips of her toes. I am the one who has stepped off the stage, and I am currently sitting in the net, refusing to climb back up.

The anxiety of existence is a heavy, physical weight these days, and every title I carry—mother, student, associate, wife—feels less like an achievement and more like a costume I’m too tired to change out of.

I named this space Vera Luminous—Truth and Light—believing I had a map out of the dark. But the only map I seem capable of reading leads right back to the place of lowest resistance, and for me, that place is currently my bed.

The Fragmentation of Self

My current life is defined by this strange, paralyzing inertia, but the evidence of my last surge of energy is right there, staring at me from the living room wall.

My current state is best symbolized by the half-painted mural on my living room wall—a flash of manic, misguided purpose that abruptly ended, leaving behind an unfinished testament to my own collapse. There was a brief period when I felt Luminous—when the BA in Psychology I’m pursuing suddenly felt like power, and I believed I could fix my own mind through sheer creative force.

Now, that energy is gone, leaving the paint cans dusty, the ladder tipped against the wall, and the truth plain for anyone to see: I am unfinished, and so is my mural.

It is a particular kind of hell to be studying the mind—to know the exact clinical definition of the inability to focus, the lack of motivation, and the heavy weight of depression—and still be unable to force your body out of the sheets to pick up the brush.

The Landscape of Loneliness

The isolation of depression is deafening, but sometimes, the quietest loneliness is the one you find right beside you. When I manage to leave the unpainted wall, I often discover that the empty space in the room is mirrored by an equal distance in my partnership.

The kind of loneliness that hollows you out is the one you feel while lying next to a devoted partner whose passion for their own calling leaves no room for you. We talk about ‘single’ loneliness, but very few talk about the distinct, agonizing distance that opens up in the center of a long-term partnership when one person is consumed by their focus and the other is consumed by a void.

My husband is a gifted musician, a recovering addict, and a man consumed by the beautiful, demanding chaos of his art. I recognize the vital importance of his passion and his recovery journey, but I cannot deny the truth it creates: I long for companionship, for friendship, for purpose, love, a lover of me and of mine.

And as my sons grow more independent, which is wonderful and exactly as it should be, the worry doesn’t cease—it just changes form, leaving me with fewer roles to hide behind and more space to fill with my own echo.

Where Do We Begin?

This is not the polished wisdom you might have expected. This is where the Insightful Observer meets the lost woman. I don’t have the answers, but perhaps sharing the question is the first step.

I look at my half-painted mural and realize that my current purpose isn’t to be finished, but simply to begin again—even if ‘beginning’ only means shifting my weight from one corner of the bed to the other.

I am a woman with a domain name that promises Truth and Light, and yet I am currently defined by the truth that I am heavy, lost, and longing for companionship, purpose, and the strength to seek it out. I know, intellectually, the mechanisms of recovery, the language of healing, and the steps to building boundaries. But knowing the way out of the net and having the strength to pull yourself up are two entirely different things.

So, I won’t offer you a platitude today. I will simply offer the only question that matters when the anxiety is this heavy, and the void is this wide:

How do I happy?

How do we, the women who see all the patterns and still fall victim to them, take the first, uncertain step toward the light we claim to possess?

This is my unrefined truth. If you recognize this particular kind of lost, thank you for sitting here in the quiet with me. Let’s begin this unsure journey, together.

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