I used to be an athlete.

I used to train my body so that I could race in the relay races and the mile, every spring. I used to be pretty good at it.

The entire purpose of training every day behind the school was to push our physical bodies to the very edge, to push beyond our limits, to grow stronger.

Four years of training in this way left a mark on me, a certainty that growth is possible even and especially when you’re willing to experience profound discomfort on a regular basis in order to get to that place.

When I can’t bring myself to push to the brink of my endurance for pain, I feel as though I am not trying hard enough to figure out where my edges are.

It’s just one of those things in life that sticks with you.

It has been four years since the last time I ran that mile.

And still, every time I put up a boundary, it feels fundamentally weak. Every time I recognize my limited nature and decide to rest, instead of challenging myself to go beyond my limits, I feel like I’m not working hard enough. I feel like I could be doing more.

And then instead of feeling genuinely good about the compassion I try to offer myself, I end up feeling frustrated and a little sad.

I am frustrated by my finite-ness, my limits. I wish I was so much more than I am, and I wish I had more to give.

I can’t shake this feeling that if only I worked harder, and if only I cared more, I could become stronger.

I can’t shake the feeling that if only I was stronger I would have so much more to give.

But instead I feel weak. Like I don’t have that much to offer the world. Like my limits are holding me back, shoving me down, sitting on my chest so that I can’t get up. It feels like my edges are keeping me from being able to love and be loved, being able to work, being able to fully exist.

And I’m not done grieving.

Fire helps. The smell of baking bread helps. The sensation of beeswax in the palm of my hand helps. Doing laundry helps. Walking helps, breathing in lungfulls of cold air. Listening to voices laughing and sharing thoughts, and listening to fucking sea shanties, and feeling the weight of a paperback book, getting lost in the pages… these things help to center me as I grieve the fact that I am not unlimited.

I wish I could be doing more.

I wish I was that strong.

I just feel tired.

I hope that you’re holding up well, today. Love you.