When everything feels wrong

There are days when everything feels wrong.

Days when you feel so far away from the robust, strong, healthy, confident, dynamic go-getting person you want to be and sometimes are. Days when you wonder where your enthusiasm for life, for work, for love has gone.

Days when you despair at the fact that you can’t type without your right hand hurting and that you may have done nothing in the preceding weeks to help your situation – in fact, you may have done everything to make it worse.

Days when it dawns on you that you’re not merely 43, but that you’re 43 and a half – half a year away from being 44. Days when you realise that you might actually still want a child after all, despite months of ambivalence, an awareness of your own frailty following your injury, an understanding that you need lots of peace and space and the knowledge that you find constant noise, people and activity overwhelming. Days when you realise that the way you’re conducting your romantic life is doing nothing to move you closer to the possibility of having a child – in fact, it could be sabotaging your hopes and dreams.

Days when you feel despondent at your lack of motivation for projects you were once really excited about; when you wonder how you could have lost your way with the book that you are writing; when you question how on earth you ended up spending the bulk of your working week on assignments that just pay the bills, squeezing the things that fulfil you and make your heart sing to a tiny space at the end of the day when your energy and inspiration are running low.

Days when all you want to do is run, swim or cycle but you feel trapped by your injuries and worried that anything you do will just aggravate the problem and extend the pain; when you want to jump, dance, shout or thrash about in the sea to let out all this pent-up energy and frustration, but you feel weak and confined.

Days when you want to write a blog filled with hope, joy and excitement for life when all you can do is dictate this post through slow and steady tears. Days when you feel that familiar lump in your throat, like a rock, growing bigger and harder, signalling that something needs to come out – pain, anguish, anger, whatever it is – but that something seems so big and scary and is so hard to express.

Days when you wish you had been able to walk past the corner shop or just pick up a bottle of water and leave the chocolate coated orange peel things behind; when you wish you’d been able to leave them in your bag or pop them in the bin instead of eating them in 20 seconds flat.

Days when you feel empty but unable to do any of the activities you usually turn to to distract you from the feeling of emptiness, the sense that nothing is there, aware that ultimately nothing will work (and those chocolate orangey things really don’t do the trick).

Days when you wonder where your faith went and why God seems so far away or not around at all.

Days when you feel lost and alone.

Today is one of those days.

I wish I could run, jump, cycle or splash around in the sea. I wish I could write this blog  with my fingers on the keyboard and not dictate it. I wish I could find motivation, enthusiasm, faith, hope and joy. I wish everything was different.

Why does everything feel so wrong?

And why can’t I just leave it at that? Why can’t I just sign off in the midst of the doom and gloom? Why do I have to try and find some glimmer of hope? Why do I feel obliged to find a few positives or express some semblance of gratitude (for the sun, friends, my left hand, this dictation software)?

And why does my smile insist on forcing its way on to my face, curling my lips up instead of down, even as I brush away the tears? Why do I have to know that it will all be OK, that everything will work itself out in the end? Why can’t I just wallow for a good long while?

The answer, I guess, is because I know that you’re reading this and that it might speak to some of you and make you cry or smile; because I know that some of you have similarly challenging days when everything feels wrong; because I know that even though I sometimes feel that everyone else has got everything sorted and is getting on with their lives without all these thoughts, feelings and pain, I know for sure that I’m not alone.

And because I’ve been here before and it has passed.

So while it all feels a little self-indulgent, I’m going to press send on this post without editing it too much, correcting it or making it sound any more upbeat than it actually is.  Because while I’m not where I want to be today and everything does seem awry, I have the gift and the freedom to be real.

Yes, today is just one of those days.

About Katherine Baldwin

I am a writer, coach, midlife mentor, motivational speaker and the author of How to Fall in Love - A 10-Step Journey to the Heart. I specialise in coaching women and men to have healthy relationships with themselves so that they can form healthy and loving romantic relationships and lead authentic, fulfilling lives. I coach 1:1, lead workshops and host retreats.
This entry was posted in Addiction, Childless, Eating disorders, Faith, Love, Recovery, Spirituality, Women and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to When everything feels wrong

  1. Yes. And it’s realness that the world needs. It’s realness that connects us. It’s realness that helps us to realise that we’re not alone. Thank-you for your realness. x

  2. Katie says:

    Thank you for writing this. It sounds like my day and makes me feel less alone.

  3. Sam says:

    Hi Katherine
    What a refreshingly honest post – I’ve struggled with physical and emotional injuries myself that have hampered my everyday life and I can empathise totally with your struggle. Reminding myself that ‘this too will pass’ is often the only thing that kept me going . And more often than not I healed once I stopped feeding the anxiety about not healing. You are such a strong, positive woman who I know will come through this.
    Sam x

  4. veganaut1 says:

    Thank you for posting this. I’ve followed your blog for a while, and it helps me give permission to myself to feel these feelings too.

  5. Jo says:

    Dear Katherine,
    I have followed your blog for a long time. Ever since I turned 40 and found it on a search but have never commented. We are same age apart from a couple of months, sameish background, north- originally, staffer journo, now freelance, living in North London for 15 years until I recently decided to take a year out in Melbourne. As I have travelled this odd age from 40-44, I cannot tell you how much reading your blog has helped me feel that I’m not alone in how I see and react to the world and feel at this point in my life. Your honesty reaffirms what I try to tell myself every day that it is hard but okay to just not have it all sorted yet.


    • Hi Jo,
      Thank you so much for reading my blog and for commenting. It’s really amazing to hear back from you and others who write in saying my blog speaks to them. It helps me on a number of levels: to realise that at least some of the work I do has some sort of purpose, speaks to people, helps people a little bit. And it also helps me to feel less alone. Taking a year out in Melbourne sounds like a really lovely thing to do for yourself, freeing somehow. I hope that’s working out. Maybe we can meet when you’re back in North London and share some stories!
      Katherine x
      And ‘Dear Katherine’ didn’t sound odd to me!

  6. Jo says:

    Sorry Dear Katherine sounds a bit odd. Not sure why I wrote that.

  7. jan says:

    Love to you Baldy xx

  8. Hey Kath, your blog chimes very nicely with my mentor who tells me that people should be more realistic… I agree and find that many aren’t and it can mean you are detached from the goings on around you. I am loaded with realism thanks to two demanding children who fill my life with routine and chores but also sunlight and giggles – we send our love and know you are still living life to the full xxx

  9. Hello Tracey,
    Sunlight and giggles sounds great – I imagine that helps get through the routine and chores! Gradually getting my mojo back.

  10. Cas says:

    I hurt my leg recently playing netball (at the ripe old age of 45!) and for someone who is so reliant on physical exercise it’s quite tough coping with life when you can’t exercise and don’t have that physical outlet that you are so used to. When I exercise I tend to be able to manage my eating/emotions a bit better but when I can’t exercise I have more days when I have to fight off the urge to binge. But as you say, this too will pass, but some days it just sucks.

    • Hi Cas, thanks for writing in and I can so relate. Funny, on the morning I read your comment, I’d just been thinking about netball and how I wish I was in a team! And why on earth I’d spent so many years not being in a team. The problem is I also have an ankle injury from a few years back that never healed so whenever I try those fast-paced team sports, I end up in pain, with pulled muscles etc. It drives me crazy! So now I have a dodgy right wrist and a sore left ankle (after a brief run to try and work off some steam) and I’m going nuts (more nuts) because I feel so shackled. I tried a swim last Friday eve and just about managed that – floating on my back and doing sidestroke. You’re right. It sucks. I hope you get back to your sport soon. And I’m going to try and find a way to exercise that feeds my soul but doesn’t hurt!

  11. tatirlima says:

    Hello dear friend. This is a Message from someone you got acquaintance in a class about “how to make a difference”. You did then, you do now (months later, with all going-on in the world, I still come back to check your words of wisdom, love and hope). I hope the love and light I send brings confort to your heart. To brighten up your day, I also send a song. Just play it out loud and let your mind rest. “Sing. out loud that life will get better”. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=FxQB1FYLu5k. Love, Tati

    • Wow, Tati, thank you so much for writing and sending that song. I’m listening to it now and it’s amazing! Making me smile and want to dance. I might have to feature it in my next blog post. Music has such a power to lift our spirits, particularly that kind of music. Thank you. Love, Katherine

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