Finding Meaning in Typical Days

For me, most days are typical.  Not necessarily in a bad way.  They’re just predictable and repetitive.  Right now, my day’s not even over, but I know how the rest of it will go.  

I stick to my daily routine.  I wake up, have my morning coffee, got through my usual self-care routine—brush my teeth, wash my face, and try to be present as I ease into the day.  Then it’s onto blogging, working on my site, creating content, and working as a caregiver.  

I pour myself into my passions and responsibilities because they ground me.  But still, there’s this underlying heaviness I’ve been carrying lately.  It’s as if something is missing. 

The truth is that I’ve been going through a rough patch.  Depression certainly has a way of making life and the things I love feel distant.  I really want to get back into reading again, but my mind has been too scattered lately to focus.  I have a stack of books calling my name, but I can’t bring myself to open them.  It’s frustrating when you want to immerse yourself in something, to feel lit up by it again, and you just…can’t. 

Unfortunately, I don’t get out much.  I’ve become recluse.  Most of my friends live in other states, and though I try to keep in touch, but it’s not the same as face-to-face connection.  Then the loneliness creeps in sometimes.  

I’m not married.  I don’t have kids.  So, there’s a lot of space in my life.  Space that can be wonderful but also isolating. 

And even though I’m caregiving daily, which does in fact keep me busy, I’m emotionally exhausted.  Some days I feel stretched thin, but other days, I just feel invisible.  Like I’m here, but not.  

I guess I’m just trying to convey that today was/will be typical.  But behind that word is a silent struggle.  A longing and hope that someday soon something will shift.  And I know it will.

I’ve been there before.  In this numb space where days blend together and joy feels nonexistent.  But I’ve always found a way to come out of the funk I’m in.  It might be long, it might be short lived, but I find a way back to myself. 

So, if your days look typical too, you’re not alone.  Some days it’s just about holding on and trusting that better days are ahead. 

For now, I’ll keep doing what I can—blogging, caregiving, maybe even cracking open one of those books soon.  And I’ll keep believing in the small, quiet healing that happens in between the ordinary moments.

“Even when nothing feels new, you are still growing in the quiet.”

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