Recently, I realized that I’m burnt out. There, I said it. It’s ridiculously hard for me to admit. Why? 1. To admit being burnt out means I need help. I hate asking for help. I’d rather go to the dentist and the gynecologist on the same day. 2. Reaching a state of burnout sounds like something that requires tremendous suffering, surviving a lot of traumas, and having a lot of issues. Does my life really contain that much turmoil? 3.
By Joylissa LeFleur
I forgot what it felt like to have peace in my home. Constantly anticipating his unwarranted jealousy, inexplicable insecurities, and unpredictable outbursts of rage, I tiptoed around him daily hoping nothing set him off.
I forgot what it was to look at him with warmth, lust, and love. Instead I gazed at him in confusion, agitation, and fear. Who was this man I slept next to each night? This moody, brooding being who was definitely not the same charming, affectionate person I started dating a few months back.
I’m single. Been single for a while now. And one of the things I’d really like to experience again SOON is, not just being in a relationship, but knowing that the man I’m in a relationship with really loves me. (I discovered recently that people actually get into relationships with folks they don’t even like, but that’s another post.) Yes, I want the romance, passion, fun and whispering of sweet nothings, i.e. I love you.