The Emotional Symphony of Letting Myself Down

I keep banging my knee on the same dang hurdle over here.

Welcome to this tiny corner of the internet where an off-duty psychotherapist keeps the conversation going on how to make sense of this life thing we’re all doing. If you ever wondered what your therapist does off the clock—which, who among us hasn’t?—this is like that. Think of it as the adult equivalent of seeing your elementary school teacher at the grocery store picking out lemons. 🍋 I typically oscillate between long-form psychoeducation pieces and narrative essays—sometimes I smush them together. I also do a biweekly podcast with my husband, roundups and a segment of brisk thoughts on music, TV, and film. Today, a narrative essay.

One thing before we jump in, I show up very much as myself here. Myself first, and all my other labels are secondary. If a therapist speaking candidly feels like too much to your system, that is absolutely is OK and this may not be the best particular newsletter for you.

We’ve all seen Inside Out, right? Maybe even both of them at this point. I suspect many of us know about the variety of characters that make up the center console of our feelings. If we are to go with the film’s premise, we’ve got anger, joy, sadness, fear, and disgust. In the newest film, they’ve added envy, ennui, anxiety and embarrassment–the emotional all-stars of anyone’s puberty. I’m well acquainted with a lot of those. I’ve spent the last decade and a half developing a much deeper relationship with sadness and anxiety. When they come up, on the whole, I know what I need. It takes a bit of stumbling, but I typically get there. Where stumbling turns into full on eating shit down the entire staircase for me is the emotional experience of disappointment. 

I’ve always been a bit spacey. I can recall the names of close friends of all my clients, but I routinely forget where I last saw my airpods. It’s hard for me to gauge if I’m more forgetful than most people or if we are all like this.

Here are some of my greatest hits: I’ve lost almost every pair of sunglasses I’ve ever had. I forgot my best friend’s birthday a few years ago. Every time I travel, I typically forget something at home and then leave something wherever I go. 

But my pièce de résistance is leaving all sorts of shit on top of the car and then driving off.

Coffee cup? Yes.

Phone? That too.

One time I drove off with the car keys up there. They flew off as I drove, scattering keys, fobs, and access cards all along the on-ramp to I-25.

I just can’t seem to remember all the components. Is this normal? Is this anxiety? Do I just have too many tabs open in my brain? Is the disappointment in myself resulting from this absentmindedness just shame or something different? 

A recent let down really has me wondering…