With a little (HA. That's an understatement) extra time on my hands, I dug up my old diaries.
I started journaling at the age of 12(ish).
Originally my pink diary was under lock and key because I wrote about my huge dark secrets like my crushes on Andy Gibb and Scott Baio and how my Mom didn't understand me.
I then became WAY more mature (and daring. Journals with fancier covers and no keys) and wrote about REAL boys, how I sucked at school, and how my Mom didn't understand me.
It was a hoot to look back upon. (Do people say hoot anymore?)
I realize I was way more advanced than my boys are now (and am thankful for this) and that my Mom definitely understood me. We were so alike that we were oil and water at the time (combined with teenage hormones).
I wish I could read the pages back to my Mom now. She would get a kick out of them and we would laugh.
"Oy, those teenage days" , she would say, and then something like "but how lucky I am now".
I miss you Mom.
Dearly.
So yes. I was not the greatest student (which was actually semi rough coming from an over achieving town and highschool). I was more focused on my highschool boyfriends and talking to my best friends on the phone all night.
But reading back on my pages, I realized my angst was nothing abnormal. Fitting in. Wanting to be accepted. Wanting to please my parents. Wanting to be liked.
I imagine our kids; here in 2020, are feeling the same.
I imagine, some of us adults have somewhat similar kinds of angsts (are we failing our kids? Am I the only one not sleeping at 1AM? Am I doing a good job? Am I balancing my life?)
So you see, mental health.
Always a thing.
Always was. Always will be.
12, 22 or 52. We need to take care of ourselves.
We need to take care of others.
We need to listen more.
LISTEN.
One of my favorite quotes is "we do not listen to understand, we listen to reply".
Guilty as charged.
Why do we do that?
I assume it's because we want to be empathetic. Understanding. Consoling.
But maybe it's really so much more simple.
I learned this during cancer.
I just often needed to vent. I would cry to my husband or my dearest friends and that's all I needed.
A cry. A shoulder. An ear.
They couldn't fix anything. They certainly couldn't cure my cancer or take away my self image -but they could do what I needed most.
LISTEN.
As we are in the midst of one of the craziest times of our lifetimes
and as we are in the midst of so many differing of opinions
and in the midst of us having no fucking clue if what we are doing is either right or wrong (truth is there probably is no right or wrong here)
LISTEN.
I think we could all use an ear.
Dont you?
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