Feeling like not enough

In general, most writers use their space in columns to bring interesting facts or information to the forefront that may not otherwise make it into the pages of the newspaper. Pointing out unusual trends in society or decisions made by other people or groups.  

It is also a clever way to share personal thoughts while avoiding the writer’s own unique neuroses as much as possible. While I mostly joke about the latter, there is some truth to it. 

Perhaps it is because I have been sick and stewing in my own thoughts for the last few days at home while isolating, but I have the urge to share a persistent gnawing feeling that has repeatedly entered my mind several times recently. The thought – you are not enough. 

You are not doing enough. The dishes are piling up, the dress you started hemming months ago lies waiting to be sewn and hung up. The dead plant that I underwatered, then overwatered still sits on the shelf like a ghostly place holder. 

All the things I haven’t done stare at me. Reminding me of how not enough I am.  

The blank pages on my screen needing text to complete a story of a recent event. The folder in my email of all things that need to be addressed but have been filed away for when I have more time. 

I am certain this ‘more time’ was supposed to have arrived by now.  

Instead of completing these necessary tasks, I lie awake in a stagnant room, blinds drawn – the air only moves because of a fan that was purchased out of a great reluctance to do so.  

There is a certain cruelty in waiting for a fever to break in a south facing apartment with no air conditioning during a mild heatwave that has offered no reprieve or moisture in over a week. 

You become too uncomfortable to sleep and too irritable to concentrate on anything for more than a couple of minutes. 

All that is available for ruminating on is how there is so much to do – and the fact that you are not doing it. 

I am not sure when I began to equate restfulness with sinfulness. Perhaps that is where this ‘not enough’ stems from. I can’t remember the last time I spent one full day a week resting. It feels as though my wires are all crossed, and I have no time or patience to untangle them. 

So, I lay in complete discomfort with a fan pushing hot air about the room. I second guess how sick I actually am, as though if I were someone else, I would be far more productive. If I was someone else, I would be far more enough. 

I think many of us are so used to being in perpetual motion, jumping from one project and task to another that even when illness slows us down, we feel like we don’t deserve to rest. 

We fight it or feel as though we should fight it to show how capable we are. 

Trying to fight against the feeling of not enough is like stepping in quicksand. You try and show that you can escape it – that you are so much more than enough. At first you think it's working, you are getting things done, but quickly you realize you are sinking faster than before. 

What is the solution to this perpetual feeling? I am not sure, probably therapy...