Once again, I awoke early. This time, I’ll give myself a break and attribute it to the loud storm that rolled through. Regardless of the reason for my early rising, I still have to acknowledge that early mornings are my most stressful times of day.
I’ve always been a morning person. My brain works faster, sharper. During good times this has served me well. During other times, it’s been a struggle. This is now when I worry. This is when the anxiety seems crushing. If I’m going to have a panic attack, chances are it will come sometime between 3 and 4 a.m. If I’m going to be overly emotional, this will also be when it will happen. This is when I have regrets, this is when I’m afraid, this is when I feel alone.
And the thing is… I’m not alone. I’m one of the least alone people I know. I wonder how much of my feeling alone is because I am an only child ? As I’ve aged, I’m frequently noticing traits within myself that seem to point back to this phenomenon. I don’t know how to trust and rely on other people and yet I’m such a perfectionist that I don’t trust myself. I expect too much from myself. I’m unforgiving of myself. I internally beat myself up constantly. These are things that I vow to someday get over and there are times when I feel good, hopeful, happy. Just not at 3:00 a.m.
And so here I sit in my running clothes. A couple of weeks ago, I decided that no matter how I was feeling, I would run. There’s a huge difference in my emotions before and after a run. Alas, it is storming with no end in site. The coffee maker will soon kick on and I will soon have to be making breakfast and getting the boys to school. No run for me so I feel crushed and burdened. I hope it lifts as the sun rises. I hope the storm in my head is as passing as the one outside my window. I hope there’s some sun on the horizon.