Love in the Time of Emotional Exhaustion - This Is Not The Life I Ordered

An intimate log of life between chapters, featuring zero resolution and occasional hope.

DAY 32 of My Life as Not-Old-Me

Dear Diary,

Okay, so - I actually slept okay last night. Praise be to Jesus, dog cuddles, and the sweet release of passive-aggressively telling off the couple next door. Turns out, setting boundaries and spooning a white terrier is my new favourite nervous system regulation combo.

The only downside? The neighbours now pretend I don’t exist. No eye contact. No hellos. Just aggressive silence and closed blinds. Which, honestly, I’m completely fine with. The truth really does set you free. We can’t stand each other - so why waste precious life force energy pretending we do? Let’s skip the small talk and get back to ignoring each other like adults.

Post-breakfast and a gentle gym session - because life is already hard, and there’s no need to reenact a gladiator battle on the squat rack - I had my coffee while staring at trees like they might whisper answers. (They didn’t. Rude.) Then I got ready for my date with the dog guy.

First impression? Not what I expected. But are they ever? He was shorter than his profile suggested. By a lot. But he had warm energy and kind eyes, so I mentally lowered my walls (and my expectations) and chose to just be present. We had burgers and beers for lunch - exactly what my grief-saturated soul needed. No kale. No pretence. Just fries and semi-decent conversation. We talked about our mutual war stories from the dating app trenches. A bit of trauma bonding, a lot of nodding. It was… okay. Not thrilling. Not terrible. But okay.

And yes, I know I shouldn’t compare him to the Canadian ex. I’m aware. But this isn’t a journal called “How to Be Emotionally Evolved in 30 Days.” This is my truth. And the truth is: I still think about that man. Every time someone new sits across from me, it’s like he’s there too - ghosting the date with his memory. I’m not romanticizing his bad behaviour. I’m not pretending it didn’t hurt. But the reality is, I don’t want to stop loving him. And that’s the problem. That beautiful bastard is somehow still leading me - into my becoming, into my truth. The REAL me. The woman before him kept pretending, faking it and trying to make others like her, love her or choose her. It’s that woman he ruined. Not the one becoming.

That said… if someone invented a pill that could erase memories, refund emotional investments, and came with snacks? I’d definitely consider it.

Anyway, back to the date. I tried. I smiled. I made jokes. I nodded at the appropriate times. We went for a walk after lunch and kept chatting about random things. It felt more like catching up with a friendly acquaintance than anything else. Zero spark, but he seems nice. Respectful. Grounded.

And maybe “nice” and “okay” is the new sexy. Maybe I’ve been aiming too high - burning for magic when what I need is something steady. Something simple. Something that doesn’t set me on fire and leave me sifting through ashes.

Trying to move forward in life sounds great in theory. Like one of those Pinterest quotes over a sunrise background: “Just keep going.” Cute. Inspiring. Slightly aggressive. But in reality? It often feels more like trudging through emotional quicksand wearing a weighted blanket and a suspiciously heavy backpack full of unresolved issues I never signed up to carry. I want to move forward - I do. I can see the vision board in my head. I’ve read (and written) the self-help books. I’ve whispered affirmations into my tea. And yet... here I am. Stuck. Tired. And, if I’m honest, lonely in it all.

It’s not that I’m not trying. I am. But the trying feels invisible, like wrestling shadows. Some days it takes everything just to get out of bed and face the small stuff - like replying to texts, pretending to care about work, or remembering passwords. And then there's the big stuff: grief, loss, the heartbreaks that echo long after the people are gone. The deep questions I can’t outrun no matter how many mindfulness apps I download.

And no one really prepares you for this part. The part where healing isn’t just baths and journaling - it’s silence. Isolation. It’s fleeting moments of feeling up and lasting moments of feeling down. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from carrying a lifetime of emotional weight uphill - with no map, no finish line, and no one else who can lift it but you.

Everyone talks about the breakthroughs, but rarely about the waiting room - that strange purgatory where you’re no longer who you were, not yet who you’re becoming, and somehow still expected to answer emails and go to birthday drinks.

And yeah, it’s lonely. Not because I’m physically alone (I have birds and Wi-Fi), but because so much of what I’m facing is mine. No one else can really crawl inside my head and untangle the knots. No one else can hold the mirror for me 24/7. Sometimes, it's just me and the mirror. And let’s be honest: the lighting in there is harsh.

But even here, in this foggy, frustrating middle, I remind myself - stuck isn’t failure. Stuck is a chapter. And maybe, just maybe, it’s where the real becoming begins. With the mess. With the pause. With the deeply unglamorous work of sitting with what is and still choosing to keep going, even if it’s just one slow, breathy step at a time.

Later in the afternoon, I caught up with the nice neighbours (the ones who don’t seem like extras in an emotional Godzilla sequel). We chatted briefly, then I curled up on the couch to rest my tired soul. Which, by the way, has been tired since approximately 2010.

Sadly, my moment of peace was short-lived because the Godzilla couple apparently staged a vengeance comeback tour - complete with stomping, shouting, and what sounded like DIY demolition. So I ended up sleeping upright on the couch again, like a Victorian ghost waiting for her lost love to return from war.

Honestly? I’m half-seriously considering volunteering for a NASA mission just to get some peace and quiet. Mars might be dusty, but at least it’s quiet.

And maybe this is all a sign. A sign that it’s time to shift the energy. Move house. Shake things up. Take back the wheel instead of sitting here marinating in my melancholy like some sort of sad emotional stew.

I don’t know what the answer is yet, but I do know this: Something’s gotta give. And preferably not just my sanity.

Still unraveling,

TODAY’S VIBE:
Tender but resilient. Like a soft-boiled egg that survived the boiling point and still came out whole.

TODAY’S THING THAT STOOD OUT:
The way the sun hit the trees during my walk - like nature whispering, “You’re still here, and that’s enough.”

TODAY’S TRUTH I ALMOST DIDN’T ADMIT:
I’m still in love with someone who isn’t here anymore. Not because I think we’ll end up together, but because part of me still hopes the memory will make sense someday.

TODAY’S QUESTION:
What if healing isn’t about forgetting, but about carrying it differently?

TODAY I CREATED:
Space for stillness. And an honest reflection that didn’t try to make pain poetic - it just let it be.

TODAY’S SONG: Ripple Effect by Scott Helman - Because I am a lover not a hater

P.S.
I showed up. Not perfectly, not triumphantly - but with a beating heart and a pen in my hand. And maybe that’s everything.