I’m in a yucky place right now.
It’s tiring and makes me sad. But “it is what it is” and I’m doing my best to just roll with it. Still, I don’t like it.
I’m on The Verge.
For me, The Verge is that place that is The Next Step, pushing on the walls of my comfort zone, stepping just beyond it and not knowing what is there.
I feel, at one level, like I’m staring up at a massive, massive mountain and I have no idea how to get to the other side. I’m desperate to get there. I know what is there, and I’m so hungry for it. So passionate about it.
Those who can help me scale this mountain are over there. The mountain is blocking their view of my passion. They can’t see it. They know I want to be there, or maybe they don’t? But they can’t see how important it is for me to be there; not just for myself, or even my family, but for hundreds, thousands of other mums out there having a really hard time of stuff.
At another level, I feel like I’m on an edge, a precipice a long way up. The rest of this massive mountain is still above me, but there’s a considerable drop below me.
Part of it is family life; I don’t know what’s next. We’ve sold our house and … nothing. I have no idea. I know we need to move. My hubby, in a bid to protect me and avoid dumping his worry onto me, doesn’t realise he’s left me out here, on the edge of this drop. I know he has my best interests at heart, that he is trying to do his best for his family and assure me we’ll be ok. But I’m here, on this edge, and have no way of knowing what’s going to happen.
The mountain ahead is the business. I’ve put out calls … for want of an analogy, SOS calls I guess. But I don’t know if the message – that passion – has come through. That those who have received the SOS don’t realise the importance of the call.
(Please don’t worry – SOS sounds kinda dramatic, I’m just trying to set a scene).
I don’t know if I’ve conveyed the message adequately, or in a language that appeals. I don’t know if they care. I don’t know …
I just don’t know.
So, here I am, out here, on The Verge … a narrow precipice, a tremendous nothing below me, an enormous expanse of rocky wall ahead of me, nothing but a chisel to help me work on it and no way of knowing when, or if, anyone is going to extend a hand to help me scale it and enable me to get to those that need my help, and need it badly.
My hands feel tied. I feel small and helpless and useless.
What I do know, and accept, is that I am on The Verge.
It’s not a nice place to be. It’s tiring. It’s stressful. It’s the unknown. It’s uncomfortable.
But it’s The Verge … of something.
And I will be ok.