Being Positive

What If Putting Something Down Is Actually a Sign of Strength?

“Positivity isn't the cheerful little lie that everything is fine. Sometimes everything is not fine. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it sucks. The point is that I don't have to build a permanent home inside a temporary storm.”

I am just a human trying to juggle a lot at once. That sounds simple enough, but there are days when the sentence feels less like an observation and more like a confession. There’s work to do, people to show up for, promises I’ve made, promises I’ve made to myself, plans that seemed reasonable when I made them and considerably less reasonable three weeks later. Then life wanders in carrying a folding chair and drops something unexpected right in the middle of the room. Of course it does. It always does. And suddenly I’m standing there trying to keep everything moving, wondering why I’m tired when I haven't actually stopped moving long enough to notice. I used to think the answer was to get better at juggling. Be more disciplined. Wake up earlier. Work harder. Organize the chaos. Become the mythical version of myself who never forgets anything, never loses patience, never needs a break and, presumably, never sleeps. What a ridiculous standard. I’m starting to think there is something much more useful than pretending I can handle everything: admitting that I can’t. I will drop things. I will have days when I am impatient and days when I am discouraged and days when the best I can manage is getting through the day without making the situation worse. That doesn't make me negative. It makes me alive. Positivity, I’ve discovered, isn't the cheerful little lie that everything is fine. Sometimes everything is not fine. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it sucks. The point is that I don't have to build a permanent home inside a temporary storm.

And then there is the strange guilt that comes with putting something down. I know it well. Maybe you do, too. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed the idea that if I stopped carrying something, even briefly, I must not care about it enough. So I kept going long after going had stopped being useful. I answered when I wanted silence. I pushed when I needed rest. I tried to solve problems that weren't mine because being helpful felt easier than admitting I had nothing left to give. There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from constantly proving you are dependable. It doesn't look dramatic from the outside. You still show up. You still smile. You still say, “I’ve got it.” But inside, something is quietly fraying. I don't want to live that way anymore. There is a difference between abandoning something and setting it down carefully because you need both hands for something else. That difference matters. I can come back later. I can pick it up tomorrow. I can decide, after some time and distance, that I don't want to pick it up at all. None of those choices require me to hate myself. None require an apology. And if somebody doesn't like my decision? Well, that's uncomfortable. It isn't fatal. I’m finally learning that protecting my energy isn't selfish simply because somebody else benefited when I had none left for myself.

Maybe this is what staying positive actually looks like for me now. Not inspirational quotes taped to the refrigerator. Not pretending every disappointment contains some glittering lesson if I stare at it long enough. Not waking up every morning determined to “crush the day,” because honestly, some mornings the day needs to be left alone until I’ve had coffee. My version of positivity is quieter than that, and considerably more stubborn. I can have a bad afternoon without turning it into a bad life. I can make a mistake without putting myself on trial. I can be angry and still choose kindness. I can be tired and still be grateful. I can admit that something broke my heart without handing it the keys to the rest of my life. That last part matters. A difficult moment wants to become a story; a difficult season wants to become an identity. I’m learning to interrupt it. Not everything needs to be fixed today. Some things need time. Some need distance. Some need forgiveness. Some need to be dropped completely. So when I lose my grip and something hits the floor, I’m trying not to immediately scramble after it, muttering about what a failure I am. I’m taking a breath first. Looking around. Deciding what actually matters. Then, when I’m ready, I pick up what deserves to be carried. The rest can stay where it fell. There is freedom in that. And, oddly enough, there is hope in it too.

Have a wonderfully positive day! ☀️

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