Just before Christmas, I found myself on the floor of my office, staring at the ceiling. This cycle of work, burnout, work, burnout has ruled my life for almost a decade. I felt numb. Tiredness to the point of disobedience. I couldn’t believe I was here again.
I was sick of it. And recklessly I decided that when I went back to work, it would be with the understanding that everything I was trying to hold on to, I was willing to give up. That includes Wit & Delight. Next. Product deals. Everything. I would come if I had something to say. I would share things for fun. I was done doing good. It was killing the last shred of intelligence I had left.
So I stopped. I went down to the printing press. I took the break I should have taken years ago.
Then I sat down and wrote about it.
I’m afraid of being a careless person. The one who lets good things starve until they can no longer work. One who withholds something necessary. My attachment feels responsible. It feels necessary, like it’s a structure that keeps my life from falling apart.
I tried to write about being unattached. About great compassion. About what I had learned in silence. I wrote a draft. It felt good. It is instructive. Then I heard a voice in my head saying. A bull. So I closed it.
I lived with that frame for months. When I finally opened it, I thought, Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe I was being too strict. But I knew I had it covered.
I’m afraid of being a careless person. The one who lets good things starve until they can no longer work. One who withholds something necessary. My attachment feels responsible. It feels necessary, like it’s a structure that keeps my life from falling apart.
If I stop caring about this so hard, if I stop managing all the consequences, then what happens?
And I watched it happen.
My husband and I had an argument. I saw exactly what he had to do. I had an understanding. Advice. Something that would fix it. And I didn’t say anything. I waited. I watched him work. And when he did, when he found his own way, I felt closer to him than I had in months. I wish I played a big part in the preparation. By saying nothing. That should not work. But it he did.
We turned the corner that night. And once I saw it, I couldn’t take it away.
When I didn’t argue with him about the kitchen, he knew what had to be done. When I waited for my daughter to finish brushing her hair instead of teaching her, she didn’t fight me. All these ways that I controlled made life difficult, as if they were against me.
All these ways that I controlled made life difficult, as if they were against me.
When I did less—when I didn’t care how things were done—things just went well. That feels wrong to admit. It sounds lazy. It’s like I gave up.
Because if life is easier when I don’t care so much, what would I be doing?
I thought my attachment was love. I thought maintenance meant making sure things didn’t break down. But separation is part of the natural cycle of things. Maybe my care was fear. They are afraid that if I don’t put it together everything will fall apart. Fear that my value was always on my guard. That if I stop managing, I will stop being important.
And the sorrow of that realization is its kind of pain. Because it means that all that suffering was voluntary. Force yourself. A story I told myself about what it means to be good and helpful and a woman.
So here’s what I’m sitting with now: What if my caring is sometimes about control? What was I making more difficult than necessary? What am I afraid to see?
I’m writing this to a woman reading on her phone at 11 at night, tired of managing everyone’s emotions all day, wondering why she feels so empty. To that person who just shot his child and hates himself for it. For a creator who makes his standards online while his real life falls apart.
I thought my attachment was love. I thought maintenance meant making sure things didn’t break down. But separation is part of the natural cycle of things. Maybe my care was fear. They are afraid that if I don’t put it together everything will fall apart. Fear that my value was always on my guard. That if I stop managing, I will stop being important.
Here’s what I understand to be true: When I didn’t care how things were done, when I just waited… things just happened. And that feels wrong to admit. But it is true.
And maybe that’s what freedom really is. The world doesn’t need to change for you to feel right. You don’t have to control everything to matter. Of course… so be it. Stop them. Allow yourself. Just for a while.
Kate is the founder of Wit & Delight. He is currently learning to play tennis and is constantly testing the limits of his creative muscles. Follow her on Instagram at @witanddelight_.
