As the sun rose the other morning, it was hidden behind a wall of fog so thick that the 36 acres of farmland behind our house completely disappeared. I was mesmerized looking at it. It captivated me, the way it softened all the edges, left so many things hidden. It felt…familiar. Close. I stood in the grass for a moment, drinking in the thick air. It was as if I was standing at the very edge of the world; the very edge of life itself. As if I could walk straight through the trees and simply fall off the end of the earth.

I suppose I spend many of my days this way. With all the rest of the world veiled behind a wall of fog. I know there’s more up ahead—in the distance—but I can’t see it from here. And I guess it feels safer that way. I know if I get close enough to the edge, I’ll see the expansive field stretching out before me, with its dried, broken stalks and sleeping grasses. And I’ll remember that there’s more. So much more.

That’s where I often get lost. When I can see clearly all the expectations that extend out in an endless field in front of me, and I can turn around and see all that I’ve walked through winding out in a muddy path behind me.

With a new year unfolding, I’ve found myself stranded. Looking out at endless unknowns, and trying to make sense of all that has come before. The path behind me is littered with the skins of people that I used to be, and I’ve been so many. In the last twenty years alone I’ve been lost TCK, angry MK, roommate, close friend, girlfriend, wife, isolated new mother, nanny, estranged friend, grieving friend, exhausted mom, sister, daughter, band widow, perpetual caregiver…but where does all of that leave me now?

When I stood there breathing it all in, I was reminded that I’m not quite okay with it all. I’m not quite okay with all the decisions I’ve made that have brought me to this point. I’m not okay with all the times I’ve let my kids down, let my husband down, let my friends down, let my family down…the many times I haven’t been quite what they needed me to be. The many times I haven’t been what I needed me to be.

I can dream up a million different endings for my life: how I move forward from here, how I thrive and make dreams happen…but they are all exhausting. And if I’m honest, the ones that have offered the most relief are the ones that end early. I’m weary of being disappointed in myself. Of disappointing the people around me. And I can’t wrap my mind around more years upon years upon years of the same. Most days, I almost wish I could walk straight into the fog, and instead of finding that endless field with all the dormant grass and the possibilities, it would be the very edge. And I would simply fall off.

And that’s the tricky thing about mental illness. You know how you want things to be—how you want things to change—how they can be better. But you spend your whole life just doing the next thing. Because it’s how you get through each day. It’s how you remain. It’s how you manage to show up in the world in pieces here and there. You do the next thing. Then the next. You focus only on what’s right in front of you at that moment. You try to show up for the people you care about in the ways they need, but you often fall short. And when you do have dreams about the future and its possibilities, you suddenly find yourself buried in all the unmet aspirations you once had and were unable to pursue. Because you were too focused on simply remaining.

But standing in that fog the other day—breathing in the thick air and watching the sunlight scatter through the haze—I realized that just simply remaining isn’t quite enough anymore. I want to find ME in this pile of bone and flesh at my feet; the old skins cast aside. I want to find my path forward through the wreckage left after unmet expectations, and labels, and decades of disappointments. I want to walk to the edge of it all and see what’s hidden beyond the mist.