Wishful Thinking

My dearest friends and family,

It will come as a surprise to some of you and perhaps perplexing to all, but consider this my two weeks notice. There are standards that I hold myself to based on your needs and wishes, and it should come as a shock to no one that I cannot meet them.

Some of you may be thinking, “But I never asked you to climb the mountains you forced yourself to,” and you are correct. You only ever asked me for a step at a time. But when twenty people are asking for a step several times a day, my legs begin to shake all too quickly. In response to this analogy, several of you will likely blame a different family member for causing too many of the steps and exhausting me too quickly. The only person deserving of any blame is myself.

I can no longer be everyone’s chauffeur, the resident nurse, the errand girl, the cook, and the emotional support for everyone but myself. I am spread too thin, and the thing that is sacrificed is always my dreams, my plans, and my sanity.

I devoted myself to my grandmother’s funeral preparations out of grief, and I now devote myself to my other grandmother’s bedside as we wait to send her along. I refuse to give up that role until it is taken for me, but this resignation is not in regards to my grandmother’s needs. It is about the rest of you. I pour myself into tasks for each and every one of you because of the overwhelming amount of love I hold for each of you. But I haven’t taken a day for my own interests since I returned from my work abroad, and being stretched so thin in between all of you is the reason I had to leave in the first place. I don’t want to run anymore, but I can’t be the centerpiece in this game of tug of war anymore.

I used to be torn between my parents, and I’m so lucky to have so many people want me around, but the demands pile up until they rise above my head and I choke on the disappointment of those I couldn’t please or had to cancel on.

I no longer want to be the punching bag for the snappy comments that I must endure when others are overwhelmed. We are all scrambling for something to hold onto in the wake of this devastating loss. As much as I wish I could be everyone’s life preserver, I am barely my own. I write this resignation moments after receiving another job rejection. I am just in the early days of finding myself and creating a life I want to live, but I can’t reach for my future when I’m being pulled backwards.

I want to babysit and hug everyone and help everyone with their jobs and have dinner with everyone, but I barely know who I am on my own. The publishing world beckons, but visions of nursing and other random potential careers skew with my true north.

The first half of this letter was written in anger before a family tragedy had us all gathering to my grandma’s bedside. All my anger has faded. I am still weary, but I have seen how much we need each other. This resignation letter will be thrown out before it ever makes it to HR, either by a family member or by myself, and that’s okay. I can’t imagine a world where I would turn away if I thought I could help. I keep saying that I wish there was more time in the day. That way I wouldn’t worry about not having enough time for my own interests. But I think the fact of it all is that there is never enough time with all of you. If these recent weeks have taught me anything, it’s that health is not granted, and we have no idea how much time we have. Maybe I wish that I could write a book that would change the world. But I wouldn’t sacrifice crucial moments with all of you for that dream.

I wanted to resign from being perfect or trying to be this perfect person who is there for everyone and has a colorful and meaningful life. I don’t know if I can, though. Life isn’t meant to be lived alone.

I can’t resign from being the renaissance man for my family. And even if I could, I don’t know that I want to. I also can’t resign from your expectations. You will see me however you want to no matter what I do. The only thing I can resign from is the idea that in order to be happy, I have to sacrifice something. I am no more willing to sacrifice my writing and running than I am willing to sacrifice bending over backwards for all of you.

This isn’t to say I will make things work the way they are. I have to learn to say ‘no’ more. But the original anger that I wrote this with many days ago faded as I watched my grandma grow weaker and weaker. I gladly give up my work and my plans to hold her hand and wait for her to smile at me as she tends to do when she wants to reassure me.

I thought I needed to resign from all of you, but I need to resign from my own image of perfection because it is not what I thought it was. Maybe perfection is a little more of a tired writing session after spending the day making sure my mom is alright. I can be okay with that.

I love you all too much to give you less than my all. But I need to give the same effort and care to myself.

With more love than I can express,

Your Smita