a clump I can’t seem to untangle
I used to know my emotions like old friends. They had names, clear and distinct, like colors on a palette. Sadness was a deep blue that settled into the corners of my room, anger a sharp red that burned through my chest, and joy a warm yellow that hummed beneath my skin. I could point at each one and say, this is what I’m feeling, as if emotions were something to be neatly cataloged and placed on a shelf.
But now, everything feels tangled. The colors blur into a muddy mess, and I can’t tell where one ends and another begins. I don’t know if I’m angry or sad, or if I’m simply tired of trying to figure it out. Each feeling clumps together, dense and heavy, like a ball of yarn that’s been left to knot itself over time. When I try to unravel it, it feels like pulling at something too tight, each strand digging into my hands until I’m left clawing at myself, tearing open wounds that have barely begun to heal.
I’ve become so caught up in naming my emotions that I’ve forgotten how to feel them. I sit with a notebook, trying to dissect the static in my chest, trying to find the perfect words to explain what’s wrong. But in my obsession with understanding, I miss the moment entirely. It’s like staring at a sunset and being so focused on naming each shade of orange and pink that I forget to enjoy the light before it fades.
And maybe that’s what scares me most about getting older – that I’m losing the ability to just be. When I was younger, feelings were raw and unapologetic. I didn’t try to control them or make sense of them. I just let them crash over me like waves, pulling me under and spitting me back out. I wasn’t afraid of being overwhelmed because I trusted that I’d resurface eventually.
But now, I’m afraid of drowning. I’m afraid that if I don’t untangle this mess, I’ll never find solid ground again. And yet, the more I fight to make sense of everything, the deeper I sink into the confusion. It’s exhausting, this constant battle between wanting to let go and needing to hold on, between escaping the chaos and making peace with it.
I’ve noticed that even happiness feels different now. It’s not as light as it used to be; it comes with a weight, a shadow of what-ifs and how-longs. Even when I laugh, there’s a voice in the back of my mind whispering, Will this last? I used to feel joy as if it were boundless, but now it feels tethered, fragile, like holding a bubble and hoping it doesn’t burst.
But it’s not just happiness that feels heavy. Every emotion seems to demand more from me now. I can’t tell if I’m growing wiser or if I’m simply growing tired. Each day feels like a balancing act between understanding my feelings and being consumed by them. I used to think that getting older meant clarity, but it’s starting to feel like a fog I’ll never fully escape.
And yet, I am still here, navigating the mess of it all. I may not know how to name every feeling, but I am learning to sit with them, even when they’re uncomfortable, even when they hurt. I am learning that sometimes it’s okay to not know, to let the waves come and trust that I’ll find the shore eventually.
I’m not sure what the future holds, but I hope for one thing: that I’ll keep the part of me that dares to feel, even when it’s hard. I hope I never stop being moved by sunsets, by laughter, by the small, fleeting moments that remind me what it means to be alive.
Maybe I’ll never fully untangle the knots inside me. Maybe that’s okay. Because in the end, life isn’t about having everything sorted – it’s about finding beauty in the mess, and strength in the struggle. It’s about knowing that even in the confusion, there’s something worth holding on to.
So here I am, carrying the weight of feeling. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s mine. And for now, that’s enough.
