One of my favorite people in the universe, Irina Baranov, threw down the gauntlet on her blog today.

Her call to action really resonated with a shivering, quivering part of my soul.

The challenge: Tell the story you don’t want to tell.

No tips. No quips. No tools or slideshows or pretty tutorials.

Just that story that’s lurking beneath the surface. The one that perhaps might make me feel embarrassed or vulnerable…or both. The one I’ve been too scared to shine a light on in fear of what it might mean.

Lordy me. Have I got a story.

And it’s so NOT buttoned up. The opposite, actually.

Bits and pieces of this story have been reverberating around my head for the better part of the past year (maybe even two) as a jumbled mess of thought fragments. But the sudden shift in our child-care reality two months ago really dialed up the fragment volume to ear-splitting levels.

You see, at the beginning of May, I became a stay-at-home-mom. Who also works. Full-time.

And it’s not going so well.

I know there’s some wisdom lurking beneath the churning surface for me to discover, but damn if I have the energy or time to mine for it. A few dark depressive wisps linger there just beyond view, their tentacles poised and powerful enough to drag me under.

Some days they get me.

But most days, I manage to white-knuckle it through. Oblivious to the scenery, merely reacting to imminent threats as they arise.

I’ve caught myself saying, “SO!” out loud more than a few times these past few weeks. I utter this phrase not because I have anything meaningful to say, but because I feel the need to physically bulldoze a heaping pile of scary questions away. Starting a physical conversation with another person, even if there is no other person in sight, is one of the best ways to do just that.

Existential avoidance. Boy, oh boy. I’ve got it bad.

This is what it sounds like in my brain when I let it get quiet enough:

40. OMFG. Is my life about half-over? What do I have to show for my 40 years here? Am I living up to my potential? What IS my potential anyway? Am I really a “B” or “C” student that tricked herself into thinking she was as an “A?”

Has it really been six months since my last hair cut & color? Could I pass off my now intermittent-grey-to-dishwater-brown-to-brassy-blond color “situation” as a purposeful ombre?

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

It’s noisy in there. A swirl of genuine existential questions, harsh judgements, and utter fluff.

And oh God is that inner noise ever reflected on the outside.

I’m lucky if I get two runs in a week. And I’m supposed to run a half-marathon at the end of August. HA!

I routinely work from 8:30pm until 2 or 3am.

I ordered out three nights out of seven last week.

I totally forgot to order the welcome poster for the front of the school and will be racing around doing that like a madman tomorrow.

I now need 3 cups of coffee in the morning just to function.

More than a few details have fallen through the cracks (mostly emails, Facebook groups, phone calls – I’m very sorry if one of them was yours).

I’m chronically late.

I drive too fast.

I have a pile of unfolded (but clean) laundry a mile-high on my dryer.

My pants are too tight. Mainly because I eat an ungodly amount of sweets. (I bake when I’m anxious.)

My desk is quickly disappearing beneath a mound of papers.

I’m holding on to entirely too much at home and at work – compromising the potential for net contribution because I am either too far behind the 8-ball to delegate or desperately in need of something (no matter how small) to control.

I’m also frequently frustrated with husband because I won’t delegate to him. Riddle me that.

I allowed the boys screen time every morning last week so I could sleep for five more minutes.

And more.

So basically I’m not doing work well. I’m doing parenting well only after mainlining coffee. I’m not doing marriage well. And I’m not doing my body any good either.

Pot. Meet the kettle. Right?! I need to go read Buttoned Up and take some of my own freaking medicine. Maybe do the Kickstart Boot Camp myself. 🙂 Who wants to coach me?!

Kidding aside, I don’t have a quick fix for my existential angst. But by the act of putting pen to paper (or type to screen) tonight, I’ve finally stopped running from it. And that actually feels ok. If a little scary because, you know, I’m supposed to be all buttoned up and stuff and now you now I’m not. At least not right now.

I can see clearly now that the only way out is to slow down.

And the only way to slow down is to do less.

And the only way to do less (and still be who I want to be) is to choose well — and to set things up so that others can contribute more meaningfully.

Like I said, no magic answers or quick fixes. Just questions. Lots of questions. And now the bravery to face them.

Got any answers for me?