Already Enough & A Bit Much

IGTBO listener Heather recently went through a devastating friend break up. She shares some words that helped her through it, including the poem She Is A Bit Much by Lyndsay Rush.

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If you have anxiety, depression or any sense of the world around you, you know that not *everything* is going to be okay. In fact, many things aren’t okay and never will be! But instead of falling into the pit of despair, we’re bringing you a little OK for your day. Every weekday, we’ll bring you one okay thing to help you start, end or endure your day with the opposite of a doom scroll.

Created and hosted by Nora McInerny.

Find Nora’s weekly newsletter here.

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Share your OK thing at 612.568.4441 or by emailing IGTBO@feelingsand.co.

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The IGTBO team is Nora McInerny, Claire McInerny, Marcel Malekebu, Amanda Romani Grace Barry and Michelle Plantan.

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The transcript for this episode can be found here.

Find all our shows and our store at www.feelingsand.co.

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Transcripts may not appear in their final version and are subject to change.

Heather: Hi, Feelings and Co team. My name is Heather, and I'm sharing my okay thing from Southern California.  In the space between Thanksgiving and Christmas of last year, my best friend of 8 years decided she didn't wanna be my best friend anymore. She just  changed her mind about me, I guess. I think she lost sight of my heart, and she didn't go quietly either.

It was a full on character assassination.  She said so many mean and hurtful things as she just blew it all up. I think she wanted to make sure there was nothing left of our friendship to revive. And those initial weeks, I was raw, heartbroken. I cried a lot.

Her words would pulse in my head and reverberate in my body like a heartbeat. I was gutted. At night, my sleeping pill would give me blessed relief from it all for a few hours, but then I'd be up again. Sometimes it would be 1 or 2 in the morning, and I'd end up being up for the whole day. Starting everyday crying wasn't working for me.

I needed a new routine. I joined an indoor rowing gym, and instead of crying at 5 45 in the morning, I was rowing. The gym was like 1 of those spin gyms, dark with music blaring, sweet relief, and a welcome distraction.  1 morning in the dark room with the music blaring, my thoughts drifted, and my grief found me there too. We had talked every day.

She knew how much I loved her. Why doesn't she like me anymore? How'd she lose sight of my heart? How'd she forget who I was? She called me privileged.

I'm a therapist, and yet she told me I lacked depth. I throw the word love around like people say hello at the grocery store. I'm fake. Gifts I give her feel like I'm buying her or manipulating her. I wasn't easy to be in a relationship with.

The thoughts and rhythm and on beat with my rowing. Tears streaming down my face. I was really thankful for the cloak of darkness the room offered me.  Suddenly, my instructor's voice cut through the spiral I was heading down. It was as if he could hear my thoughts.

You are already enough, I heard him say as he encouraged the class to push harder for another 45 seconds. You are already enough. The relief was immediate. I exhaled.  Instantly, those words became my lifeline. 

I grabbed onto them and held on tightly. New words I could hold on to instead of the hurtful ones that had been replaying in my head on a loop. I was already enough. I was already enough. The words on be and in sync with my rowing, right then and there in a dark rowing gym before the sun had even come up.

I knew I was gonna be okay. It was gonna be okay. And right here is where the story is supposed to end. This is where I'd intended it for it to end. I was enough.

It was gonna be okay, and I could tie it all up in a neat little feel good bow. I'd found my okay thing, but grief doesn't work like that. In the weeks after, holiday chores kept me distracted enough. The new gym routine gave me something new to focus on and a new skill to learn, and I had my shiny new mantra. I was already enough.

I could breathe through the hard moments when my thoughts would inevitably drift and my eyes would well up. I would cry it out and be done. And that weird, painful time between grief and healing, I knew it was gonna be okay, but also it still really hurt. I picked up my phone 1 day. After all, it had been weeks, and the algorithm was on point.

It knew my broken heart, and it was filled with so many cliched reminders to only choose the people that choose me right back. Then these new words found me, a poem. She's a bit much. If it's okay with you all, I'd like to read it to you now. The poem was written by Lindsay Rush.

She's a bit much. You mean, like, a bonus French fry in the bottom of the bag, like a champagne shower, like triple texting good news, like buying coffee for the person behind you in line? Or did you mean a bit much like an unexpected upgrade to business class or theme parties or the band pretending to go off stage and then coming back for an unforgettable encore. Perhaps you were referring to that thing of being astonished by a sunset or how puppies flop around when they learn to run or the way some people take karaoke really seriously.  Maybe you just meant sprinkles, confetti, balloon drops, witty comebacks, generous tips, fireworks, water slides, serotonin, cherries on top, and the fact that maybe we were put on this planet to simply enjoy ourselves, then yes.

I agree. She is a bit much. Aren't we so lucky she's here?  I adore these words so much, friends, because they reveal an unspoken truth about breakups. We can be intense for some, even overwhelming, and not enough for others.

Our challenge is accepting this even when it doesn't make sense or when we really want the answer to be different. After all, it does work both ways. Some people will be too much for us, while others won't be enough. And, of course, that's why breakups hurt so much. That's why I hurt so much because it's true.

I am a bit much. I wear my heart permanently on my sleeve. I love out loud, and I don't know how to live small. That's gonna mean I get hurt sometimes. I have to learn to be okay with it if that's too much for her, if I'm too much for her.

Anything else means abandoning myself, and I have to choose me. The good old Instagram algorithm had it right after all. So I'm a bit much. New words I can hold on to. More words to keep me company on the path.

Another lifeline. Heartbeat. I've had the poem framed and printed in silver on pretty paper. I'm already enough and also a bit much. And, really, it's gonna be okay.