N, sometimes it’s ok not to have the strength. If it drives you crazy and your friends are laughing and you laugh with them, but suddenly find yourself broken or angry or sad and you can’t explain why even to the people who are there, who love you, and all sorts of disconnected things begin to bother you, like the sudden realisation that you haven’t watched the news in a long time or that it hasn’t rained or how you weren’t such a good friend to someone who deserved it (more than you thought they did anyway) and old wounds seem tender, even new, and sometimes, you work too hard or lie when you don’t have to, you can’t do much at once to fix anything. It’s not going to get sorted out the way that you think it ought to.
Read Mary Oliver.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.