Chapter 11: I’m not asking for much. Just a stable brain, some literary luck, and maybe a husband.

golden halloumi kadayif, the background noise of being alive, and letting myself be seen

This week’s silver lining was that I got invited to friends and family night at Or’esh, the new restaurant from the team behind The 86 and Corner Store, which is my favorite one yet. New York really is a city where you can be in the middle of a mental breakdown and still care deeply about lighting and Golden Halloumi Kadayif. It’s one of my most consistent personality traits.

My friend Nicole brought a case of beer for the chefs, which is sort of an opening-night ritual in restaurants. I’m stealing that move next time.

I ate, I sat at a table, I remembered what it feels like to be a person with a life. The kind of night where you’re surrounded by people talking too loudly about things that don’t matter, and it almost makes you believe nothing matters. In a comforting way.

Then I went home and returned to my regularly scheduled programming.

I don’t know if it’s trauma that hardened into my nervous system or just the background noise of being alive right now. On paper, I’m doing well. I get out of the house. I work a lot. I work out. I eat relatively healthy. I take care of myself. I do all the things you’re supposed to do when you want your life to look like it’s functioning.

But mentally, I keep circling the same question:

How is anything in my life going to work out?

I did the unthinkable and kissed the guy from last week’s column. Turns out I did not forget how to kiss. We’ll leave it at that.

I don’t think it can go anywhere, which is… familiar. The pattern where something exciting happens, my nervous system briefly wakes up, and then reality taps me on the shoulder like, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Still, there was an energy between us I don’t feel often. Not enough evidence to call it anything, but enough to remember what it feels like when something might.

It felt light. Not heavy. Not complicated. Not like I needed to decode him like the CIA, or worse, like a man on Raya. It felt like being with someone in the moment. Which is a sensation I forgot existed.

And the truth is, what made it special wasn’t him. It was me. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be there and think, this is me. No performance. No armor. Just me, in all my flaws. My imperfect stomach. Whatever sadness lives behind my eyes. The TikTok posture.

Normally, I just want to hide. But for a few hours, I didn’t.

Of course, sometimes I think human touch is a scam. Because the second you get it, you remember what it feels like to be a human being. And then when it’s inconsistent, you start wondering if it would be better to never have it at all. Like abstinence isn’t about purity. Maybe it’s about avoiding the emotional whiplash of remembering you’re alive.

But then I end up in the same place. Not putting myself out there. Not living my life. Calling it self-protection. Branding my avoidance as awkwardness, as if avoidance is just a quirky personality trait.

I also went out dancing. I sang karaoke. I did things I would normally punish myself for, like staying out, being loud, taking up space. For a few hours, I felt free.

Then I spent the rest of the weekend punishing myself for it.

I went to an event for my friend Lauren and met Ali Kriegsman. She was impressive in the way that actually impresses you. Grounded. Clear. Fully herself. I’ve been reading her Substack, New Motives, for a while, and it’s strangely comforting to meet someone whose work you already let into your brain every week.

I saw a video this week that said to draw a line down a piece of paper. On the right side, write your name. On the left side, write “The Universe.” Then list everything you’re responsible for on your side, and everything you’re going to let the universe handle on its side.

My side was mostly logistical. Write the weekly Substack. Take care of my body. Pay bills. Don’t spiral.

The universe’s side was more ambitious. Bring me a book deal. Bring me the right man. Make the money part make sense. Please handle whatever is happening to my nervous system.

I’m not asking for much. Just a stable brain, some literary luck, and maybe a husband.

There’s constant information. Instability. Violence. Economic pressure. Climate anxiety. None of it is abstract anymore. It lives in our bodies. Even the most emotionally avoidant person you know is starting to develop opinions and feelings, which is honestly how you know it’s bad.

We lost believable futures. A lot of the timelines we were promised quietly disappeared, and now we’re improvising without a script. Everyone is pretending they’re fine, because that’s what adulthood is now. Functional denial with a skincare routine. Perfect skin, dead eyes.

We optimized away meaning. We got very good at productivity and very bad at metabolizing feeling. We turned our inner lives into something we manage like a business.

So my fear doesn’t always look like sadness. Sometimes it looks like confusion. Irritability. Fear without an object. Fatigue that rest doesn’t fix. Asking what’s the point while still going to Pilates. Functioning without feeling alive.

I’m incredibly hard on myself in ways I don’t fully understand yet, and some days I don’t see the point.

Cynthia told me that when your purpose becomes bigger than yourself, you stop worrying so much about what people think because you’re focused on helping. I’m starting to understand what she means. Not fully. But enough to feel it flicker on.

I am really struggling with my mental health right now. And that’s okay. For a long time, I was trying to fight it, as if I could outwork my own nervous system. Accepting it doesn’t mean I can’t be successful or have the life I want. It just means this will always be part of the picture. It has been here. It will probably stay. Letting that be true sometimes makes it feel lighter.

I know I’m not alone. A lot of people are depressed. Or something adjacent to it. Or living in a prolonged stress response and calling it a personality.

So this week I’m just sitting with it and asking the universe to be extra kind.

Somehow, functioning.
Jilly

PS. Would love for you to follow the How To Function Instagram <3
Thank you for being here.