Some nights I get on the train and my mind is so busy and my thoughts are so rapid-fire that I wish more than anything I had my laptop with me and could just start writing.

Sometimes I’m so angry I can’t calm myself — everything sets me off.  Losing service at Suburban station (as though that never happened in the past … like, every day), the woman who seems to be strolling for enjoyment in the middle of the sidewalk/train platform/staircase, my assistant who seems to never run out of the same questions to ask me (repeatedly) on my way out the door.  That I have answered numerous times in the past.

Sometimes i’m introspective and just want to get my thoughts on paper so I don’t lose them …

Sometimes I’m nostalgic, or sad or bursting with elation and joy.  Sometimes I’m feeling clever or witty.

Today, I felt defeated.  Defeated by an insurmountable to-do list that I have little to no assistance with (the job title of ‘assistant’ used above is for lack of a better word … she doesn’t really assist me very much when it counts).  Defeated by an online card registration, defeated by bills I can’t pay, defeated by time.  Defeated by a boss who is so compelled to build everyone else’s self-confidence and ego that he does so to my detriment.  Defeated by Septa and the fact that both trains I was on today stopped –for seemingly no reason — for over 30 minutes each way.  Defeated by everything.

And it made me sad, angry, introspective … disconnected.  I stood on the train platform listening to ‘All of Me’ by John Legend on repeat, with the anxious feeling that I needed to do something, and felt on the verge of tears for a solid ten minutes.

I am not weak.  I am not obtuse.  I am not silly, or flippant.  I’m sharp, and well-spoken and have walked through the fires of hell- by myself –and emerged on the other side.  I’ve fallen and been broken and I’ve picked myself up and fixed myself.  I’ve been humiliated and kept my head held high.  I’ve worked indescribably hard for the things I have.  I’m tired of apologizing for that.  I’m tired of being made to feel bad for who I am.  For the way I choose to live my life.  For my amazing relationship with my husband.  For being capable of doing my job.  I seriously … and I mean SERIOUSLY … am tired of being punished for being good at what I do.

And as I sat here, typing furiously, my husband picked a P!nk song to play on our Sonos.  And I began to sob uncontrollably.  Because she is the strongest, baddest, most amazing artist.  And everything suddenly feels a little better.