I Can't Do This.

Facing what I really feel about preparing for Rosh Hashanah.

I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m. You know how, when you need sleep the most, that’s when it eludes you? Something wakes me up, and that’s it. My brain starts whirring, responsibilities and realities bouncing around in my head, and then panic comes out to play. I’m emotional, there are tears, and I feel paralyzed. I so badly want to sleep. My eyes are burning, and I know how much I need it. But I also know it’s not happening. I’m too worked up, too on edge. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could sleep, no matter what?

So, what do I do right here, right now? I know I have an essay to write and menus to plan.

“Pick something and just start doing it,” I tell myself.

So, here I am writing at 5 a.m. I hesitate to share how overwhelmed I feel sometimes. I don’t want people to feel bad or uncomfortable. I also don’t want the well-intentioned, “You got this,” because, honestly, right now it doesn’t feel like I do. But I can only write about what’s going on for me in real-time, and this is where I am, literally. Hopefully, when you read this, I’ll be more in my groove.

This process is familiar. Every year, when the holiday season approaches, I tell my therapist that I don’t think I can do it. There aren’t enough hours in the day. I can’t juggle it all. He sits there silently, nodding with a hint of a smile on his face and a knowing look, as if to say, “I know this is hard, but you can do this, and you will do this.”  

I want to kick and scream and have a full-on tantrum—and sometimes I do—but I know he’s right. I know it will happen. What choice is there? But, in the moment, it feels impossible.

The thing is, I don’t want to cook for hundreds of people with the attitude of “I have no choice.” That’s not how I do things, and it’s not how I feel. It’s important to me to prepare for the holidays with joy. And the truth is, there’s no greater enjoyment or pleasure than sharing beautiful Yomtov meals with my community—the people I love. It’s a privilege and an honor.

It just takes a lot of intention not to let the overwhelm suck out all the joy. It takes awareness to stop the fears and anxieties from hijacking what’s most important to me. That’s my current reality: facing and acknowledging the fear, the worry, the “Do I have what it takes?” Even without sleep, even though deep down I know the answer, even though I do it every year, I need to lean into these feelings. I need to pay attention, give them space, without feeling ashamed about it. (Nobody likes or feels proud of being overwhelmed, just saying.) I’m calling on G-d to, ya know, do His job by helping me find my strength, resilience, and fortitude.

It will happen!

We all have belief systems that shape how we see the world. The narratives we tell ourselves and the messages we hear in our heads have a profound impact. Some beliefs are positive, and some are negative. Some are generational, not just ours alone. After many years of therapy, I’ve discovered that one of my deeply ingrained beliefs is, “I can’t do this.” It’s an automatic, impulsive response when something is very hard or scary for me. It’s not helpful, and frankly, it’s not true. My therapist gave me some homework: when that narrative comes up, I’m going to replace it with:

“Yes, you can, and you will.”

“You can even do it tired.”

“You will be okay.”

“I’m so grateful this is what I get to do, and it is hard.”

One thing I know for sure: on Rosh Hashanah Eve, when we all sit down to celebrate, I’ll know—and you’ll know—that everything you see and taste was done with a labor of love and true joy, brought about through a lot of intention and prayer.