We All Grow Up (Eventually)

Last we spoke, I mentioned briefly that I found my own apartment. Since everything went pretty well, I’m happy to say that I’m sitting at my own kitchen table, in my very first apartment, writing this. However, I’m at a loss for words to describe what living in my own home has taught me about the world because it all seems like a jumbled mess when I look back on it.

For lack of a better way to put it, the past month and a half have truly been “the best of times” and “the worst of times” all at once (thanks, Dickens). It’s as if I can see all the good and bad moments pieced together overhead, aware that after each dip is a rise and each peak, a fall. And to be totally honest, it’s giving me anxiety just learning how to cope with what “adults” know is normal. It sounds kind of pathetic on “paper” but sometimes I just want life to be consistent so I can categorize it as something, wrap my brain around it for once. If it’s good, be good for a while. If it’s bad, be bad for a while. In life, the rollercoaster is not my cup of tea (which reminds me, I left my now very cold tea in the microwave 🙄) especially since I’m almost certain I’m wired to see the dips and falls a whole lot more clearly than the triumphant peaks.

I wouldn’t say highlighting those falls is a result of me being pessimistic. In fact, I’d argue that I’m fatalistically positive. Like so-positive-that-I-set-myself-up-for-disappointment-positive. Tonight, I realized why that is and as many of you know, writing is what I do when I realize stuff so here it is.

Continue reading “We All Grow Up (Eventually)”
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Overwhelm

Perfectionism has been a struggle of mine for quite some time. It’s what makes me edit as I write, baby new clothes, and stress over the smallest flaws and imperfections. On a good day, I call it having great attention to detail; on a bad day, I find it nearly paralyzing. I beat myself up over the smallest mistakes. Wear and tear to my favorite boots haunts me every time I put them on my feet. Even though the moments of “damage” are behind me, the stress from it never really ends. It’s a mess.

I think the worst part of being a perfectionist is the near constant feeling of overwhelm. I’m always thinking… and overthinking which I’m sure a lot of people can relate to. If I’m not worrying about all that I haven’t accomplished yet and how “perfect” I need to be to get there, I’m stressing over stupid things I’ve said and scolding myself for it. I’m imagining the houses I’d like to the live in and the goals I have but instead of being excited, I’m worried that it won’t be as perfect as I’ve imagined or that I’m not capable of getting there. Or that there’s too many details for one person to handle on their own so I should just give up. That’s overwhelm. Everything all at once, all the time. Continue reading “Overwhelm”