It would seem that I’m not the only person out there who has trouble accepting that you can do something simply because you like doing it — with no expectation of ever getting good at it. Even as I said I didn’t care if I ever got better at it, I heard from lots of folks who felt it was their duty to assure me that I would.
For me, pushing myself was never really about besting the other people. I think I learned somewhere along the way that love is something you earn by being useful to other people — doing things for them, making them look good, pleasing them somehow.
Sometimes self-care is resting, bubble baths, and indulgence. And other times self-care is pushing yourself to keep going when you’d rather give up.
It’s been uncomfortable figuring out the ways I contribute to my own unhappiness… but it’s essential.
I’m glad I didn’t know how much changing my life would cost me. This way I learned a lesson that would have terrified me if I’d had too much warning.
My favorite people don’t just do the right thing when no one’s forcing them to; they also do it when it’s hard. It’s often something they take for granted about themselves, but I think it’s amazing.
I love going one or two places again. It feels better than the new normal everyone worried me about. It feels familiar and comfortable, like slipping into old clothes that have gotten used to my body and fit me perfectly.
My imagination is really tough competition. Reality just can’t keep up.
Given the choice, I would prefer not to worry anymore. I would prefer if that’s what happens once the big picture is (mostly) safe. But maybe that’s not how it works — and the best we can do is be fortunate enough to worry about smaller things.
If it’s something you’re still struggling with, I just want you to know that it’s hard. Really damn hard.
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