Don’t E-mail my Mom, I’m *Fine*

You guys. I’m exhausted. And every keystroke feels like I’m pulling out my own teeth. What am I doing?

When I started this blog, I didn’t even think about how I was going to fill it with posts. Truly. I was more concerned about the design, making sure people saw I was doing something, and that they were drawn to it. It barely crossed my mind that I’d have to actually sit down and sometimes really think about what I was going to share. I assumed (naively) that I would always have something to say- something that people would want to read and share. And maybe (even more naively) I assumed this whole thing would take off like a rocket ship and *bam* the blog would be a hit. And then, the ideas would just ~flow~. After all, I love to write.

So when I tell you that for the past week I’ve had the worst writer's block since who knows when, it honestly feels like I’m failing. Failing at the thing that used to bring me joy (sounds familiar… more on that at a later time). Failing because I am my own worst enemy and constantly expect better at everything I do. I have put so much undue pressure on myself- it’s not coming from anyone or anywhere. But, I lay awake at night, thinking about what to write. How to keep people engaged and entertained. I had hoped to feel like I was maybe making a dent somehow, somewhere, in someone's life.

Why did I start a blog? Because I thought it would make me want to write more. Because I assumed I had a trove of subjects to pick and choose from and that I could just blab about anything for a couple of paragraphs. Because I wanted to see if I could really do it. But holy hell, it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. And so, here I am, because I love transparency of any kind, saying I’m struggling. 

And yes, we all know the world is *flails arms around*. But somehow, I am not allowing myself the grace or the understanding that I am not immune from it. And this is sadly a constant in my life. I do it with everything. Do I sometimes only show what I want people to see? Of course. Do I often overshare? Hell yes! But do I like to appear weak? No fucking way. So even typing this is massively difficult.

I worked a job once that actually made me ill. Not a joke. I was stressed all the time. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to answer emails and schedule meetings (and this was considered a normal thing to do by everyone). I developed styes in both of my eyes because my body didn’t know how else to say “slow down and stop”. I would have to call my mom every day after work and talk myself off the cliff of doom and self-loathing. In fact, when she came to visit, we went to brunch and I had a panic attack and burst into tears because of a message from my boss at the time. It was the unhealthiest environment I’ve ever found myself in. And yet, I didn’t blame the institution itself for making me miserable- I blamed myself for not being perfect. For messing up. For not being as smart as everyone else. Turns out, I was wrong. The culture was (and by all accounts still is) toxic. And when my stint there ended, I was finally able to see it: the unrealistic expectations. The lack of any support. The requirement for perfection.

A photo of moi before my panic attack…you can’t see the styes, but I can tell I’m barely holding it together here.

If there is anything to take away from this story, it’s that we can all afford to give ourselves a break. We cannot be everything to everyone at every moment. And, I’ll take it a step further in saying that I’m an imposter. And so are you. Think about it. When someone last asked how you were, how did you answer? Did you say “Fine… well, you know, but fine!” and then expect the conversation to keep going? We’re not fine. You’re not and neither am I. And even if there wasn’t a pandemic, you’re never just “fine”. There is more. There has to be. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be taking medication for anxiety, seeing therapists, and struggling some days. Accepting that we are not perfect at all times is… well, it’s truly the one thing that can send my anxiety into a spiral in an instant. All of this is to say this week has been hard for a multitude of reasons, but really because I fell off the pedestal I created for myself. The one that is impossibly high, and difficult to climb back up upon after a tumble. I am daily in the process of trying to knock down the height, but this is slow going. But I’m trying. I am. And I needed to just write this to let myself know that I am trying. And maybe you needed it, too.

So, this is me saying that I’m granting myself a reprieve from perfection. All I can be is my best on that day. I can show up for myself, and others. And, at the same time, give myself a bit of grace and patience. 

And maybe, this rambling therapy session that I just had will remind you to do the same. Or maybe you’ll just email my mom and be like “Brady okay?”.

Either works.