work

Evening Reflection 021: Work Work

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Daily Summary: 
Yesterday feels like it was a waste. I did dishes before work. I didn’t go to the gym. I woke up tired. Didn’t help that I didn’t sleep well and it was cold and rainy and miserable. 

Super didn’t help that I was still feeling the financial pressure of my situation. 

I stayed at the rental not doing a whole lot. 

Logged into work. Didn’t to a whole lot there until later in the day. I have a lot of “On Demand” courses saved in their online training platform. Started working through a few of those. 

Ox came over after work. He gamed for a bit before taking a nap. Had his DnD session here which was mildly frustrating. 

I was still trying to do some of my coursework. I could hear him chatting with the group. It was hard to focus on what I was trying to do. 

Work ended. I tried going to sleep. I couldn’t. I got up and started looking at Indeed for part-time jobs I might be able to do on the side to bring in extra money.

Ox and I talked this morning. He’s not ok with the things I mentioned. They would cut into our already limited time. He’s offered to help financially. The thought makes me want to cry. I want to be in a spot in life where I can afford my life. I wish I hadn’t over-extended myself on the promise of someone else holding up their end of the agreement. 

If I do accept Ox’s help, each time he helps the amount will get added to his Excel sheet for what I owe him back. I dislike this. I dislike all of it and I know it’s at least one of the factors feeding into my not ok-ness right now. 

I have counseling tomorrow. I really don’t feel like talking about anything. 

I’m in a mood and I haven’t figured out how to get out of it yet. 


Random Ramblings: Prompt 9-31
Think about the third biggest role that you play in your life for others. What’s your vision (in detail) for your life in this area? Why?

This is the one role where I feel ok. Like, legit ok and not an “I guess I accept where I’m at in life” type of ok.

I am a worker. A teammate. I excel at work because work is easy. You do what you’re told when you are told to do it and somehow that makes you an amazing employee. It’s sort of sad that doing the bare minimum at your job makes you stand out, let alone going above and beyond. 

My vision for work is to move up the ranks of advisor and then become a trainer. From there I would move into the Training and Development team where I could coach and mentor others. 

That is my goal. It’s not just a vision. It’s what I’m actively working on. That’s what leadership is helping me move towards. 

I was accepted as Team Captain last Friday. 

I want to help others overcome their fears and self-doubt to be amazingly awesome people. It’s what I loved about teaching so much. It’s what I loved about patient education. I love helping people be better, more whole. Maybe that’s my restoration strength shining through. 

By being higher than an entry-level 1 advisor, ideally, I would be making enough to pay off my debt and actually save money for an emergency fund and retirement (lawl, what’s that?). 

Moving up through the ranks and shifting my area of focus to an area more in line with my natural interests feels nice. I don’t want to be a supervisor or a team lead or any sort of management position. I don’t want to be in charge of people. I want to help people. 

That’s where I’ll end up. It’s just a matter of time and effort. For me it’s not a vision; it will be my reality.

I wish the rest of my roles felt this confident and secure. I wish work wasn’t the only thing I felt like I was good at. 

Evening Reflections 018: My Roles

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Daily Summary:
Yesterday was alright. Made BLTs for lunch. Got some stuff done during work in regards to my mentorship. Gamed a bit. Had some good conversations with teammates. Not a whole lot happened. Spent most of the day chilling. Other than cooking, doing laundry was probably my biggest “life” accomplishment. 

I messaged back and forth with Sir a bit. It was good to hear from him. My Blacksmith and I have also been talking more. He had messaged me shortly after Ox’s email where he said he never wanted to see me again. My Blacksmith, Sir, and Warren were my biggest support structures during that period of time. All three of them helped me through the initial period of darkness and I am grateful for the conversations they were willing to have with me. 

So minor social time through text with Sir and Blacksmith.

Bunny called during my break and I got to video chat with her for a little bit. I know she wishes we could talk more. It’s hard to do while I’m at work and by the time I’m off it’s pretty late in the evening.  I’m hoping this weekend her and I can get more time to connect. I think it would be good for both of us. 

So that was my day yesterday. Not a whole lot. It was nice. No complaints. Here’s to another decent day.

Random Ramblings: Prompt 6-31
What are the three biggest roles that you play in your life, related to others? How do you feel about each one?

My three biggest roles would most likely be: Partner/companion, family member, and teammate. 

Partner/companion is in relation to the roles I fill in my closest and most important dynamics. I am a partner to Ox and Bunny. I am a companion to Sir, Warren, Blacksmith. I am ok with these roles for the most part. 

With my companion role, it is more about friendship. There is acceptance for who I am, fully. I don’t worry so much about expectations. There aren’t really obligations on either side. It’s a mutual support structure. I feel secure in my role, I understand and am ok with the boundaries. There’s an understanding that we each have our own lives and though our paths may not be in line for marriage or anything, we have worked through the yuck of breakups to maintain a unique friendship. 

The role of partner is… complicated. 

I still feel mildly undeserving. I still feel like in the future this transgression will be brought up and used as ammunition against me. I still worry even with all of the work Ox and I are putting into the dynamic, that my polyamory will never be fully accepted and I will have to spend the rest of my life either being untrue to myself, hurting myself in order to fit into a box small enough to be accepted, or fully be me and hurt those I care deeply about.

I worry being authentic will cause hurt. I worry that since Bunny and I haven’t had a lot of time together that there is resentment or hurt feelings between us that haven’t been addressed. 

I am much less secure in my role as partner. I worry about it. I worry about not being a good one. I worry that I shouldn’t be a partner anymore; that the recent addition to my relationship history makes me unfit for the role for the rest of forever. 

I worry that I really should just be the crazy cat lady and forgo relationships. 

That’s how I feel about that aspect of my life. I am working on it, but right now it is still tentative at best and something fragile. Vulnerable. Uncertain. 

Family member is a role I am ok with as well. I am a sister to my brothers and a daughter to my father. I will always be my mother’s daughter. The relationship with my younger brother is the only one that I have concerns over. He can be unkind at times. He can lash out specifically at me because I’m an easy target. I have learned to distance myself during those moments until his emotions have had their time and he and I can have legitimate discussion. 

This is the one family dynamic that has any sort of strife in it. I manage it the best I can and I understand the limitations of asking for/depending on his support. I am proud of the progress Jon and I have made since we were in high school. At the same time, my heart also aches over the viciousness we are still able to inflict upon each other. 

Overall I will say I am ok with my role as family member. I understand my place within that role for the various people I fill it for. I may wish some of those roles were different. I also understand I cannot change others. I can only change myself. 

The role of teammate is a role that I enjoy filling. I am supportive of my teammates at work. I engage with leadership and am proactive in my growth and development as an employee. Work has always come naturally to me. I understand “the game” and I’m good at playing it. I have a strong sense of work ethic. I do what I’m supposed to do when I’m supposed to do it. I show up on time. If I don’t understand something I ask. I would rather ask and look foolish than fuck something up trying to fake competence. 

Out of my top three roles, even though this one is listed last, it is the one I am most secure with. Part of me thinks that’s sort of sad. I have a more secure foundation with total strangers than I do with the people who are supposed to be closest to me. 

I know part of that is my own doing. At the same time, the issues that lead to my cheating were present for years. There are several deep-rooted issues on all sides. It’s going to take time to address those and heal the hurt from those in addition to the devastation of my actions. 

My #1 Clifton Strength is Restoration. I thrive on fixing things; especially things other people have given up on. 

I can see how to mend the relationships. I worry though. I worry it won’t work. I worry I’ll always have to be less than my full self. I worry I’ll always be misunderstood. 

I guess that’s the biggest thing undermining my sense of security in the “partner” area. I worry. I fear. And there’s really nothing anyone can do to change that. Those things are all inside my own head. They are my perspective, and so it falls to me to work through them. 

Evening Reflection 017: Criticism and Advice

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Daily Summary:
Yesterday did not go how I thought it was going to. The change in plans was a good thing and I am content with how yesterday went. 

It started with my morning call with Ox. Shortly after getting off the phone, I had a text message from a personal trainer at the gym I recently joined. During my sign-up, I talked extensively with the associate who was helping me about my combat sports history, how I would like to get back into the MMA side of things, and that in regards to personal training I would like someone who understood that aspect of my workout life. 

She had a few ideas regarding people she could reach out to. So that’s where the text message stemmed from. The trainer wanted to know the times/days I would be willing and able to meet. That led to going to the gym yesterday to have an impromptu meeting. 

Before leaving, I had been looking through the Facebook market for a computer desk for Ox. He and I had gone to a handful of stores looking for a decently priced desk for him. The idea is for him to bring his computer over so we can game together like we used to. Stores didn’t have a whole lot and what they did have was stupidly overpriced in our opinion. 

I was able to find a few desks that seemed promising. While I was dashing around the house, getting ready to leave for my “not scheduled” appointment, I sent messages to arrange in-person viewings of the desks. I let Ox know what I had found while I drove to the gym and we game planned to check one of them out together. Since I was going to be out and about, I figured I would, real quick, do some grocery shopping as well, because why would I have done that the previous night while we were already at Walmart? -_-;

The meeting went well. I think I will get along with the trainer once I start working with him. Currently, the idea is for me to spend roughly a month getting back into the habit of working out and focusing on gaining my stamina and endurance back. Next month I plan to do my “trial” month of the boot camp classes, which are a bit more intense than the regular group classes. Mid-July is when I get another installment for my retention bonus. I plan to use that bones to pay for the 3 months of personal training I want. Ideally, by then, I’ll be at a better spot healthwise and can fully leverage the sessions. 

It feels good having a road map for my improvement. 

I was super sore yesterday and didn’t think it would be good to try to do two classes back to back. My body needed a rest day, so aside from the consult, I didn’t do anything at the gym. 

Instead, I headed to the location to view one of the desks. Ox and I met at the seller’s house. Ox liked the desk so we bought it for 20 bucks. It’s a pretty nice desk. No need to always buy something new. 

We loaded up the desk in his Trax. He went to the house to get his computer stuff. I went to the grocery store to shop. 

We had talked on the phone about how grocery shopping could work. Ox wanted to have some specific things at the house for him. We’re also trying to keep finances separate for the most part. I have a Google Excel sheet listing the things I “owe” him for. 

We agreed that I could buy the whole list rather than waiting for a day where we could shop together or forgoing picking things up which would require Ox to go out himself. Instead, I bought everything and figured out what he owed out of what I paid. That’s going to count towards what I owe him rather than money passing back and forth all the time. 

I made it back to the rental with just enough time to put groceries away before logging into work. With the covid forbearance extended and the outbound dialing campaign completed at work, the past few days have been fairly quiet. No outbound calls. Only inbound. 

It’s allowed me time to do personal things during the downtime. Listening to audiobooks, doing more with my Clifton Strengths… installing and playing World of Warcraft: Classic Burning Crusade… 

Yeah…

That’s what Ox and I did yesterday. We both have characters and we are leveling them together. It was fun and connective. 

We went to sleep once I was done with work. Last night was another night of sleeping deeply. I woke up feeling rested though still more sore than I would like. I didn’t go to the class at the gym at 8:30. With yesterday being as busy as it was before work, I really would like a day to relax and not deal with people; gym bunnies included. 

So that’s what I’m going to attempt to let today be. Nice, quiet day at home, not going anywhere. Maybe Ox and I will go for a walk once he’s off work, but ideally nothing hardcore. The past few days have been busy and extremely productive. I would like a day to chill and regroup. 

Random Ramblings: Prompt 4-31
List the pros and cons of caring what others think about you.

Fuck…

I am not prepared for this prompt. At least I feel like I’m not. I feel like I need to Google “pros and cons” for this prompt because I don’t know… This is delving into stuff I haven’t truly, consciously, put thought into and I have a feeling there’s going to be stuff I trip into that isn’t going to feel super awesome… >.<;

Fml…

-sigh-

Well…

If I didn’t care about what other people thought, I wouldn’t push myself as hard as I do. Victory wouldn’t matter as much. I would most likely give up easier; quicker. It’s not so much I want to impress anyone. It’s more that I want to make the people within my inner circle proud. I want to prove to myself that I can do the things I think I can’t because I know it’s all inside my head. I want to prove to “them” that their faith in me and their support are not wasted efforts. 

The opinion of my circle is where I find validation, connectedness, and belonging I suppose. Maybe its an external validation of my sense of honor and worth. It’s not just shit inside my head that I’m thinking to make myself feel good. Other people hold the same opinion that, yes, I handled something well, or I did the right thing. 

My opinion is consistent with their perspective, so my opinion has merit.

I don’t often care about the opinions of people outside my circle. In regards to my biggest critic… caring about the negative crap I tell myself makes me question my self-worth. With my biggest critic, it’s not so much that my actions are wrong, it’s that I as a person am wrong.

I am worthless. I am a failure. I am a mistake.

My inner critic instills feelings of shame and beats me until I am on the ground. My inner critic lowers me rather than raises me. Those opinions and thoughts become mental and emotional obstacles that make a hard task even harder. It’s not so much that my critic lowers the bar… It’s that it crushes me with the bar, loading it with so much weight that it feels impossible to lift. 

Caring about the opinion of my inner circle can be a negative thing, too… it can make me fear failure. What will they think if I mess up? If I don’t win or succeed? Will they think less of me? Will they sneer or mock or tell me all the ways I could/should have done something better or differently? What if they are able to complete something easier than I am able to do it? What if I struggle while for them it is effortless?

Very rarely has anyone in my inner circle made me feel like crap. Honestly, the only person I can think of who is still in my inner circle who does this is my younger brother. He is on his own journey regarding personal growth and intrapersonal communication. Just because your family doesn’t mean you do not have toxic traits…

I take John’s opinion with a grain of salt most of the time, especially when I feel like my character is being attacked by him. Most of the time it is misplaced anger. It doesn’t make the feelings “easier” to deal with, but it helps prevent me from internalizing his comments and allowing them to foster feelings of shame or worthlessness within myself. 

So, all of these fears I have regarding the perceived negative opinion of my inner circle are really just normal social fears and anxieties. There’s nothing to validate these fears. No previous behavioral action to support, yep, they’re going to think you’re a piece of shit if you fuck up…

We all fear rejection from the group. We fear not belonging. Those are normal fears. I try not to let them hold me back. I try to not let outside standards trump the standards I have for myself, nor push me further than what I am capable of. 

These have been hard lessons that I’ve learned throughout the course of my life. It’s ok to say no to things. I have the right to say no. I have the right to do things differently than someone else would because this is my life and they can make the choices they want to make with their own. 

I can understand and value the thoughts and perspectives of others. I can even consider them when evaluating my life, but ultimately it is my life and my opinion and choice are the things that matter most.

So why do I consider positive things as opinions and negative things as truth?

It reminds me of a meme… why do you take criticism from people you would never take advice from?

Would I take advice from my inner critic? Fuck no. 

So why am I taking her criticism? Why am I allowing her words to replace my truths? 

That’s something to think further on. 

Ultimately, I do think there are inherently pros to knowing and caring about the opinions of others. Their perspectives matter and can help provide clarity. They can even be positively motivating by providing emotional or mental support through challenges. 

At the same time, caring solely about the opinions of others can invalidate my own thoughts and feelings. It can turn into an emotionally or mentally abusive situation depending on what is being said and internalized. It can prevent me from being my full self or striving to reach for things due to the fear of failure and ridicule. 

I think there is a balance. I do think making sure you are surrounded by healthy, supportive people and not by asshats is an important factor regarding how much care to give outside perspective. 

Rising Strong is actually helping me understand that. Is this person in the arena with me? If they aren’t, if they are standing on the sidelines with a bag of popcorn while I struggle, how much should I really care about their opinion? 

Evening Reflection 015: Like a Champion

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Daily Summary: 

The weekend has been decent. Definitely better than I expected, and that’s including having cramps of death from the curse of being female. 

Lil’ Ox was super excited that I was at the house. Over the course of Saturday and Sunday Ox, Lil’ Ox and I played two whole chapters of Stuffed Fables. It was a lot of fun for all of us. I even did a few games of Uno AND talked to Mama Ox a bit. Look at me being all extroverted and shit. 

Ox’s ex-wife had her parol hearing Friday morning. She was released to go to the center she was accepted into. She and I have been talking a lot over the past months. I don’t remember how much I wrote about that before “The Event”. 

I truly am happy for her and proud of the changes and progress she has made for her own well-being. That is one area I have yet to broach, how my actions affected her. It led to hurt feelings when I shared my blog with her. It led to a conversation where I tried to explain that I wasn’t willfully ignoring that aspect of my actions or trying to keep my connection with her a secret…

I can only write about so much for so long. In my first writing, I didn’t have it in me to go further into other areas. I hurt. I faced a lot in a single sitting. I needed to step away and come back to write more at a later time. Hopefully, I was able to communicate that to her. Hopefully, that helped ease some of the hurt feelings she experienced. All I can do is try to write without the fear of judgment and talk about whatever emotions my writings may instill in others. 

With her being out of the system, she is able to chat more with Ox and me. There were a few video calls mixed into all of the other social aspects of the weekend. Being terrified of video chats, I’m proud of myself for engaging in them. 

Ox was kind and worked with me to find periods of time where I could be undisturbed in the bedroom as a way to decompress. I checked out a couple of audiobooks from the library and stitched while I listened to them. I finished “Almost Adulting” by Arden Rose. It was a good book, well written and full of character. I started Rising Strong as a Spiritual Practice by Brene Brown. I haven’t gotten very far into it, but I’m looking forward to hearing the rest of her stories. 

Currently, I am at the house, writing as a way to kill time before I am allowed to eat. Curse you Synthroid. ;-;

The cats are yelling at me for their wet food. I brought them with me to the house so they wouldn’t be alone at the rental all weekend. It took a little while for them to adjust to being around the other cats again, but by the end of Friday evening, they had both settled in. Ox and I are kicking the idea around of this being a new weekend routine. I pack up Friday night and spend the weekend at the house with the cats. Monday, my later day for work, I pack back up and head to the rental for my work week. 

We are still trying to figure out what works for us with my schedule being opposite of his. I’ve been having a lot of very positive meetings with leadership at Nelnet. The current idea is to get me into the Global Training and Development team either leading classes or creating the computer-based content. Those are two sub-teams on that team, and oh look, I can do both sides of it, so I’m going to break their model. /flex

Anywho, I’m going to stop rambling for now and get on to writing for my prompt. I’m sort of looking forward to the week. I’m not as tired and drained as I thought I would be. I’m hesitant feeling and I’m not sure why. I’m also not going to let that stop me from trying to have a productive day.

Random Ramblings: Prompt 3-31
Who’s your biggest champion? Who do they say you are? Why?

This writing is going to be painful, for different reasons than addressing the aspect of my biggest critic and while I am more ok with what this writing will most likely end up being, it will still contain hard truths that will hurt. I worry they will hurt Ox or Bunny. I am reminding myself as I type that this is my safe space and I cannot control the emotions of others. All I can do is be honest with and for myself because ultimately that is what these writings are for. To show to me, reveal to me, what my inner-thinking and feelings are. To provide clarity so I can acknowledge and accept or understand and work to change things that get buried under the avalanche of mundane routine of surviving Life. 

My biggest champion was my mom. 

She said I was strong. That she was proud of me. That I was beautiful. That I was capable and resourceful. She said I was kind. 

Why did she say these things? Part of it was most likely because she was my mother. While I have never experienced it personally, I do think the bond between a mother and child is something special. Something which, when healthy, can defy all other dynamics within our lives. It is not beholden to the same rules or expectations. 

I remember some of the stories mom told me about when she was a nurse. How patients would ask about the mother’s ring I had made for her and she would get to gush about her “three perfect blue-eyed children” and how she would tell them “if any of them turned out to be murderers I would be slightly disappointed”. 

She loved me so fully, so unconditionally. She never made me feel bad for being quiet or for not wanting to go out with the other kids. She read “Are You My Mother?” to me so many times that the pages began to fall out of the book. She let me read books well above my reading level when I began to read on my own. She proofread every essay I ever wrote up to her hospitalization. She let me come home any time I needed a temporary escape from my life to figure out what I needed to do. She supported me all through my educational career, never discouraging me from the paths I wanted to take. No, “That’s dumb. You should go to school for a real degree.”

She nurtured my passions and when I began to doubt myself, she would always know just what to say. 

“I believe in you.”

“That does sound like a really hard issue. I know you’ll figure it out.”

“I love you.”

No step by step action plan for fixing my problems. No stepping in and saving me from myself. Just quiet acknowledgment that, yep, there was a problem and unshakable belief that I could and would get through it. 

While being my mother may have factored into her perspective, I think it was something deeper than motherhood alone. 

She watched me grow into the person I was before her death. She saw me work through the hardships I had faced up to that point in time. She saw me fall down and stand back up. She saw me do all of these incredibly hard and scary things. She was able to have an outside perspective and to watch me lead a life that made her proud to say she was my mother. 

I think that more than anything is why she was able to say and think all of those things and have them feel like truths. My historical record made her affirmations genuine rather than just motherly platitudes. 

I feel like I don’t have a champion right now. Mom is dead. She can’t call me. We can’t visit each other. We can’t do all of these things we used to do. And so it feels like I am alone, without a champion to help me fight against my biggest critic. 

Ox and I talked a little about this writing prompt. I told him it would be coming up. Tears stung my eyes as I apologized. Shouldn’t I think of Ox as my biggest champion? Didn’t this prove, yet again, that I wasn’t worthy of his love? 

“I can never compete with your mom. She’s still your champion.”

His words have been floating in my head since our conversation. 

I know mom is still spiritually with me, regardless of her physical presence or lack of it. I know she still influences my life when I allow myself to be open and receptive to universal energies. I know, regardless of where she is or what she is doing, that she still cares for me, loves me, and wishes me nothing but peace and the strength to live a full life. 

I feel mom showed me what a true champion could and should be. I feel I need to be those things for myself as if her death passed the mantle of champion to me. 

I feel I have not been any of those things she showed me a champion should be.

And I suppose that’s not fully true… I have been my champion at different points in my life, but not the way mom was. I fall short, give up, and revert back to negative thinking patterns way, way more often than I stand with and fight for myself. 

It makes me wonder if I can be my biggest critic and biggest champion simultaneously or if to be one I have to unlearn the other. 

I do not have an answer for that, and I might never have one. 

This is something I think I need to be more aware of going forward in my life. I feel this is part of learning and “growing up”. I am no longer the young, insecure girl I was in high school. I cannot keep assuming the role of biggest critic because my place in this season of life is to be my biggest champion. 

Maybe I never should have assumed the role of biggest critic… I don’t know. 

I’m not saying I should ignore reality and only focus on the positive aspects of things. That’s not what mom did. She definitely didn’t have a problem calling me out on my shit. She never told me I was a horrible person while doing it, though. She never, ever, said I was a failure. 

She kept me grounded in reality while shifting my awareness from the negative worry consuming my mind to the positive capability within myself. She acknowledged the problems while supporting my problem-solving abilities with past experiences and objective observations from previous situations. 

She never lied about what I was able to do just to make me feel better. She never downplayed the situation or glossed over it with unrealistic optimism to soothe my feelings. 

Mom was real. Very real. 

That’s what I need to be for myself, and in some ways, I feel I am at times. It’s more that I need to learn to be this role, my champion, even when things are dark and scary. I need to give my critic less air time because she doesn’t deserve to be the only one talking in my head. 

She can have her moment. Her emotions are valid. But she needs to be held accountable for her word choice, too. Freedom of speech does not mean freedom of repercussions. If she starts being vicious and cruel, I have the right to cut her mic. I have the right to disinvite her to the debate inside my head. I have the right to not accept her statements as truths and leave them in the realm of subjective opinion. 

I control my inner discussion between my Id and Super Ego. I control my emotions. I control my actions, even my mental ones which may not be physically noticeable. Me, the Ego, is the moderator, and I owe it to myself to actually moderate what the fuck is being said on the stage of my mind. To filter and fact check and slam down the ban hammer when shit gets out of hand. 

I deserve that. I owe myself that. I deserve the champion my mom showed me how to be. Instead of shrinking away from that role and thinking other people will help me through the hard, dark, scary times the way mom did; instead of waiting for other people to save me from myself, I could and should do it. 

I can and will be my own champion. 

I owe myself that much. I owe myself support, love, and compassion because that’s how I would show up for other people. 

So that’s what I’m going to start endeavoring to do. I’m going to move forward with a conscious awareness that I am now my biggest champion and that negative self-talk is an un-invitable offense when at the discussion round table inside my head. 

Crazy Attic Ladies be warned, the ban hammer is out. 

Evening Reflection 014: My Two Cents

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Prompt 2-31: What do you think and feel about what your biggest critic thinks of you?

I’m writing this before evening… don’t care. If I don’t do it now I most likely won’t have time to do it later. These writings are important to me so I’m going to do them when I can without judgment. 

I don’t know which to start with first… what I think or what I feel…

I guess we’ll go with feelings. At least that would be following things in alphabetical order so there’s something giving this structure rather than leaving it to chaos.

I feel like shit. I feel cold. I feel… alone… 

Those are the things I feel when I beat myself up; when my inner critic harps at me and rants. Chastises. Berates. Insults. 

A new one she found last night was “Dumb Dragon”. Ox says I need to stop saying that to myself. I agree, but it feels like a new truth and I don’t know how to fight against the phrase when most of myself feels like it’s true. 

I feel like I have left myself alone in a dark place to fend for herself and she’s not doing very well. 

So… that’s what I internally feel about the never-ending inner tirade of criticism I give myself. 

What do I think about all of it? 

Honestly… Now, after having completed my first writing. Now, after beginning to see things from an outside perspective. Seeing myself a human… I feel like my inner critic needs to shut the fuck up. 

Like… seriously… none of what I am telling myself is helping ANYTHING. I know I fucked up. I don’t need to be constantly undermined and torn down when I try to stand back up. I don’t need to be kicked while I’m done. I need myself to stand with me in the mud and look down at my dirt-covered, tear-soaked hopeless face with compassion and love and either offer me a hand or even sit with me in solidarity until I find it in me to push myself up off the ground. 

I don’t need another enemy. I need a companion through the darkness in my own head. 

So yeah… my inner critic can go fuck herself. I’ll prove her wrong. Again. 

I’m not a dumb dragon. I can make not smart choices. I can do not smart things. 

I AM NOT DUMB. 

I am smart. I have amazingly unique strengths, which is something that work is helping me with because of course while my life is on fire, I’m excelling at work. I was accepted to the mentorship I applied to. I was given the opportunity to take the Clifton Strengths Assessment as part of it. 

My top 5 strengths, in order, are Restoration, Intellection, Input, Indivisiulization, and Connectedness. I’m sure Competitiveness is up there in the top 10 because fuck that chick and anyone else who thinks that I should stay down. 

No. 

I won’t. 

I can and will get back up. I will not let my story end here. I will not let this be my final or defining chapter. 

I don’t know where my story goes from here but I for sure know this isn’t where I’m going to let it end. 

Fuck you, Inner Critic. That’s what I think of your input. Stand on the sideline sneering down at me with your self-righteous bullshit opinion. You’re not the one living my life nor are you the one working through the emotional disaster. I am strong. I have strengths. And I will utilize them to keep getting back up when I fall down. You can’t stop me. I won’t let you. 

That’s what I think. And on that rage-filled draconic note, I’m going to go eat breakfast, because fuck not eating due to feeling worthless. 

Evening Reflection 012: Queue Discontinuation

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Daily Summary:
I woke up today after sleeping decently. Not awesome, but decent. I’ll take decent. 

I’ve sold the twin bed frame that I had along with two storage things I bought from Walmart a while ago. I haven’t been using those things and with moving on the horizon and finances not being the best I figured I would get rid of some stuff and try to make a buck. It’s been helpful. 

Work has been alright. Got a 95 on a call. Mildly frustrating. I’ve also messed up my adherence at work a few times this week. Sort of ready for the month of February to be over and for March to start. 

Still no news about the application for the house. That’s annoying. 

I got my state and federal tax returns, so there’s that. 

I’ve also done a lot of digging into my credit and have game planed, sort of, with Ox about what things we’re going to try to tackle financially. 

I’m going on day four with no Zoloft, which will be the main focus for my ramble. Right now I’m trying to breathe through the not ok-ness. I think I’m succeeding. Tonight is also really hard and I’m trying to embrace the hard. If not embrace it, then at least acknowledge that it’s not permanent. This feeling inside my head, inside my skin, will pass and I’ll be back to normal soon.

I wish now was soon. 

Random Ramblings:
I feel like I’m experiencing discontinuation symptoms. I have a weird sense of balance. My skin feels weird. My mind is sort of foggy. It’s hard to focus. It’s been progressively harder to want to write which is why I haven’t for a few days. I get headaches off and on and there’s nausea at times. 

It… I don’t know. Sucks seems too harsh. I have definitely been through worse. But it’s not “fine” either. 

I feel my emotions more intensely. I feel like crying with some of the information I gathered today. I feel trapped by my debt. I feel like I’m playing at being an adult and I’m never actually going to be one. 

I did consolidate my student loans and filled out the application for a repayment plan. At least I’ve been proactive with that. The covid forbearance is going to end soon. At least there’s an affordable game plan for that one area in my financial world. 

I want to cry. Maybe I will. Maybe I just need a really good cry after figuring out so much today. After talking to so many people today. 

I have my dentist appointment tomorrow. Next week starts my Eqip camp that I found out… Tuesday? That means my workdays will start at 8am instead of 12:30. It means I’ll get done with work at 4:30pm. So I can go to the house and spend the evenings with Ox. There are silver linings to the things in my life which are causing friction. 

I’m doubting myself. What if I can’t be off of the Zoloft? What if my brain can’t function the way it used to before I started taking the medication? What if these sensations don’t go away, or last for months like some people report? What if I’m a failure at life and I’ll never be able to recover from stupid choices? What if my whole life is a mistake? 

I know it’s not. God fucking damnit you evil son of a bitch of a voice inside my head. I know my life isn’t a mistake. I know I am not a mistake. I know things aren’t falling apart and I know I’ll most likely feel better after I sleep. So why? Why am I feeling like this? 

Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to write. I don’t think it’s helped me feel better. At least the emotions and feelings are out there. Everything is fine and yet I’m not ok. And it’s ok to not be ok. I’ll get through it. I have before. I can today; tonight. I can tomorrow, too. 

I can do this. I’m just going to throw a fit and have a cry-fest while I do it. #INFJ

Evening Reflection 011: The Madwomen

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Weekend Summary:
I lost my writing streak. I was so close to two weeks. While losing my streak doesn’t feel the best, I can’t deny that I loved and enjoyed my weekend. Friday night I wrote. Instead of cross stitching, I curled into bed next to Ox. I was finally able to sleep elevated since we have a billion pillows at the house. It was amazing. I slept deeply, content the few times I did wake up to find Dagger sleeping on my abdomen, his tiny chest rising and falling as he slept with me. 

Saturday wasn’t the “best” day. Even though I woke up feeling ok, I started feeling fatigued again. I did some research into “long-covid”. One of the first things I read was, “Your fatigue is real”. 

That one sentence was actually surprisingly helpful and reassuring. I keep wondering if I’m just “man-flu”ing my symptoms. I can’t be THAT tired. I SHOULD be more recovered. Only… that’s not true. Fatigue is real, and the best thing I can do for my body is to let it rest when it tells me it’s tired. 

So that’s what I did Saturday. I took a nap when I felt like I needed to. I didn’t give myself shit for not jumping straight into task list annihilation mode. When I woke up I slowly started doing things, ever mindful of how I was feeling.

I ended up dying my hair. I showered and it wasn’t just a quick “I need to shower” type of shower. I allowed myself to enjoy the experience. I shaved and cared for my body. I scrubbed my feet, which I’m sure isn’t the sexy feminine ideal that society brainwashes us into having. 

I used to scrub my feet all the time. When I worked at DaVita and was on my feet for 12+ hours a day, I would scrub them more to help ease the pain I felt. I had plantar fasciitis. Waking up in the morning sucked because those first initial steps out of bed felt like searing iron coursing down the ball of my foot into my toes. Scrubbing helped the mornings suck not as much, though there was always, ALWAYS, some degree of pain.

As my plantar fasciitis healed, I didn’t scrub my feet as much. I didn’t need to. But then the calluses on my feet started getting bad. I could feel it in the way the rough skin on the bottom of my feet would catch on the sheets. I could feel the sand-papery sensation and it bothered me. It wasn’t what I was used to. It wasn’t “normal”. And yet, every time I was in the shower I would think about how now my feet were “high maintenance” and rather than doing something about it I would punish my feet for wanting attention by not giving it to them. 

Well, Saturday, during my self-care shower, instead of bitching out my feet, I actually gave them the attention they needed and deserved. My feet have taken me literally everywhere I have gone in my life. They weren’t being “high maintenance” they were asking for regular, normal maintenance and I was being an asshole. 

Why? 

Because they were feet? Because they weren’t “supposed” to need anything? Because it didn’t conform with the false reality that it’s not feminine or sexy to pay attention to something as gross as feet?

Fuck that. My feet deserve to be scrubbed. They deserve attention just like every other part of my body. There’s nothing gross about feet that are cared for. My feet shouldn’t be in pain to be worthy of my attention. So I scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. 

With how much I had already one before setting about the scrub task, I was pretty exhausted by the time my shower was done. Curse you, Fatigue. It felt worth it though. I felt more connected with myself. I felt like I had actually done something to care for myself. It felt like I was actually, finally, “in my corner” like I keep telling myself I am.

I wasn’t able to sleep Saturday night. Instead, I stayed up and cross-stitched in the living room while Ox slept. Dagger kept me company while I listened to a new book. Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was interesting. It helped explain what I experienced during my last months at DaVita. It also explained why certain things seem to work for coping and why other things don’t. It talked about the neuroscience behind those things and since the book is read by the authors you get to hear them geek out over the science. 

I didn’t go to sleep until after 5am. Papa and Mama Ox were already awake. I slept for roughly 4 hours before waking up to have breakfast with the family. It was a super tasty and warm breakfast, after which I laid back down. Ox let me sleep. Eventually, I got up. I cross-stitched more. I showered. I scrubbed my feet again and this time it wasn’t a super huge involved ordeal.  We had dinner. I stitched more. Eventually, it was bedtime. I had a hard time falling asleep so I took melatonin. And that was most of my weekend. 

I got caught up, for the most part, with my Synthroid. I know that’s going to take a little bit to get into my body. I might not have hit the true slump from being behind so much. I’ll get through it though. Today is also the last day of Zoloft for me. I’m looking forward to that. Ox is off work and headed home and my day is about to truly begin. 

I’m grateful for the weekend I had, full of cat cuddles and acceptance, peace and quietness. It was what I didn’t know I needed. 

Daily Summary:
Today was a surprisingly nice day. I woke up with Ox to see him off to work. I went back to sleep with the cats after he left. Woke up again. Took my meds. Chatted with John before writing my weekend summary and taking a shower. Ox was done with work and home by then. We decided to do lunch together only to find out the place we had originally planned to go is closed on Mondays.

We ended up going to Subway instead. I also went to the gas station to put gas in the car and get energy drinks for the week. Ox and I ate outside, enjoying the relatively nice day. The wind wasn’t too bad. The sun was out. It wasn’t super cold. It was a very connective experience and I’m glad we were able to share it together before the weather turned shitty.

We even had some philosophical conversation as we shared a post-meal cigarette. : 3

I drove from Subway to Micheal’s to get some more thread for my project. They didn’t have it. Instead of falling into the pit of disappear, I called Ox. Maybe he would know of another craft store close by. He said with the time I had remaining before work, it most likely wouldn’t be possible for me to get to the other stores. He suggested Walmart since they do, technically, have a shitty craft section. 

I agreed it couldn’t hurt to look. Walmart is on the way back to the apartment. Maybe they would have it. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, it wasn’t out of the way so why not try? 

Well… they didn’t have it. : (

That’s ok though. I can try again tomorrow. I did pick up a yard of fabric while I was at Walmart. I want to make something… I need an iron… Super secret project. Dun dun DUUUUUUUUNNNNN!

I returned to the apartment. Unpacked the bag that I took to the house with me. Took out the containers of food from the freezer along with a bag of chicken. I got ready for work and proceed to have a chill day. 

I did get a call 3 minutes before my lunch break. That wouldn’t have been so bad except I was on that call for 50 minutes. ;-;

Once I was finally able to go to break I unloaded the dishwasher, cooked up my breakfast burrito mix, and started the chicken baking. 

I finished listening to Burnout and printed out the PDF sheets the book mentioned. I haven’t done a lot of the sheets. I’m not sure how to yet. Rather… I’m not in a place to utilize a lot of them. I don’t feel I’m having a hard time making a decision. I haven’t figured out my “smash the patriarchy” yet. 

The sheets I did work on revolved around my “ideal” schedule. Now that I have a consistent schedule, I can actually try to structure my days. This is the second day in a row that I haven’t had a fatigue spell. I’m hoping tomorrow is more of the same and I can start trying out this “ideal” schedule. It seems nice in my head. Until I put it into practice I won’t know how it needs to be modified. 

I started listening to a new book. Verbal Judo by George J. Thompson and Jerry B. Jenkins. I’m not very far into it so I don’t have much of an opinion. 

I’ve already cleaned up the kitchen. Washed the pans I used. Wiped down the counters. I’m going to finish the last thread I have before curling into bed and calling today good. Tomorrow might be a little on the busy side before work, but I’m looking forward to it. Hopefully, my energy levels align and it turns into a day of wonderful productivity. Hopefully, this post covid stuff is done. 

Random Ramblings:
One of the things that struck me most about the book Burnout was what Emily and Amilia called “the madwoman in the attic”. Essentially we all have an inner critic that is always hyper-aware of what we’re doing wrong. It’s our “ideal” self. The self we feel like we’re “supposed” to be. Perfect. Flawless. The unrealistic us society forced into our brain to make us feel like crap when we end up being human in an imperfect world. 

I’ve put a lot of thought into this section of the book. I know I have a madwoman in my head, but I couldn’t figure out if it was just one… or if I had two…

I used to write about the two sides of my mind, way, way back in the day. My irrational right brain is my 4-8-year-old self who is always throwing a fit and my logical left brain who I see as a scientist with rimmed glasses scribbling away on her clipboard. 

To me, the child is my id and the scientist my superego. And then there’s me, the ego, constantly trying to get the two to play nice and understand each other. By the way… that job is fucking mentally exhausting. 

Looking at the two sides from the lens of “the madwoman” perspective, I think I’m starting to understand those two better. I understand why mine most likely split instead of remaining as a single entity like it is portrayed in the book. Maybe other people are like me with multiple “madwomen”. I don’t know. All I know is what feels right for me, and for me, I see them as two different personas because they protect two different areas of myself. 

It made me wonder when the split happened and why. 

I don’t know when the little girl emerged. I know I’ve written about her consciously in writings since mom’s death. I don’t know if she predates that. I don’t know at what point my irrational right brain formed into something I could visualize that way. Maybe always. Maybe she was there shortly after dad left and I ignored her, forcing her to sit in timeout for years while I drifted aimlessly through the depression of not being good enough. Maybe I neglected her for a really long time. Maybe she was there through all of the shitty relationships I was in and that was why those relationships felt so shitty; because I wasn’t protecting her any more than I was protecting myself. 

What I know is this is who she is now. She is the part of my consciousness that represents my worthiness, preciousness, my softness, my care, my love, my desire to do good and to make people happy. 

She is also my vulnerability. She is the me without armor. She is the me that needs love and nurturing and affection because those ARE needs. 

She lets me know when we have hurt someone or someone has hurt us. She lets me know when we’re lonely, which is different from the desire to be alone and to have solitude. She lets me know when I have gone too long without a hug or a connective conversation or experience. She lets me know when reality is different from the ideal I feel I should be living. 

She is the me which rages at injustice and cries when the world is cruel. She is the me who is hotheaded and willful and fuck armor I don’t need armor! I will destroy you with my bare hands because how dare you think you can treat people that way! She is so full of righteous fury sometimes and hellbent on proving her point that it doesn’t matter that she is small. She will make the world see right because how hard is it to be kind? Why, why can’t people just… not be assholes?

And then there’s my scientist. I feel I have a better understanding of when she developed. Around the time I turned 13 I think. She is my logic and facts. She’s the one who peers over her rimmed glasses and informs my child-me that throwing a fit and being angry or crying isn’t going to change anything. She’s the one with charts and data and research articles worth of information supporting or disproving why something is right or wrong. 

Emotions mean very little to my scientist. The only thing she truly cares about are facts, numbers, statistics, probabilities, backup plans, task lists, visual progress, structure, procedures…. 

She lets me know when I’m “being irrational” or “emotional”. She loves letting me know when we’re “behind schedule” or “being unproductive”. She’s also amazingly awesome at letting me know when “being emotional” is dumb. 

She’s not warm and supportive. She’s very distant and detached. She is an observer and she informs me about hard truths. She’s also really good at planning and seeing patterns in behavior and calling shit because she has pages and pages and pages of unconscious information scribbled down on her clipboard. In a way, she’s my intuition. I don’t have access to all her notes, but she does and she knows how shits going to go down and I should trust her and if I don’t she’s going to do that “peering over the rim of her glasses” thing with that “look” when something goes the way she said it would. She doesn’t have to say “I told you so”. She wouldn’t sully her perfect scientific demeanor by doing something so petty. I almost wish she would because fuck that look! I know I should have listened to you, alright! For fucks sake, not everyone can be perfect know it alls like you!

She is a quick learner and one super smart cookie, even if she’s not the friendliest person. 

They both serve a role within the landscape of who I am and how I’m supposed to interact within the world. I understand now why it’s so hard for them to get along. The scientist invalidates my child’s emotions and my child doesn’t care about the numbers and logic. 

I’ve always felt these two beings were at war with each other and I am the field on which they waged battle.

Maybe it’s because I’m seeing this scene with older eyes that I realize it’s not a war but a misunderstanding. How can a child wage war and why would a scientist want to?

They both want understanding, respect, and validation. 

It’s not a battle, it’s miscommunication and it’s a miscommunication because I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how to communicate. It wasn’t either of them doing something wrong or being incompatible. It was me not listening.

My inner child was crying out about how she didn’t like the way she was being treated and yet I stayed. My scientist was giving me rational arguments and yet I ignored what she said was a red flag. 

And when my child cries it should not be my scientist talking to her. It should be me; 30-year-old emotionally intelligent me. I should be the one to hug her and ask her why she is upset because I understand her emotions. My child does not need a scientist to look at the situation and say there’s no visual reason to be upset so stop crying. 

I’m not sure I have it all figured out in my head. Maybe my scientist is the “madwoman” but I don’t think so. She means well. She is trying to help me survive just as much as my inner child. They both want me to be safe and loved and to be the best version of myself I can be. 

They both serve a purpose and my purpose is to understand them. So I’m trying to. I don’t feel like I have a lot of experience in understanding either of them. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to understand with empathy. I’ve always tried to control both of them. You! Be less emotional. And you! Be less of an unfeeling bitch. I’ve never looked at what they needed or wanted or what their strengths were; how they bettered me as a person. It was always me bitching about how they made my mental landscape hell. 

Maybe if I didn’t ignore them, maybe if I listened to what they were trying to tell me, they wouldn’t have to wage war to be heard…

Evening Reflection 011: Meds…

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Daily Summary:
Another night of decent sleep. That’s two in a row! Life goals are being reached!

I woke up to Ox calling me. I “Mhmmm”ed and “yeah”ed my way through the conversation, still clinging to the wonderful sleep I had been having until he got the unspoken message that I wasn’t going to wake up yet. After about another hour of sleep, I finally slugged my way out of bed. Called Ox back for an actual morning chat. I was feeling pretty good. I felt like I had energy to do some things before work, so I did.

I got my threads up away. I cleaned up all the fabric that I had gone through while I was prepping my next projects. I even went through the baggies of thread ends and made sure they were all labeled with the right year. I did a lot of cleaning and organizing in regards to my cross-stitch stuff and it felt good to finally get those things done. 

I cooked one of the frozen meals I bought yesterday with Ox. Ricotta stuffed shells. It was actually surprisingly awesome. 

I paid bills and filled out the application for the house John is leasing. I’m hoping that gets approved without issue. 

I didn’t do much of anything else before work. Ox stopped by after work and hung out with me again. Around that time was when I started feeling extreme fatigue. Thankfully it got better after a few hours. It was nice having Ox around again, doing his own thing on the PS4. It makes part of my brain wonder what it will be like to finally live together again. To not always be aware of the minutes until we go our separate ways. To fall asleep next to each other continuously like we used to unlike the two maybe three times a week we do now. 

I stitched a fair amount today. I didn’t listen to my book more. The next chapter is where Rachel talks about the suicide of her brother. I don’t think it would be a good idea to listen to that while at work or before going to bed. I’m pretty sure it’s going to stir up my own grief for mom. 

While I was on my lunch break I loaded the dishwasher and set it to run. I cut up the chicken quarters so I could put them in the freezer until next week. I swept the kitchen and wiped down the counters. I even bagged up the trash to take it out later. Look at me being productive and efficient. 

I also packed up most of the stuff I wanted to take to the house with me this weekend. After that, I finished out my night at work. 

When I got to the house Ox was apologetic, saying he was tired and going to be going to bed. I was disappointed. That hadn’t been the vision I had of our night together. But it’s ok. After about 5 or 10 minutes I had come to terms with the change and figured out a new plan for my night.

I would heat up the chili I brought with me. I would write since I hadn’t done that yet. I would shower after writing and by then Mama Ox should be asleep which means I can cross-stitch in the living room alone with the cats. 

Tonight is different than what I thought it would be, but it can still be a good night. I’ve already eaten. I’m nearly done writing. Mama Ox is in the process of heading to bed. Everything is going well even if it is different. 

Random Ramblings:
I read last night’s writing to Ox today. It was easier than I thought it would be. He assured me I could tell him anything, always. I believe him. After four years of being together and working through hard or uncomfortable conversations, I have learned that I CAN talk to him and I do not need to fear his reaction or losing his love and support. 

I told him how last night had been insightful. People think I am enlightened or that I have my life together and here is yet another example of how I don’t. How I’m human with flaws and how even after 30 years I’m still figuring things out about my own behavior. 

I do feel I should clarify a bit about the “comply” part of the writing. After rereading it, I realized I didn’t do a good job of explaining the difference between obedience and compliance. 

If dad told me to help rake the yard, it wasn’t enough to say “Yes, Sir.” I had to be ok with doing the chore. I couldn’t sigh or complain. I had to not only do the chore I had to be willing to do it. If I made any indication that I wasn’t “happy” about having to do something it was almost as bad as not doing it at all. 

That’s I guess what I was trying to get at with making the distinction between obedience and compliance. I not only had to do what I was told. I had to be happy about it, or at least be really good at pretending it didn’t bother me even if it did. 

On to another totally different topic…

I found out why my previous refill of Synthroid cost me twice as much as it did before…

Because my plan is dumb. 

I mean… that’s really what it comes down to. Because I’m taking two 125 mcg daily, I’m considered on a “weird” dosage and my plan doesn’t cover anything other than “normal” so I’m getting charged double what I was paying with my previous insurance. 

What the fuck?

There’s not a whole lot I can do about it right now. Honestly, the only way I could maybe change my dosage is to lose weight. Since I’ve been sick the past two weeks or so, that hasn’t been very high on my priority list. I’m hoping to be back at it soon. And maybe, maybe, it can save me $40 a month for the meds I don’t have a choice in taking if I want to keep living. 

Our system is seriously fucked up. 

Evening Reflections 010: An 8-Year-Old’s Lie

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Daily Summary:
I slept decently last night. Woo! It meant I was able to wake up when Ox called to let me know he was almost done with work. I was able to cough my lungs clear from the yuck that had settled overnight. I was able to shower and make a grocery list. I was able to convince Ox to come to the apartment and pick me up rather than having me drive somewhere to meet him. 

While I was able to do all these things. I felt tired. Bone tired. I didn’t feel like I would be able to make it through the whole grocery trip much less drive myself there and back. Oh! How could I forget walking down and then back up three flights of stairs to top it all off? With groceries! Yeah. No…

It seemed like a huge task that didn’t have high odds of being successful. Even something as small as not driving helped the odds feel ever so slightly more in my favor. 

I masked up as Ox and I headed into the store. I got more meds and tissues. Ox got the phone card he needed along with some headphones to use at the apartment. More on that later. We got the grocery things I wanted/needed along with a few things that weren’t on the list. In my defense… stuffed crust supreme pizza should have always been on the list. >.>;

By the end of the trip, I hurt. My whole body hurt. I was grouchy and short-tempered. Ox kept walking away with the cart through the trip but I was too tired to call out to him when the first few times I tried weren’t loud enough for him to hear me. 

I wasn’t short of breath or coughing or anything along those lines. Just… tired. I’m also a week behind on my Synthroid. I honestly feel like that’s a bigger factor than the congestion since I felt fine after the shower. 

I explained to Ox why his walking away bothered me so much. I explained how I was hurting. He walked slower as we headed back to the Trax together. That helped. It was a windy, cloudy, cold day and I was grateful to be back at the apartment once we were done. 

Ox hung out with me for a bit. He had an appointment to file taxes later in the evening. It seemed the better option for him to stay at the apartment until the appointment rather than driving all the way back to the house only to come back into town later to go back to the house at the end of it all. 

Nope. Instead, he had lunch with me and used his new headphones to play on the PS4 while I was at work. It was nice. Him being near. Not being alone the whole day. 

Before work, I curled up in bed to try to get over the tiredness. I wasn’t able to; not completely. I cried. More evidence in my opinion that it’s Synthroid related. I didn’t really have a reason to cry but there I was crying not pretty tears with the only reason my brain could come up with being “I’m tired.”

Well… crying didn’t make us feel less tired. So thanks, Brain, for wasting what precious, sweet energy we DID have on something useless that made us congested all over again. You’re a jerk. 

Work went well. No quality corrections today at least. I finished the cross-stitch I was working on. I prepped fabric for my next four projects and started a new one. I have all of my unneeded threads organized and ready to be put away. Maybe I’ll finish doing that tonight. 

My energy levels got better as the day progressed. By the time Ox left for his appointment, I felt more on the “normal” side and less on the “I’m so tired I’m crying” side. Counting that as a win. /flex

After Ox left I continued listening to Girl Wash Your Face. There were some pretty heavy chapters. Not all of them apply to me. I’m not a new mom. I’m not a mother with school-aged children. There are things I can empathize and relate to in certain ways, but not as completely as other readers might. 

There is one section that touched me deeply and it’s what I’ll ramble about tonight. 

Oh. I was also able to put all of the groceries away and load the dishwasher. Totally owning that shit because I’m not going to let my cry session win.

Random Ramblings:

I don’t remember the chapter specifically, but in it, Rachel explains how she felt the need to be “small”. To have attention, but not too much attention. To have goals, but only if they weren’t too big; too lofty. 

While I can relate to those feelings, that wasn’t the part of the chapter that touched me deepest. 

In this chapter, she talks about a seminar she attended. The presenter asked the audience, “When you were a child, which parent did you want love from the most? Not which parent did you love the most. Who did you WANT love from the most?”

“What did you feel you had to be to get that love?”

“What else did you have to be?”

Rachel answers these questions and explains the insight she gained about herself because of them. Lies she had unknowing believed all her life were based on these perceptions she developed as a child. 

And so here I am tonight, asking myself the same questions and recognizing my own lies within myself. Lies that I never understood were there, but explain so much of who I am and what I went through in past relationships. 

I wanted love from my dad. He was my superman. I wanted him to be proud of me. To smile when I did something. As a child, making him happy was my world.

I felt I had to be obedient to get his love; to be worthy of his love. He would get so upset if he had to tell me to do something twice. If I didn’t get good grades. If I got in trouble. I had to do the right thing and even if I didn’t know what was right or wrong, I was punished for doing something “wrong”. It didn’t matter what my level of knowledge was. I wasn’t allowed to argue my point. I was wrong. End of story.

It made me afraid to try things for fear of being wrong. I had to be “right” and “good” otherwise he wouldn’t be happy, and that’s all I wanted. Was for him to be happy and proud of me. 

I also had to be compliant, which for me is different from obedience. It was ok if we did stuff, but it had to be what he wanted to do. It had to be done his way. I couldn’t want things. I especially couldn’t want something different. I couldn’t have my own idea of how something would be done. I was the child and he was the adult. Not just an adult. He was my parent. I had to listen. It was his way or the highway and that’s how it was. That meant even if I wanted something, I learned to not voice that because if my opinion or what I wanted differed, then it was wrong and not ok. I had to comply regardless of how I felt. Otherwise, he would be upset and my dad being upset, especially at me, was bad. 

How did this affect me? 

It meant when he divorced my mom, when he told my younger brother and I that he fell out of love with mom and wouldn’t be around anymore, that I felt like a failure. I hadn’t been obedient enough. I hadn’t cleaned my room enough. I hadn’t tried hard enough at school. I hadn’t listened the first time enough. I hadn’t BEEN enough for him to love me enough to stay. 

That was eight-year-old me. 

As a 20-something adult, I understood better what my dad had been trying to say. Having had two failed relationships under my own belt while currently being in an emotionally and mentally abusive one, I understood what it felt like to feel alone and unloved even as you tried to fall asleep next to someone who said they loved you. 

As a child though, I grew up and believed wholeheartedly that I hadn’t been enough. That I WASN’T enough. I had to care more. I had to listen more. I had to obey more. I had to comply more. I had to BE more because what I had been for my dad hadn’t been enough. 

I see that so clearly now; that mentality. That lie. I lived and breathed it for so long, and in some ways still do.

It’s why conflict bothers me so deeply, especially when it’s with someone I care about. It’s why attacks on my character cut harsher than attacks on my actions. It’s why I try everything I can to make sure there is some level of “ok-ness” when I find myself in hard or uncomfortable situations with loved ones. Their mad or angry, but it’s ok because they are still willing to hug me. They still love me enough even though I did this “bad” thing.

Deep down, I still have that eight-year-old’s fear that unless I am more, they’re going to leave. More compliant. More caring. More loving. More predictable. More obedient. More reliable. More quiet. More easy-going. More happy. More. More. More.

I have to be more. More of what they want. Less of what I want. Less even if what I “want” is something I actually need. 

It’s… sobering. To realize the underlying cause of so much which drives me to find harmony and acceptance within my life… It makes it easier to understand why voicing my thoughts and feelings can feel like the earth-shattering, world-ending task it sometimes feels like. It explains why “talking” can feel like a death sentence I try with every fiber of my being to avoid that I break down into a sobbing disaster of a human or have anxiety attacks. 

Voicing my opinion, thoughts, or feelings will make them unhappy, and if they’re unhappy they’ll leave because I’m not being enough of the right things. 

It will not be easy sharing this writing to share with Ox. It’s not easy writing this for myself, much less giving voice to it with the people in my life who are unknowingly subjected to this completely valid and yet irrational eight-year-old’s fear. 

Understanding and awareness can allow for growth and change. At the moment, I want to give myself grace and love for having harbored these unknown thoughts for so long. I’m in my thirties and until tonight I didn’t realize how deeply these unknown thoughts affected me or how they continue to play out in my life. I didn’t understand how my fears and actions were fueled in an attempt to avoid a trauma from recurring. 

I love my inner child, and in the landscape of my mind, I am hugging her as she cries. I’m crying with her as my thirty-year-old self and telling her she is loved. She is enough. She never has to be anything other than herself because she is perfect and precious just the way she is. She can be loud and opinionated. She can be angry and mad and other people can be angry and mad at her and it’s ok. She’s going to be ok because I love her. 

I am ok. I am enough. I am precious and perfect in my own way and I’m ok with that.

Morning Musing 010: Thursday 02.17.22

Standard

Gratitude:
I am grateful for warm blankets, sleep hypnosis files, and working from home so I can be miserable in peace. Ok… maybe “miserable” is being a little dramatic… but only a little. >.>


#1 Goal:
Finish my cross-stitch since I talked to my brother instead of working on it. It was worth it though. We had a good conversation.


#1 Concern
Being too tired to survive the grocery trip with Ox.


#1 Achievement:
Sleeping for most of the night and showering before 10am this morning.