Recent example: Holistic vs. Pharmaceutical

It feels so freeing to accept that lifestyle adjustments PLUS medical intervention truly is the sweet spot when it comes to taking care of my health.

Refusing to believe that “self-care” (non-medical) measures had any effect on my well being was a phase I left many years ago. What followed, was utterly exhausting.

Like many others, I privately demonized “western medicine" and leaned in favor of herbalist solutions*. I’m still the person that prefers Ginger for nausea, Throat Coat tea for an oncoming cold, and tree-hugging (literally) when anxiety is high.

That said, Cycle-Syncing (eating/living to support each phase of my menstrual cycle) never freed me from the debilitating cramps I’ve dealt with since 12 years old. What did? A prescription NSAID (meloxicam) taken once in the morning for the first 2-3 days of each period. My willingness to get a PCP and agree to try out a possible solution literally freed me from the near unbearable pain I’ve experienced monthly for the past 15 years. Have I forgotten that the pain is probably a symptom of some hormonal imbalance now that the symptom is cured? No, not at all. I am still on a journey to find the balance in that area as well. Now, I don’t have to suffer in the meantime.

On the mental health side, I am a proponent of mediation, journaling, and practicing mindfulness. I also know the power of the right medication when needed. Your thoughts are not your body, but they do happen in your brain… which is a part of your body.

Can I live without my ADHD meds? Yes, I did it for over 25 years. Is my quality of life worlds better now that I take them? YES!

*Note: My research on herbalism was shoddy at best, and I really had no idea what I was talking about most of the time. I do support herbalist practices, but am aware of the time and place for herbs and for pharmaceuticals.

I have the kind of brain that would LOVE to find out that there is a right answer to everything. My black and white thinking is surly a product of something in my upbringing, but I hardly think the origin matters.

That said, I have the kind of heart/spirit/soul (use whatever word you'd like) that loves a Venn Diagram. I love to see how things overlap and relate. I love the flow of one thing into the next as exemplified in nature. I inherently prefer flow over rigidity, yet my instinct is to separate, categorize, and name things one by one. Maybe this rigid dissection is a practice I developed in attempt to ensure I always said/did/chose the “right” thing. Why do I go against my nature to see the flow of all things and their connections, gray area, and balance? Perhaps I thought if I could sort all of the gray into black or white, that I could understand exactly how to exist in a way that never offended or justified causing displeasure from others.

I appreciate that adulthood has forced me to keep looking for the points of balance that become homes for my beliefs.

In popular and reductive social media terms: Two Things Can Be True.

I love that I found a place that my science oriented brain, and my nature loving heart overlap.

Sometimes change feels like putting on a new outfit. Right now it feels like shedding skin. As I tear the damaged layer away, the new skin underneath is raw and sensitive. It’s the kind of change that hurts all the way through. The right choice often does not feel good or seem right. It requires me to cut a cord that feels like cutting off a limb. It feels wrong even though the “limb” was sick and threatening to infect the rest of me. I don’t want to bring sadness and fear into the next chapter, but I can’t avoid the pain of transition. Jumping into something new never seems to really get easier.

Believing the Lie

When did I decide to stop believing in myself? I remember a time when I was so sure that I was smart, talented, and special. At some point, I decided I was no longer smart or capable of learning and retaining new information. I’ve been tasked with learning and memorizing a fairly large set of information in the past week that has felt truly impossible. I’ve been crippled by the anxiety, unsure where to start and too-sure that my brain was too weak and out of practice to succeed. Yesterday I spent under two hours studying flashcards with my partner, unable to contain my delight at how wrong I was. I learned them so fast it hardly felt real. If the capability never left me, why did I decide that it had?

This also goes for my talents. While never feeling comfortable bragging or even admitting to others what things I was naturally gifted for, I grew up with a certain unquestioned confidence in my talent for them. When did I learn to question my gifts as a singer and writer? The girl known for writing full songs in 30 minutes decided along the way that she was no good. The girl, complimented endlessly for her voice no longer believed. She stopped singing in front of others just in case her perception was wrong. She blinked and half a year had passed between writing songs. Recently, I sat down with my song book, in desperate need to create. Within an hour I had a page of finished lyrics and an a cappella recording of me singing it all the way through. The song was stuck in my head for weeks, always a great sign, and I wondered why I’d waited so long.

Expression of Admiration Through Art

I’m in bed writing my thoughts next to my sleeping partner. He is home early from work, trying to sleep-off a cold. I pause my writing to look at him for a moment. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I have this thought often while watching him sleep (I’m always up earlier than him). I have written him in songs, poems, journals, and letters. I have captured him digitally and on film. I dream for a day that I have canvases, brushes, every color of oil paint, and enough practice to visually capture his likeness. I’d spend hours mixing paints until I’ve perfected each shade of his skin and hair. I’d adjust every angle until his lips and nose looked just right. To his dismay, I would find a frame and hang it on a wall in our home. Then, I’m sure I’d paint another. What a joy to have a muse so inspiring that my usual mediums are not enough. What a privilege to want to learn new art forms.

It’s Okay to Need Validation Sometimes

I was nervous to talk about a tough decision I made with two people I love very much, and who’s opinions I deeply respect. I knew it would be okay even if they disagreed with my choice, but I still hoped for them to understand. I planned to be vague and avoid dumping on them the complex emotional journey that brought me to this point, but neither of them allowed that. The conversations with them were separate, yet landed in the same place. I knew many of my experiences bringing me to my decision happened with no first-hand witness which made me afraid that my side couldn’t be fully understood. I can’t quite explain the relief that came when (in both conversations) not only was I understood, but my choice was validated. I was truly seen. They knew the truth, and even mentioned warning signs to look for that may convince me to go back on my decision. It was more than I could ask for. I didn’t need them to agree for me to know I made the right choice, but it was a weight off my shoulders to feel so seen and understood.

Timestream

Time is something we understand very poorly. We experience it as a chronological line because of memory and records of events. I wish so deeply to remove myself from this “timeline”, and exist instead in the present. My life so far has passed me by so quickly even though my past feels so long ago and far away. Clearly it cannot be both, but both are things I feel equally. I can easily look back on the events leading up to right now, and make an enormous list of things I would like to “rewrite.” Some of that regret used to be attached to anger and disappointment in the version of myself that failed to make the best possible decisions. Now, the regrets remain as sad reminders of all the ways I could have made the present moment better. I hate to know so many things that I must start now at 27 that could have been started ages ago. It feels as though I’ve wasted so much time. The sheer amount of work I want to do on myself and my life is overwhelming, so much so that it feels impossible to start. Some things I would “rewrite” are things I cannot feasibly do now. I am pulled so often in this mental spiral about the past and way I would rewrite it. This is what I mean by wishing I could remove myself from my own “timeline.” I know that the past is inaccessible to me, and the only thing I can affect and change is this present moment. As much as I want to fight against that, I know it’s the truth. The mental pull to ruminate on my life so far, keeps me from present action. I am squandering even more fleeting time regretting the time I’ve already lost. I know I am young yet I feel so far removed from my youth. So many desires for my life that have been within me since childhood feel lost to me, as if the window of opportunity has passed. I know I have no evidence for that. I know one thing, and feel another.

Grip-strength

Did you know that you don’t have to hold onto things for them to stick around? Did you know that you can’t control a situation even if you monitor your every move? I’m sure someone told me that, but I never believed it. Worry is a product of fear, but in the form of a tactic for control. If I stay worried about xyz, then I’ll never forget to do/not do these specific things that I believe to cause xyz to go a certain way. Worrying sucks. The say that to worry is to suffer twice. Holding on to people or situations for dear life is a manifestation of worry. I’ve always held on so tight to everything I wanted to keep that I never gave any of it the opportunity to show me that it wanted to stay. When you hold on to people too tight the ones who want to stay, stay, and the ones who don’t plan to stay will still go. Holding tight changes nothing because I cannot change who other people are or what they will do. This futile grip keeps the mind too busy to make progress and the hands too busy to receive. It also keeps you afraid. You never allow people the opportunity to prove to you that they want to stay because you give your grip strength the credit for their presence. Sometimes my thinking can be too literal to grasp spiritual concepts like “letting go,” but I think I’m starting to understand. I was always so focused on the “go.” I assumed if I was to release my grip and let something go, that it would lead to a goodbye. Now I try to think of it like dropping my partner’s hand when we’re on a walk. Every time I do, he stays right by my side.

I really want to sit in the moment and focus on the joy and peace in it. I’m finding that challenging. Tumultuous is much of my life at the moment and stress has been ravaging my nervous system for the past few weeks. That said, there are also happy things. I would like to take a moment to focus on those.

Apart from this peaceful moment in the house I love so much, I have a few lovely things going on. I get to see a friend today that I haven’t caught up with in weeks. It’s also nearing the end of the month which means I get to compile photos for printing and make my monthly scrapbook page for June. That usually takes quite a while, but it’s so nice to have a physical book of my memories. I actually think it’s the thing that made me finally delete my Instagram account.

I’m also thinking about making a “newsletter” with my monthly photo album and a few paragraphs about the month to email to a few people who may have relied on my Instagram for those kinds of updates. That sort of thing feels much more personal and satisfying than a carousel post on Instagram. I also get to work on character development notes for my Dungeons & Dragons character now that our campaign has made it past the very beginning stages. I’m so excited to start exploring the direction I’d like to go, and to find out more about the other party members. As intimidating as improv is for me, I find it to be exhilarating in a D&D setting. It scratches so many itches for me at once. Working on the character lets my inner writer thrive, the roleplay allows me to be an actor for a few hours each week, and the game aspects in combat and dice-rolling allow for excitement in strategic thinking. I’m really truly enjoying playing weekly with this group of friends.

My other joys are things I get to enjoy every day. My sweet cats make me smile all the time, and my sweet fiancé is too good for words. I just paused writing for nearly an hour to talk on the phone with my Nana. What a privilege it is to know her.

My stressers and struggles keep surfacing in the pool of my thoughts as I write. I am practicing noticing them then allowing them to float away. I’m having to do it every few minutes, but the act of not entertaining them is a start. I like how slow the minutes seem to pass when I’m in this house alone with the cat and fish. As long as I avoid distracting myself with a video or scrolling, I am really able to bask in the present slowness of time passing. How lucky am I to relax in an environment that inspires me so. I wonder how many moments I have enjoyed in this way that have long passed. Instead of causing me to yearn for them, it makes me really want to savor this one as I know it won’t be here like this forever. If Bekah has children, this house will prove to be too small and I won’t ever have an afternoon like quite this again. The cat is getting very old, so I’m not sure how many more chances I’ll have to watch her sleep in her perch by the window.

Today is too good and too fleeting to rush through. I take pictures and stare at my surroundings to commit it all to memory. I feel the anticipatory nostalgia, but don’t allow it to overshadow the present moment. I pause between sentences to observe and notice. I decide to be like the cat who, effortlessly, is always in this present state. All she ever does is be, notice, and respond. Today is not exciting or busy. Today is the first day in weeks that I have felt more presence and peace, than worry and dread. That makes this simple and quiet day very special (even though it’s mostly consisted of me staring at a sleeping cat while swatting worries about my weight, finances, job, relationships, future, and progress away.)

I am known to struggle deeply with solitude, but something about this house lets me relish it and wish for it to last longer than it can. I think I need some fresh air, so I’ll end it here.

We started our first full day with a long meandering walk around the city focusing our time at the Sculpture Garden and the Botanical Garden. We took plenty of time to people (and duck) watch near a gorgeous fountain. The weather was perfect.

Later, we went back home to get ourselves ready for the first of two concerts we attended in three days. Then, we made our way to the wharf for dinner before the show at the Anthem.

This show was a very last minute decision as I discovered it was happening out of the blue. I was listening to a playlist Ruthie and I share when a song by Martin Garrix came on. He has been a shared love of ours since the beginning of our friendship and I had the strangest feeling to immediately check if he was touring. By some miracle, he was going to be playing two nights in DC during my trip. I quickly saw the show was sold out, but decided to check resale sites even though the prices are usually insane. The tickets were more reasonable than I would have ever expected, so I called Ruthie for approval and the deal was done.

The set was UNREAL. Surprise to us, he even played our favorite song. It had been a long time since I went to a concert so full of people who wanted to dance. After it was over, in utter shock, we stopped at the Ben & Jerry’s storefront for milkshakes (last picture in the gallery above) before letting the metro take us back home.

The next day started slow, the two of us completely exhausted from the night before. One pot of coffee down, we found the energy to get ourselves together to walk to a nice spot for brunch. We spent the next few hours walking through gorgeous old neighborhoods to admire houses and kill time before meeting her boyfriend at a board-game bar. We even passed by the famous Barbie Pond, fully decked out for Pride Month.

We took a long break, tired from our walk, for a cozy pizza dinner in on her couch. When it finally got dark, she dragged me back out to show me a few of the monuments and memorials at night. I’m so glad she did. The temperature and breeze were perfect for walking, and I truly think that night time is the best time to see it all.

My fiancé warned me that Lincoln’s size is never done justice in the pictures, and I agree. He’s HUGE. We packed our bags, and got to bed as early as we could.

The next morning, after picking up a rental car, we drove to her Aunt’s house in Baltimore. She doesn’t live in the city, but right outside of it. Unsurprisingly because of the proximity, the utterly beautiful countryside reminded me so much of that of the region in southwest Virginia that some of my family is from. The trees are so tall and lush, and the air has this distinctly sweet and fresh smell that I can only attribute to that particular part of the country. She took us out to lunch and for a drive around the area before it was time for us to get ready for concert #2.

This concert was the thing that dictated the timing for the trip in the first place. Ruthie got us tickets to see 5 Seconds of Summer which has been our favorite band since before we even became friends. Not only did she secure our seats, but also got us a VIP pre-show experience. This included early entry plus a Q&A with the band. They even acoustically played two of their old songs for the group of us. I still don’t think I’ve processed all of that.

The concert was too good for words. This band really only gets better with time. Not only was the level of performance top-notch, but the stage design, lights, and theatrical elements were truly on another level. We had the most amazing time. There’s really nothing like seeing your favorite band with your best friend. My voice is still shot.

The final morning was slow and quiet on her aunt’s deck with our books and coffee. The only noise was birdsong, and the view was unmatched. The only things left to do were to return the car to the airport and go our separate ways to the metro and through TSA. The time flew by, but was well spent.

The three of them planned to get matching tattoos of a small strawberry in various placements. I was along for the ride. My friend’s mother was a very eccentric woman clearly desperate to remain the “cool mom” to retain favor with her beloved daughter. It was endearing, albeit a little sad to see how fragile she felt their relationship to be.

We all went inside and the three of them began filling out the waivers, lucky to find a bored artist available for walk-ins. As they turned the paperwork in, my friend’s mother was shocked to find I wasn’t participating. I laughed and told her I had $12 to my name, and just joined for moral support. She was not having it. When she asked if I’d want one if it was paid for, I told her I would, but that I was not interested in the matching strawberry. To my surprise, she said she’d pay for one of the same price if I had something in mind. I did.

After filling out my paperwork and pulling up a Pinterest picture saved long ago, I found myself in a chair with a needle to my skin in considerably less pain than expected. Before I could process the decision I’d made, I was back on the couch in the lobby with gauze taped to my arm. This tattoo is still my favorite.

I’ve always loved tattoos, and began saving ideas back in middle school. My parents have a handful of tattoos each, and it was never a taboo in my house. I have had plenty of tattoo ideas throughout my adolescence and early adulthood that I am deeply relieved not to have on my skin. Surprisingly though, the bird was one of the earliest ideas. It’s the only one that stuck around long enough to want to commit without planning ahead. Why a bird? Well, I absolutely love them.

My initial love of birds did not come naturally, but from a want to connect to my Nana. She is the true lover of birds. I am the true lover of Nana. She has always had bird houses and feeders kept full for the avian locals. I couldn’t begin to tell you how much time I’ve spent sitting beside her watching them congregate at the feeders through the wall of windows at her house, or from the porch swing. There isn’t a thing in the world more lovely than sitting outside on a crisp morning with my grandparents, a hot cup of coffee in hand, sharing blankets, listening to the crackling of a fire, and watching the birds. It’s so perfect we don’t even need to speak.

The luckiest part of being born to young parents is the potential of more time with theirs. I say potential as I’ve lost grandparents too young to illness and tragedy. That said, I am 27 years old and the grandparents in this story are just now approaching their 80s. Maybe I’m delusional and that’s the average, but either way I feel so fortunate for what I have. In the past few years, my fiancé has lost a grandparent, and my best friend has lost her remaining two. The most recent was the grandfather of my best friend who died in his 90s in his living room surrounded by most of his children. There can’t have been a better way for that to play out. Even so, with all the mental preparation, his death was a massive blow. It makes me think of my Granny, Nana’s mother. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time and we practiced making peace with it for so long, but when time was up, we felt it tremendously.

Nana began to tell me the stories of her grandmother and aunt when I was very young. They died before I could know them personally, but she made every effort to keep their memories alive simply by talking about them. These women I would never meet became legends to me, and I couldn’t help but admire them for helping to shape my Nana into the woman she became. It was instilled in me from the beginning that a girl’s relationship with her grandmother is a very special bond that can only be replicated when the girl becomes a grandmother herself. It was always clear how much Nana missed her grandmother and aunt. I try my best to avoid anticipatory grief, but I know that one day nothing will ever be the same again.

I don’t see myself becoming a mother which of course takes the role of grandmother off the table. Though if I could be one, I’d like to be a Nana. She and I, viewed by the untrained eye, seem very different. The ways in which we speak and express ourselves really don’t look the same at all. Just under the surface though, she and I are made of the very same things. We approach the world from different angles, but see it through the same lens. Her eye taught me to see the beauty in the world around me, and how to notice the quiet details. She inadvertently revealed the way to see the soul of world in every creature, plant, rock, and the very soil beneath my feet. She taught me the vital importance of keeping my heart soft and open, regardless of the risk of vulnerability, in effort to deepen my well of empathy. She rarely ever forgets to look for human connection within interpersonal conflicts. I know no one as kind.

Knowing, in a deeper sense than logical thought, that we are the same in so many ways, I wonder if she too finds it most difficult to extend consistent love and empathy to herself. As I age, I encounter more moments of deep love and empathy for myself (namely, disembodied younger versions of me), but it’s never been easy.

I sincerely hope that she exists predominantly in a state of peace and contentment with herself. I hope she has moments where she can see herself through the eyes of her husband, my father, and myself. I hope she can tell that the very world around her knows how much she cares. I hope she knows that the traits she admires in my father would not exist without her. I hope she knows that the things she loves most about me came from seeds she cultivated from the very plants growing within her.

I hope when she looks at the birds she sees that they recognize her face, and when they sing to her she can hear that they know her name. The birds teach their young her name and her face so that they’ll know where to go for food and safety. One day, in many generations, a bird will wonder why it sings the name of someone it has never met. When it asks it’s mother, she’ll say it is to remember the great lover of all birds. One day, in many years, when someone asks me what type of bird is inked on my wrist I’ll say, “It’s not a bird, it’s my Nana.”

I woke this morning to thunder and rain. The sky is just as dark this afternoon as it was this morning at 6:30. It’s been slow and cozy (as seen in the photos of my book and sweet cat), but the day is passing a bit faster than I would like. My stomach is “off” and my head is dully aching despite my efforts to hydrate. The world seems to be asking me to take it slow. I’m not naturally the sort of person that knows how to rest without the nagging voice of guilt in the background, but some things simply must be done.

As much as I would have loved this Spring season to have been one of social outings and full of energy, it’s been a bit of an isolated and reflective slog. While I don’t resent this per se, it was certainly unexpected. I’ve been faced with the truth of my codependent tendencies, and the way I self-sabotage by acting as though I’m responsible for the people around me in a caretaker/parental sense. While I was taught at a very young age that my value came from what I could emotionally provide to others, it has been my choice to take that into my adult life thus far.

It’s an odd feeling to recognize all the “truths” I accepted as a child that I haven’t examined for validity as an adult. Now that I’m nearing 30, I realize how little I know, and how little other adults of all ages know. Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty to be said for experience informing wisdom, but it all comes down to personal interpretation at the end of the day. There are plenty of strong opinions I formed on my own of course, but so many foundational “truths” were instilled in me before I had the understanding to filter them through my own system. Now that I’m retroactively filtering, I’m able to see how much of it has kept me from enjoying my life.

I Cannot Take Your Problems

I’m finally starting to see that I am responsible exclusively for my own actions and words, and that I quite literally cannot change what other people say or do. I’m aware of how obvious that sounds, but it goes against the way I’ve always operated. I thought if I was smart enough, funny enough, thoughtful enough, cool enough, pretty enough, good enough, sacrificed enough, that people would like me and treat me well. It wasn’t until I recognized that the people who matter most love me even when I kind of suck, that I decided to examine how I operate in relationships. There was plenty of evidence the other direction as well. Some people would treat me terribly even when I was being exactly what they asked me to be (and probably going above and beyond). I made a habit of sacrificing all of myself to avoid an outcome that I never had the chance to affect in the first place.

Now this habit was never only about trying to be treated well or be liked. It was also always about making sure they needed me. This is where it can get toxic really fast. The intention was not to gain attention by being “important,” but to give people a reason not to leave me. I thought if I provided something they needed or wanted, then they would have reason not to abandon me. It never occurred to me that someone might want to stick around just because of who I am, as is. A couple of truly amazing relationships have taught me what that feels like slowly over time.

Even that isn’t the whole picture though. Part of it came from a place of truly wanting to show love in as many ways as possible as often as possible which informed my attempts to solve all the problems of my loved ones. Another part, for a specific person, was always to try to solve this person’s problems before they made them “my problem” via their intense reactions and tendency to take their feelings out on me. Over the years, I have taken great pride in identifying as a really great friend. I’m the one who is always there, ready to drop anything, and sticks around through thick and thin. None of those are bad, but I am prone to getting carried away. The only thing that would make me say no to a plan was if I already had plans with someone else. Any plans I made for myself, even to take care of my basic needs, were subject to cancellation at the request of my attendance by a friend.

Surprise to no one, this kind of thing catches up to you. Not only that, but if my friends knew that I was sacrificing my self care, they’d be pissed at me for saying yes. Reality hit when I realized I was disrespecting my relationships in a few ways by doing this.

1. I can’t show up as my best self when I’m not taking good care of myself.

2. I’m not trusting that they genuinely care about me.

3. I give unsolicited advice and solutions in moments when they really just want me to listen.

4. I pretend to know their lives better than they do.

That begs the question, how can I support someone without taking the wheel? I started to wonder whether I even know what support means. I’ve never really known how to teach without taking over, and I’ve never really known how to say, “that really sucks,” instead of, “maybe you should…”.

A Submitted C- Beats a Missing A+

The first time I heard someone call perfectionism an excuse to never actually try, I took it veeeery personally. Every excuse you can think of popped into my head. For all I knew I was trying. I was doing all the preparation and research. I was making the lists, schedules, and plans. I was accounting for every obstacle, and consequently convincing myself that no matter what angle I took, I was bound to fail. I’m framing this generally because this isn’t about one particular goal. This is how I’ve operated under “perfectionism” when it comes to just about anything I want that I have to work for.

Nothing is scarier than putting yourself out there. Lots of internet creators have said that they cant fathom their followers/subscribers as real individual people. I on the other hand, can’t not see them that way. Even seeing two people listed as following my page can make my chest tighten. Needless to say, the confidence needs some major work. Admittedly, this post is only going up with ease because I don’t have a following. It almost feels like submitting my musings to the void.

I was told very young, (I’m aware this is a pattern in this article) “If you’re not going to do it right, it’s not worth you doing it at all.” This may be the hardest thing so far to unlearn. I used to get in trouble all the time for doing something “half-assed” whether that be my chores, homework, etc. Recently, I heard someone on the internet say, “half-assed is better than no ass,” and while it made me giggle, it also hit home. I was under the impression that it wasn’t worth turning anything in until the final draft was ready. I forgot that when you skip submitting the outline, first draft, second, and so on, you lose the privilege of editing and improving. You also lose access to new perspectives.

Failure and embarrassment have always been the most terrifying things I could imagine. I never wanted to do a team sport for fear of showing up to my first practice as a true beginner and disappointing my team. I never wanted to get a lead in the musical for fear of a voice crack, or being under a false impression that I have a good voice. Correction; I absolutely did want those things. I just let the fear win. I’m currently trying to lose some weight and build muscle, so I spend a fair amount of time in the gym. Every time I go, I’m hyper-aware of what other people may think of my body type, the weight I can and can’t lift, my form, and even the routine I’m choosing to follow as if anyone is paying me any attention at all. Going to the gym has been a practice in showing back up after I fall off the wagon. There have been days that I’ve skipped half of my workout due to fatigue. There have been weeks I have only done one out of four planned sessions. I have been anything but perfect, but have decided to keep showing back up anyway.

Now I have to start showing up to the other ventures I’ve been putting off. The gym has been an off-and-on work in progress for years now. Plus, the concept of looking a certain way isn’t nearly as important to me as the creative passions I hold dear. That tends to make the “gym fear” a significantly smaller mountain to summit. What about the real stuff? The real stuff in question is creation and performance of art. That’s a different level of intimidation. I have been singing and writing songs for as long as I can remember. I have been writing poetry, stories, and creating characters just as long. No game, toy, or craft could ever beat playing pretend which translated to a deep love for acting. I grew up with access to YouTube from the early days, and always wanted to be one of the teens that posted videos singing covers and playing guitar. I thought they were so cool, but also thought that I would be supremely uncool and be made fun of if I did it. The fear won. I always knew that I would need to learn guitar or piano to move forward with my songwriting, but was petrified of how long I’d be bad at it before I got good. The fear won again. I have a catalogue of handwritten songs (some 20 years old) that are stuck in a state of a-cappella because I was too afraid to suck at guitar in front of an instructor. That level of fear can stop you from anything. Life cannot get better if you let the fear win.

It sounds much nicer to call yourself a perfectionist than it is to tell the truth that you are too afraid to go for it. I know that perfection is impossible. You know it too. We know that we aren’t trying to “perfect” whatever it is we’re doing. We know we’re stalling. This is the exact kind of behavior that leads to regret. I already have so many regrets I’m trying to let go of, I simply cannot add to that list. So, what are some things I’ve always wanted to do? I’ll skip certain categories like travel-related experiences and location-based things. This is about things I want to do, create, and/or accomplish that just require my own efforts. I bristle at the thought of someone reading this list, but I simply have to learn not to care what you think.

1. Write music regularly again. (I used to write every day, but started to doubt whether I was any good at it which caused me to slowly stop.)

2. Learn guitar.

3. Post videos on my YouTube channel: singing, vlogs, commentary. (I have one with a few videos, but stopped posting after overanalyzing my video ideas.)

4. Sing in public. (Open Mics/Gigs)

5. Write poetry and stories again. (I stopped when I started to question my skill.)

6. Get involved with community theatre/comedy/improv. (I am TERRIFIED of comedy, especially improv, but I love making people laugh and nothing will be a better lesson in accepting embarrassment.)

Every single thing on this list requires being a beginner with tons of room for improvement. As scary as that is, it’s a truly wonderful thing. If I simply show up, do my best, start “submitting Cs,” eventually I’ll be “submitting As.” Do I like that I have to start at a much lower level than I want to? No, but it’s literally the only way to get there.

Yoda Actually Knows What’s Up

“Do or do not. There is no try.”

“The greatest teacher, failure is.”

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

“You will find only what you bring in.”

I’m a huge Star Wars fan and I’m not religious, so my internal voice of reason is Yoda. I’m not even mad about it. Until recently, I never really understood the quote about doing instead of trying. Now I think I’m starting to get it. Deciding to try signals to your brain that you may or may not actually do something. Deciding to do signals to your brain that no matter the outcome (failure or success), you’re definitely doing the thing. That’s a HUGE difference. Tweaking your mindset from, “I’ll try,” to “I’m doing it, let’s see how it goes,” is the difference between action and pretending you intend to act.

I always hated failure too much to care how great of a teacher it apparently is. Unfortunately, failure is unavoidable. It’s up to us to be grateful for and learn from it. As for fear, it truly is the path to the “dark side”. Yes it leads to anger, hate, and suffering, but it also leads to regret, self-doubt, and loss of identity. When fear stops you from doing the things that feel authentic to you, over time you forget what feels authentic. You are what you do. When you aren’t doing things that feel like you, you sort of stop being you. It’s far too easy to lose yourself. Being brave by being true to yourself, can bring that sense of identity back.

“You will find only what you bring in.” This one really sums everything up for me. Your brain wants to see more of what it knows. It seeks normal. It likes taking the same routes over and over. It finds what it expects to find. That means we have to do two things simultaneously.

1. Fight against the urge to sit in your comfort zone by doing something new, brave, or unexpected.

2. Purposefully think new thoughts. This could be in the form of affirmations.

It feels scary and unnatural to step out of your comfort zone. It feels awkward and pointless to do robotic affirmations. I get it. I really do.

In summary, this Spring has taught me to take responsibility only for my own life, fight the fear of failure by showing up with whatever I’ve got so far, and to stop trying and just do.

I decided to keep my notes app open to write down everything “I didn’t know I needed” before it was served to me on TikTok. To be clear, I was only taking note of the ads/hacks that actually sold me. It’s a little bit sickening how long that list got. Needless to say, the app has since been deleted again.

Obviously I know how to consume.

I also know how to think, plan, and make lists.

DOING is an art I’ve all but lost.

This applies to my job, upkeep of my household, my exercise routine, and creative ventures. I can “research” and plan these things all day, but can rarely ever get up to execute. I’m no conspiracy theorist (I actually mean that), but I truly believe we are being trained as a society to lose our ability to DO. Social media and online shopping, which are one in the same at this point, are the weapons they’ve handed us to use against ourselves. There are so many factors to this.

We could talk for days about how the damage to our attention spans benefits those in power. If we don’t have the ability to pay attention to what they're up to, then they can do it without our consent or objections. If we run to TikTok every time we have a question, we lose the skill of research. Not only do we neglect our libraries and books, but most people don’t even know how to use an internet browser to do research. Especially now that Google has an “AI overview” at the top of search results, most of us will take the first answer that sounds right-enough and run with it. Most of us don’t remember to check for works cited, or even remember how.

Another aspect to attention span damage that has become a hot topic of late is how it connects to seratonin and dopamine response. At this point we’ve all heard about short form content rewiring our brains to expect quick hits of dopamine rather than sustained release after completing a longer form task. This makes doing a lot less entertaining than consuming or scrolling. Hobbies and productive tasks feel less rewarding which makes them more difficult to even attempt over time. Your brain wants to feel good. It has learned to feel good in quick stints on repeat via scrolling, so it tells you to pick up your phone instead of a paintbrush, yarn, or pen and paper.

Unfortunately this keeps you overwhelmed and stuck. We have forgotten that joy and satisfaction come from creation, community, and growth. We have been conditioned to think that we can find this joy and satisfaction from consuming, recieving, and having. This only makes us hungrier. They want us hungry, desperate, and stuck.

Why? They want our money, data, and attention. They want us to care about shiny things and shallow drama so we ignore their shady dealings. They want to know everything about our habits, desires, and fears so they can use them against us. They want to be disgustingly rich, but more importantly, they want us debilitatingly poor.

I ask again, why? Esoterically, I don’t know. I don’t understand wanting power and control over others, or excess money at the expense of everyone else. Practically, I know that it doesn’t matter why. “Why” is very tricky. We have placed a very high importance of the “why” of things. “Why” leads to never ending contemplation and analysis, which is not inherently bad. The problem is when we focus only on the “why” and spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking. You can absolutely be too self-aware.

For example, when you go to therapy and figure out why you are the way you are, what then? I know where all my trauma is from. I can connect each of my unhelpful thinking habits to specific things that happened to me or specific ways I was treated over time. Soooo what do I do now? I can’t travel back in time and shield myself from the trauma. All I can do now is take the information I have, and use that knowledge to practice doing things differently. There is nothing left to think about in that area. I know the “why”.

With that said, we don’t even necessarily need to know the reasoning for something when we are already aware that the effect is bad. It can be a waste of time to search for an explanation when you could be using that time to do something different, or even fight back. I don’t need to get on TikTok and search for videos about why TikTok is bad for me, nor do I need to make my own video explaining my take on it. I can simply delete the app, and practice doing something different.

There is a lot of content on the internet right now about “going analog” or simply logging off. I find it ironic each time I indulge in a YouTube vlog of somone’s “week without my phone.” It’s one thing to look up a tutorial on how to adjust your phone settings to make it less visually appealing, but entirely another to queue up 10 videos about “getting offline” when you could just lock your screen and pick up literally anything else.

I am not writing this to tell you to “go analog.” I won’t pretend that my screen time got any less embarrassing the last time I deleted TikTok. At the very least, that screen time was from constant YouTube videos in the background of my other activities rather than active scrolling (for the most part). All I know from the past 20 hours is that TikTok is a special beast that has the power to make me feel nearly physically ill. It sometimes feels like sleep paralysis. I can almost hear the panicked screams from inside my brain begging me to close the app and run away, but my body is frozen save for my thumb scrolling on autopilot for painfully long amounts of time that I’ll never get back.

I miss “doing.” I’ve been an avid writer my entire life. I used to write every single day. I was an endless well of lyrics, characters, and worlds waiting to be built. I was never talented in visual arts, but I used to draw all the time. Each time I picked a CD to listen to in my room, I would make time to dance, rarely “multitasking.” The only days I stayed indoors were on the account of bad weather. I never enjoyed chores, but I also never had an issue finishing the list when they needed to be done.

This post may come across like the videos about going offline I mentioned before. That’s completely fair. For me, as a self-proclaimed writer, this is actually a step towards “doing”. This is not at all the type of writing that makes me feel happy or creative, but writing my thoughts in this way might just inch me a tiny bit closer.

As of now, I have no plans to leave the realm of social media. I’ve tried. I failed. Black and white rules like that aren’t really for me. That said, something needs to change. I lost my identity somewhere in the recent(ish) past, and I must do something to get it back.

They say, “you cant fill a bucket with a hole in it,” meaning you need to patch the hole before cranking the faucet. I don’t know about you, but I’m not a bucket. If I try to remove every bad habit before implementing new good habits, i’ll never start the good habits.

I like to use a different visual. There is a cup glued to a table with nasty water in it. (We’re the cup.) Since you can’t pour the nasty water out, you must pour clean water into the cup until it forces the nasty water out. This process is way slower than pouring the nasty stuff out, but in this case, it’s the only way.

Personally, I feel more like the cup than the bucket. I have a very hard time breaking bad habits, aka “patching the hole in the bucket.” However I do find that the more good habits I implement, the less I engage in bad habits over time. Of course, since I am not a bucket nor a cup, nuance is required. I know that ignoring the quiet urge to put my phone down mid-scroll is my active agreement to rob myself of time for practicing good habits (hobbies, reading, exercise, productivity, etc.)

Must I delete all social media and switch to a flip phone? No. Must I obey that quiet urge to put my phone down whenever I have the privilege to hear it? Yes. Personally, I hope that eventually my interest in scrollable social media platforms will disappear completely. I hope one day, I’ll delete my profiles without a second thought because I keep forgetting to check them. I want to do it when it feels like an afterthought, not like a punishment.

As for now, I’m going to work towards making “doing” easy again.

1. I’ll take stock of what needs to be done without allowing my to-do list to become an activity of its own.

2. I'll do whatever it takes to finish each item on the list.

3. I’ll intentionally enjoy the accomplishment of finishing each task.

4. I’ll sit in “boredom” for as long as it takes to get the idea to do something creative.

5. I’ll enjoy the creative activity at a slow pace without trying to optimize it.

6. I’ll allow myself to rest. The rest can include a book, movie, show, or nothing at all. The rest time cannot include scrolling.

Reading this list is honestly embarrassing. I feel like I’m parenting a toddler. Unfortunately this is the reality of where I’m at. I know i’m not the only one. If your phone has taken as much time from you as mine has taken from me, I hope you are also working to take it back.

Good luck to all of us

That is where the desire for efficiency pops up. I want to be in the “5am club” to tick all of those boxes before work, so I can free myself in the afternoons to be a human. I turn to planners and time-blocking to shove these practices into a workable amount of time causing me just enough stress to hate the very practices I chose to care for my health physically and esoterically.

What is sacrificed every single time I execute this “5am club” plan? My sleep. Without fail. Every single time. What happens when I lack sleep? I can no longer get out of bed in time for the routine I have created. I am exhausted while working. The exhaustion carries through to my free time preventing me from enjoying my creative hobbies. It leads to more time spent on my phone. It digs me deeper into the hole I created the routine specifically to help me climb out of. It backfires.

I try again, but this time I decided I can do it all in the afternoon after work. Funny enough, I need decompression time after work. The problem is that I have made my decompressive creative hobbies feel like a task to complete. I have made a decompressive walk outside listening to the sounds of life a workout I can track to hit a step-goal. Those things no longer register as ways to decompress in the moment. What does? I think we all know.

This cycle repeats (as cycles do) with the same insanity as yo-yo dieting. I gain and I lose over and over. Every time I fall it seems to be from a greater height. Optimizing seems to be the problem in all areas, but what can I do instead? How can I build simple routines that tick the boxes for basic proper care of my mind, body, and “self” without turning it into a second (unpaid) job?

I don't necessarily want to “optimize” these practices for any performative purposes or online reporting via social media. I simply want them optimized to be as simple and habitual as possible. I want to practice them while also taking them off of my mental plate if you will. It seems the more I try to integrate these things, the more my brain categorizes like-activities that were habitual into the “task category.”

All of the sudden, brushing my teeth is a task on my to-do list. That is the OPPOSITE of the point in the first place. Building the routine was meant to turn daily movement, reading, stretching, hydration, etcetera (like daily dental care) into habits I don’t need a to-do list to perform. Somehow, I find myself looking at a written plan with my wanna-be habits to find them in a list with, “brush teeth, morning skincare, get dressed,” as if I needed a reminder not to leave the house naked.

I do know that poor mental state/health commonly turns these kind of things into “tasks” as I have been severely depressed before. This doesn’t feel like that. It’s not the kind of executive dysfunction that makes a shower feel too exhausting and daunting. It’s the anxious kind that mentally breaks down each step of the shower in an instant making it seem like a 10 step to-do list rather than simply taking a shower. Admittedly, I am diagnosed ADHD and I am fully aware that pre-disposes me to this sort of thing.

With that said, I don’t find myself in this place nearly as often when i’m not thinking so hard about how to best care for myself. That leads me to believe this “optimized” way of looking at self care has it’s diabolical part to play as well. I guess that means I should just stop and go with the flow, right?

I certainly see the value in that.

The problem is, I have hit my late 20s. While that is still very young (trust me kids - it is), I am also viscerally aware of the first signs of living in a body that requires requests more than bare minimum care. I want to honor my body and my mind. I want to be strong, healthy, and mobile for as long as possible. I want to preserve my critical thinking skills, memory, and learning-ability.

I already have evidence of the difficulty of starting new habits and skills post-childhood. I don’t want to let any more time pass without prioritizing self care. I am the only one responsible for and capable of living the best life I can. How does one strike a balance? How do I find a way to implement these things that I did not make habits for in my developmental years?

That I do not yet know. I do know, however, that “optimizing” is not the way. I don’t want to try to be perfect, or live a “vloggable” life. I just want to do my best to feel my best. I don’t have the answer, but I’ll keep looking. Hopefully I’ll find a new method to try before the cycle repeats.

Thank you for reading. It’s really cool that you did :)