Some Words

 

I’ve been out of action this week because of a cold. I managed to fight it for a couple of days – I got my hair done (I figured I should stop being pathetic since I’d only be sitting in a chair) and went to a launch of the new Forbidden Forest section at the Warner Bros. Studio Tour (because clearly girl would rather die than miss out on anything Harry Potter), but for the past few days I succumbed to the utter self-indulgence that comes with being run down and sick. Endless cups of tea, staying in my pyjamas all day and watching Hercules over and over again has been nice – but I’ve also had a lot of time to think. More than I’d like.

 

I’m no stranger to self-care. It doesn’t take very much for me to justify cancelling plans, to run a bath and ignore the world for a bit. I often feel I cut myself too much slack, even if I am beating myself up about it at the same time. My work ethic sucks. I’m a flake. I need a reality check. I’m not doing enough. I should sort my life out. Stop giving things up so easily. Stop putting things off.

 

This has likely been a huge contributing factor towards my quietness online for the past couple of years. I’m not totally sure how my outlet turned itself into something that made me want to stay quiet. And quiet. And quiet. Instagram is safe: post a pretty picture, an emoji or two will suffice in way of a caption if the words don’t come out. You’re alive; people just need to know you still exist. Or something.

 

I want to be honest much, much more than I want to be vulnerable. I don’t want to feel or come across as pandering to myself too much. I don’t want to sound like a negative Nancy but I do want to be real. Sometimes it feels like there is no in-between. Maybe there is no in-between.

 

I feel like I’m failing. I feel guilty that I’m still living at home, for not having a 9-5, for not having a driving license or a big savings account. I know it’s a ridiculous mindset to be in because so many of us are in this position and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. But those feelings persist.

 

It’s hard to watch your peers go above and beyond from the discomfort of your plateau, and it’s extremely difficult to stop yourself getting wrapped up in it all. I think everyone must feel like this in some way, at some point or another. Comparison truly is the thief of joy, and it’s something I try to remind myself every day. But I need to go at my own pace. I need to feel okay. Or feel okay with not always being okay.

 

When it comes down to it, I am fine with myself. I’m genuinely happy to be me, in the sense that I wouldn’t want to be anyone else. I am incredibly grateful for the things that I do have. I just need to check in with myself more. For my own sanity.

 

Please excuse the lack of flow here. I feel I’ve only touched on a corner of something bigger that I may or may not want to talk about in future. If this word vomit helps even one person to reflect on the whirlwind inside their head, I’m happy to let myself feel exposed for a while. Even if I have given myself another headache deliberating whether I should hit publish or not. Over and out.