Pictured: me after failing at making chicken… again.
When you’re working through things, when you’re putting yourself first and working on things you should have been working on, truly, for years – it’s hard.
It’s really fucking hard.
But, if you’re putting in the work, even if it sucks sometimes – you’ll also realize it’s the happiest you’ve been.
Because you’re doing it. You’re working on it. You’re growing. You’re trying again.
You’re better than you were when you weren’t trying, failing, trying again.
I’m going to give you a quick sob story / background on what I’m doing and struggling with – so that I can tell you why it’s hard, why it sucks sometimes, and why it’s totally, absolutely, positively – worth it.
If you’re a consistent reader, you know that I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression, an eating disorder – the works. You also know that I seem to come to realizations often, only to come up short when I need write again – learning the same lessons over and over and over again. You know that for awhile I’m good, and then I’m not again. You know that I’m pretty open about it all, because I’m pretty much to the point of not giving a fuck anymore – at least about what people think about it all – and also because I’m pretty much to the point of needing to see a reason why all of this happened, and for me, I think it’s so I can potentially help others – or at least that’s what I hope to be true.
Do you know the whole story – my whole story? Not even close. Do you know a lot? If you’ve been religious in reading all of the crazy stuff I post – I’d say so.
So, all of this is to say, I’m now working on it. And I mean, really, truly working on it. Like, working with a specialist, not focusing on other goals (I mean… not much anyway – hi career goals – I AM WHO I AM), and really putting it first.
Rainbows and butterflies and GO ME, right?
What do I mean?
I mean it’s still really hard sometimes. I mean just because I decided to put this first doesn’t mean it works every day – doesn’t mean I’m “better” yet.
It means much more than that.
It means I fail all the time. It means I try to cook, and end up eating a frozen dinner instead because I literally don’t know how to make simple dishes from years of restriction. It means I think negative thoughts about myself and my body even though I know I’m not supposed to anymore. It means I try to not obsess over my planner but most days, I can’t not. It means I try to relax about my weight and my future and my finances and where I should live and if I’m in the right place and it means I fail at that all the time (generally at 3AM hollaaaa).
It means I’m exhausted. It means some days I’m terrified that I’ll never be “fixed” – that I’ll never be better.
The root of all of my original habits and not-so-beneficial mental models is my innate need to be perfect – my perceived need to be perfect. It’s from comparison and wanting to be the best at everything and anything and to be everything to everyone. It’s from loneliness and striving for greater and it’s from from feeling that where I am, right now, will never be enough.
This need for perfection being the problem, makes it difficult to fail and to accept when I do in my journey to working through.
Why can’t I just get it? Why do I have to make things so simple, so hard? Why can I give advice, but not take it for myself? Why am I so aware of these things yet unable to change them?
Why do I continue to fail?
It’s tiring, exhausting, maddening, weakening, defeating – impossible.
I get down about it, and wonder why I can’t be better. But sometimes, I realize something.
I realize that maybe right in those instances of failure – it does feel like all of those things – it feels tiring, exhausting, maddening, weakening, defeating – impossible. But what it really is, is so much more.
Because each time I fall, I get back up again. Each time I “ruin my progress,” I try again the next day. Each time I fail, I learn something more.
So while it feels shitty, it hurts, it’s lonely – it’s hard – I know deep down that it’s so much more.
It’s persevering, it’s having faith, it’s loving hard, it’s working hard, it’s being selfless, it’s believing in myself, it’s strengthening – it’s worth it.
Because failing, is really, actually – succeeding.
Because for all of the failed attempts at cooking, all of the money wasted on the next diet plan, all the days failing at following my schedule and all the days where I spend too much time obsessing – there are other days – other instances.
And for once, I’m going to give myself credit where credit’s due.
Because, as weird and effed up as this all may sound, I know the following to be true:
I know I’ve shopped for items other than chicken, vegetables, and brown rice more in the past few months than I have in the past six years. I know I’ve turned the volume down on my anxiety at least half way on the notch. I know I’ve said “yes” to social things when a year ago I would have said “no” and hid in my apartment. I know I’ve gotten insanely better with my money and thinking before I spend – with really truly appreciating a dollar. I know I’ve learned and decided with every bone in my body that I will never be going on a diet again – even if it feels insanely uncomfortable – even if some days, I really fucking want to. I know I’ve stopped dreading trips because of how I could be perceived. I know I’ve lowered the amount of times I make disclaimers for myself and the way I am (hi, still working on it). I know I’m not as scared of certain foods anymore. I know I’ve better learned to be there for my friends and loved ones because I’m learning to be there for myself. I know I’ve decreased the amount of time I spend on my calendar, in my lists – freaking out about being perfect in every way. I know that the amount of days I try to set insane goals for myself and try to be someone else has lowered to less and less. I know I’ve moved across the country, been promoted at work, and made new friends while I fail at this every day (which, I guess, now that I think about it, is kinda cool). I know I’m grateful to be able to even have the chance to work on this – the resources to try.
I know I’ve learned how to pick myself up again quicker than I ever have before – how not to give in – how to try, the fuck, again.
I know that my time spent on the floor is getting shorter, briefer – that standing tall is slowly becoming the new norm.
And that’s all I can ask for – at least right now.
Because if I’ve made those strides, already – where will I be tomorrow? Next week? Next year?
I don’t know – but I’m excited to find out.
And, it’s hard to share this, because – you don’t know how to normally grocery shop? You don’t know how to cook? You’re that insecure? You’re that obsessive? (#YIKES #wifemeup #jkdontobviously).
Idk, maybe I am all those things.
But maybe I’m working on it.
And maybe I find no shame in that.
2 thoughts on “Rainbows and Butterflies”
Stasia! I haven’t heard from you in a while but I just received this blog notification and for some reason I thought I should give this one a read. First off, I’m glad you’re working on things and bettering yourself one day at a time. I admire your courage to be vulnerable and share snippets of your struggles. Your story, your progress, and your humility is something that I needed to read. It’s jarring how similar of a situation I have found myself in. (High anxiety, depression, body dismorphia, ocd, and the stressors of moving to a new place) I have been receiving professional help with all these things as of lately. I’ve been hiding in my room and now new apartment and try and hide away from my new coworkers on a day to day. But I’m also starting to make progress. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone and you’re a fucking rockstar. Thank you for sharing.
This is so amazing to read / hear. Not the tough parts of course but the fact that you can relate and it hopefully helped you. I hate to hear all of this but can definitely (obviously) relate on SO MANY levels as you know. Please know you can reach out to me and I’m 100 percent here for you / it. YOU GOT THIS.