After meeting up with a couple of friends at end of the summer, one whom I hadn’t seen in about six months, she remarked that I was still really hard on myself, after chatting about our summers and our plans for the following year.
At the time, I didn’t think much about it, I didn’t think I was hard on myself, in fact I found my response to my own endeavours as natural. Of course I should keep striving to be the best and if I wasn’t going to talk trash to/about myself to keep me going, who was? It was the only way I knew how to keep going.
I have a whole issue about being the best. I have to succeed in things. I have to be getting good results & making a difference for myself in the long run & trying to be the best version of myself all the time.
Be that in education, work, body or mind.
I never applaud myself for things that I’ve done as I could have always done better. I’m always moaning about my body and the way I look as I think I can look better. I’m always pushing myself to have more things to write on my CV. I’m always beating myself up in some way or another because I just don’t see myself as good enough.
Being hard on myself is always I’ve ever done and I suppose I really know. I’ve never had someone there to tell me that you know what, I am doing fine, that I’m yet to believe which is ridiculous as my parents support every plan I put into action and applaud the tiniest things. I’m not really sure what it will take for me to believe things that I conceive to be true that just simply aren’t.
When will I start believing I’m not as fat and ugly as believe and be able to wear clothes I love and express the style I have without upsetting myself and destroying myself emotionally for the day?
When will I start giving myself enough credit when it comes to university and acknowledging the fact that hell, I work pretty damn hard and have been turning out the grades to match?
When will I acknowledge that I’m maybe an okay person and I have wonderful friends and family who support and love me as a result?
When will I start to forget about all of those who’ve wronged me, and as a result, can let things go?
I always route things back to my trilogy: I’m single, unattractive and stupid.
It is the most trivial way to think about things but it has taken me a really long time to not focus on them.
If I’m single, I have to be looking and feeling okay fitness wise and bossing it at university or work. If I’m feeling a bit chubs, I have to an okay personal life and bossing it an university or work. If I’m having a confidence crisis over education and damn, I’ll never graduate at this rate, I have to an okay personal life and be looking and feeling okay fitness wise.
piling on the pressure.
Due to the amount of pressure I put on myself, I often feel like I’m drowning.
My personal life at some points is non existent because I retreat so far into myself. My fitness and body confidence levels are all over the place and I’m just unhappy with my physical personification. My mind feels stupid because I just can’t place my finger on something and well, now I don’t even have a decent brain either.
I used to worry it would never be enough. I would never manage to control everything and tick things off. That I would always be stuck in this lonely little world of balancing all three and ultimately, failing to do so.
But it wasn’t until recently that I clicked that I actually am pretty hard on myself. And this dumb combination wasn’t helping.
life is busy, i’m busy.
For a few weeks, I have been doing a work placement one day a week at an antiques warehouse in Edinburgh. This involves getting up at 6am to catch the 6.45am train through to Edinburgh where I then catch a bus which takes about 35 minutes, starting work at 8.30am. I then spend the whole day learning how to restore furniture, about antique sales, the administration of the company and the digital side of things. I finish at 5.30pm, catching another bus back to the station, catching the 6.30pm train if luck is on my side and arriving back in my flat just after 7.30pm. And I’m bloody exhausted.
One day a week is not a lot but I’m also trying to balance my university degree which has ramped up a considerable amount this semester. We have three weeks left of term (when this post goes live, I’ll have just about two and a half) and in that time I have to produce two presentations and three essays, one of those essays has a word count of 5000 words. Bearing in mind, I’ve already written two 2000-2500 word essays this semester alongside an 1000 word seminar paper and two presentations. I have had a lot of coursework.
Combined with all the reading that is involved to make those essays and presentations possible and the reading that is involved so I don’t look like a total moron in seminars (just a bit of a moron). I also read a play a week for one of my modules and not the fun kind, I try wrap my head around ancient Greek comedy which is actually more of a hoot than you would expect.
I also run my blog. To most, this won’t seem like a big deal, and it is my own choice to do so but honestly, it is the only thing that keeps me sane a lot of the time. But I want my blog to do well and be proud of the things I push out into the digital world so I try to post three coherent posts a week that I think are of a decent standard combined with photos that represent my style and what I like. I have commitments to people who aren’t just me when it comes to The Monday Project: collaborations I’ve agreed to, books I’ve been sent that I need to read to review, adventures that I need to write about and pictures to compose for Instagram.
And in amongst all this, I also want to have a life. So that when I have grandchildren (if) I can tell them things about the years of my life that transpired between 2015 and 2019 that don’t include work and studying.
I want to catch up with other bloggers at events, I want to go for coffee and for dinner and the movies with my friends. I want to drink and dance and be sick in the toilet after one too many. I want to go home for the weekend and lie on the sofa all day. I want to cuddle with my dog and go for bacon rolls with my parents and take blog photos outside.
So when one of my co-workers at the antiques said to me at work that it was so good that I came from Glasgow as it showed how keen I was, I laughed it off, joking about how little class time I had at university and how I’m not that busy. This isn’t true at all.
This isn’t a woe-is-me post, I love how busy I am and I get to do all these wonderful things. I guess I’m writing this post as a reminder to myself next time I’m beating myself about not doing something to standard I want or I have a bad day. That things are actually going okay and I’m not falling apart or failing as drastically as I imagine. And perhaps one day soon, I’ll learn to stop being so hard on myself and just be proud.
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