I had a bad day today. Well, to be honest, I’ve been having a lot of bad days lately. Days that seem like they’ll never end. Or the kind of days where they all start to blend together into the same continuous motion.
I no longer see the week as 7 days; I see it as one long day because I’m repeating what’s happening from the minute I wake up to the minute I put my face on my pillow and close my eyes.
Why did nobody tell me that when I got older I start to lose my spark and joy? No one ever told me life was supposed to be like this. Then again, it’s not like I was handed a pamphlet on how to navigate my life, much less my twenties. I always envisioned my twenties to be better than my teens. But it’s pretty much the same, minus the awkward phases and firsts.
I’m still stressed, except now it’s with work. I’m still sad, except it’s the finally diagnosed depression and anxiety telling me that I’m not good enough. I’m still struggling with my body, except this time I push through with eating every meal a day and don’t listen to the negative comments people make. I’m still feeling alone, except now I have more friends I can talk to and we can relate to one another.
I have a calendar I ordered from Amazon that hangs above my desk. And sometimes when I don’t even realize it, I look up and see everything I have written on it. All the things I jotted down that I feel the need to get done in a single day. And then when I can barely make my bed on some days I get upset with myself because I failed and wasted a day.
But let me tell you something that even I need to hear and start to believe more: you are doing just fine.
Do you know how hard it is to live? To wake up and decide that I have two options, either stay in bed and let the day go, or get up and make the most of it. I feel like people, especially myself, have been putting so much immense pressure on ourselves to be the best version of ourselves. Sometimes, we’re not even close to the person we’re trying so hard to be.
I give and put so much into what I do, that I forget sometimes that I’m my own person. I’m a human being with a beating heart, feet that have kept me moving through all the shit I’ve been through, and hands to help raise me from the ground when I get knocked down. I’m not put on this earth to wake up, go to a job, come home, and repeat.
And it took me a while to realize that. Trying to understand the difference between being busy and being overworked. But I’ve started to listen to my body and mind when it comes to that and if I need to take a break, I’m allowing myself to do it. In fact, I give myself permission to have slower days. To have days where I plan nothing and don’t feel sorry about it. To have days where I do all the things I love and don’t for a second think about the deadlines, the unfinished work, or the next day.
I’m putting myself first, and I hope you start to do the same thing to. You owe yourself that much.
Most likely writing in my journals or notes in my phone, burying my face in a book, at a concert, laughing or eating fries. Recent college graduate with a ridiculous dream of wanting to write for a living.