Caregivers Anonymous

A few weeks ago I vented wrote a post about being a stay-at-home caregiver that I ended up scrapping. It was defensive and overall negative in tone and in the end not what I wanted to send out into the world.

People are judgmental. It feels hardwired into our society, a kind of self-soothing defense mechanism for some. When you are, by all appearances, a fully functioning adult living in the modern world, if you are not fitting into a particular idea - be it size, race, religion, gender, employment, sexual orientation, child-bearing status, etc - people let you know. And if you hit several boxes that go against perceived 'norms', hang on for dear life.

Last week, when things felt a little meltdown-y in my personal space, I was at the pharmacy for what felt like hours trying to getting something straightened out about a prescription. The pharmacy team at my pharmacy are my own personal angels and go above and beyond to help out when doctor's offices, insurance companies and suppliers are an issue. (That being said, it can be discouraging to have spent so much time at a pharmacy that you get to know each other well. Also? I just spend way too much time there. It's exhausting.) While waiting for the problematic prescription to finally be filled, one of the staff asked me if I was off work that day. Remembering my caregiver post-that-wasn't, I paused and said this is my job. I got a puzzled look from everyone behind the counter and instantly a defensive smirk twisted my lips. I explained I don't work outside of the house (and fought the urge to say 'anymore', as though to somehow prove my worth) and that I take care of my older folks.

In response, a deflated expression and a neutral, "That's a full time job."

You have no idea. Literally, no idea. These people who fill my mom's multitude of anti-psychotics... they don't know that today I talked my mom out of suggesting to my dad that he should divorce her because she's got too many problems and he should be able to lead a happier life. They don't know what it takes to get her to bathe, eat properly, just live. They don't know that she went so far out into the galaxy two nights ago and was so hysterical, new medicine be damned, that I wasn't sure I'd be able to calm her down.

I have found that the majority of people who don't have to hide some level of distaste at my answer are the ones who have had to or currently provide care for someone. I wonder too, if some of the responses are because my taking care of my parents brings up an uncomfortable topic. Parents aging. Parents being sick. Parents dying. Death in general.

Tomorrow, I will take my dad in for the first of two surgeries. He's all but climbing the walls with anxiety. And I may have to order a tranq gun from a zoo if my mom worries about it much more. My dad doesn't like to include himself in my 'caregiving' umbrella, and he can think that all he likes, but I know better. I re-wrote his pre-op instructions so he could follow what he had to do the past few days easier. He still skipped around the page and took medications out of order or missed something. He gets aggravated that I checked, but I caught and corrected the issue. His idea of making dinner if I'm not around is to cook meat. No vegetables. No sides. Just meat. The man who gave me hell for wasting electricity by watching music videos instead of listening to the radio now leaves the television and lights on in every room he's goes through during the day.

The funny thing is, if I had been able to have children, a lot of the looks and comments I get about being a caregiver would be replaced in the working mom/stay-at-home mom wars. When I tell certain women that I have news or something in my life has changed, I'm asked one of two questions. Did I get a job (finally)? or Am I having a baby (also, finally)?

So how do you define yourself when society dictates that you must have value by virtue of your career or your family? How do you ignore the scoffs and derision from the people judging you? Even your own family perhaps. How do you stifle anger or hurt when 'friends' or relatives make comments about all the free time you must have?

By owning who you are. By accepting you're doing what needs to be done. By not seeking validation & accepting none is needed. By realizing that every person has their own issues and you don't need to be sucked into their negativity. It's as simple and as difficult as that. It's a process, as everything else in life is.

In the grand scheme of what's going on in the world, this is not something that keeps me up at night. It's like a gnat, irritating and in your face at times, but temporary. Then again, if you can work on that inner peace I keep seeing lovely brochures for, maybe you can send out more peace and love in the world.

Growing Pains

In the grand scheme of life, I don't have any answers. I don't know how you stop violence. I don't know how you put an end to corruption. I don't understand people who are threatened by someone different than them having equal rights. I cannot comprehend the pervasive ignorance that seems ready to rip apart our society.

What strikes me at the moment, aside from the breathtaking ignorance regarding so many issues and just general day to day humanity, is the way some people point to each and every upheaval as proof the end times are upon us. Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, famine, strife, you name it, it's a sign the end is nigh.

Surely in the history of the world, these things have never, ever occurred before. It's got to be a sign of something... more.

When I was a kid, I had a big hang up on death. An elementary school student with panic attacks about the End. I didn't even know anyone who died until I was about 12 years old, and it was a great aunt I'd met maybe twice. But I would silently freak out in science class whenever any topic strayed into the idea of large scale, cosmic disaster. It seemed at least once a year some cult or religion (but mostly cults) were predicting the Big End. It terrified me. The designated day would come and go and I'd slowly relax until the next headline about a close call with an asteroid, a massive volcanic eruption, nuclear weapons, civil war in foreign countries, killer bees, ozone depletion, or wackjob predicting a great spaceship was coming to save the true believers. Y2K. 9/11. Mayan calendar. I got older, predictions and disasters kept coming.

At every turn, inevitably people commented on the surety that The End was a sneeze away. And if you're a history buff at all like me, you'll realize that's the way it's been for all of recorded human history. Thunder once meant the gods were angry.

I'm one of those weird people who doesn't believe science and faith have to be mutually exclusive. There is a clear, rational scientific reason for thunder. And the rain that hopefully coincides with it is so needed in my area most people I know cheer on the sound and hope it's building to a decent storm.

My point is there has been mass genocide throughout history. Forgetful and willfully ignorant, it repeats. Women, men, color, religion, sexual orientation, political leaning, location, star-bellied or none upon thars, there's a mass casualty situation for just about anyone. There has been mass destruction and loss of life from volcanoes, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, fires, droughts, etc since the dawn of life. In the United States, as I expect in many other countries, there are building codes and public safety systems in place to help prevent the kind of loss of life that has happened before. Natural disasters are not a modern experience.

NOAA's historic hurricane landfall map - 150 years worth

For every disease we seem to get a handle on, something newer, scarier and more deadly seems to appear. I remember the rampant and aggressive ignorance surrounding the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. How horrifying was Ebola when you first heard about it? Today's disease du jour is Zika. In WWII, aside from STDs, there were still fully operational tuberculosis sanitariums. I had a relative die in one. Smallpox, measles, cholera, bubonic plague, malaria, even the flu wiped out scores of people.

Man, is this a lighthearted romp of a post or what?

As far as the faith side of things, I want to believe that humanity has come so far. I know we have so much more to go. I have a hard time accepting, at least from other perfectly imperfect humans, that The End is upon us. Fear, panic, a need to reconcile atrocities committed by one another is what I think fuels these predictions.

Life has this way of moving on.

The painful lurches in our society at the moment? That's progress trying to claw its way out. Growth hurts. I really, deeply, sincerely wish it didn't have to. I would love for hateful people to wake up one morning with widespread epiphanies causing people to be kind to one another, accepting, tolerant, respectful. So that's what I see going on (hopefully). Not a sure sign of The End (knock on wood), but the signs that growth is coming.

What's a few cards between friends?

6 months ago, I posted my first 'paranormal' themed blog post. Not that the weird and unexplained is ever far from my mind, but I'm a little surprised it's taken me so long to find the subject... well.. topical again. In that previous blog post, Its beginning to look a lot like orbs, a group of friends and I ventured out into the crisp Florida winter's night (on a random night when sweatshirts were indeed required) to a small community known for Spritiualism and psychic/mediums.

Scary movies and the odd suggestion of doing something different (spooky different) finally gave way to a friend giving me a tarot card reading tonight. In a well lit, national brand coffee shop. Because, well, why not?

Now, a few things to begin with. I believe in the possibility of just about anything, but I'm skeptical to my core. There are charlatans at every corner, people who believe they can do things they can't, and the odd person who has really, strangely accurate gut instincts. And let's not even dive into the philosophical debate of free will versus fate. (I mean, we could. I love that kind of stuff. But, you know, not the point here.) So for my thinking, having tarot cards read or a psychic reading or what have you varies from wildly entertaining to ho-hum. The point being, I don't live and plan based on the few random times I've experienced these things. I know some people do, and I mean no offense. For me, to date, I've not been bowled over by these particular experiences. But I'm open to the idea that I may cross paths with someone who is able to convince me of their authenticity.

This tarot experience evolved from our first outing to the Spiritualist tour. After a few people mentioned they hadn't had a psychic reading before or were interested in having their cards read, our friend C.Robin (Name changed to reflect, you know, privacy or something & not what they call him at the coffee shop) casually let us know he was well versed and willing to do a reading.

Here's the first thing I learned. You've got to make the request. After the offer was made, I waited and waited for the reading opportunity to present itself. No dice. I slid it into conversation on occasion. Interest was there, but again, no dice. I began to think maybe it was an offer politely made but not meant. About a month ago, give or take my inability to keep track of time, in conversation C.Robin mentioned that he couldn't just present the cards. We needed to ask, to have a question in mind. Oh. Ohhhhh. I had no idea there were rules when instigating metaphysical shenanigans between friends. See? You learn something new everyday.

As a kid, I didn't stay up late at sleep overs trying to call forth the spirits of serial killers specializing in pre-adolescent girls in a bathroom mirror. Or any spirits, for that matter. I asked for a ouija board on birthday and Christmas lists for years - to no avail. My interest in the weird and otherworldly seemed not to be shared with my friends, except for a friend of mine at about 10 or 11 who implored me to read a book his church produced on the evils of ouija boards. I lost the book at a scouting sleep over, which upset me more because I kinda liked this boy and not because I found the book riveting. Outside of reading my copy of Scary Stories or picking up the newest children's ghost book at the library, I didn't have much in the way of practical knowledge. Though I kind of doubt if I had played Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board it would have helped much now.

The second thing I was told is I had to have a specific question. Well hell's bells. My questions have questions. What is the meaning of life (42, duh), can humans achieve world peace, do I really have a shot winning the Publisher's Clearing house sweepstakes?  (Does that even still exist?) Am I taking this less seriously than I should? I feel like it, and yet, the whole thing left me a little giddy. So many books and movies and shows make use of the idea of tarot cards and divination. And here I am finally having my cards read by someone without a financial stake in how I'll take the session.

Have I mentioned I'm cynical? Most of my psychic readings end up with the person asking me for advice. WTF?! And yet, I'm entertained and curious enough to be willing to go once in a great while.

So the cards were put in order while I gleefully looked on. Like a kid at Christmas if I'm being honest. C.Robin proceeded to guide me through the process, card info, who could touch cards when, how things could be interpreted. All the things you could use to get someone to relax and then engage in casual conversation to glean info for a reading. As a starting place to help interpret the cards or to collect info to determine what the person is looking for. Depending on how you view it. And my friend? Oh he's good. If you don't have info on how charlatans work, if you don't find it fascinating how magicians do slight of hand or misdirection, if you are all in on the moment, it's a heck of show. I was entertained.

I'm sure the baristas were as well. Possibly a customer or two on the way to the restrooms. One thing I wasn't sure: is there coffee drinking etiquette when your cards are being read? I didn't think to ask before we got started, but I kept reaching for my cup and stopping short. Mostly, I didn't want to transfer condensation from my cup to the cards and ruin them. But, on the chance any of my energy or life is tied to these cards, I didn't want any problems. Like a coffee bean monster materializing or something.

What was my question and what came of my reading? First, I'm happy to report that no one came up to us and threw any religious symbols in our faces during the reading. Some of the people around here, you just never know. And my question? Well, for the purpose of this first tarot reading, I went a little obvious (at least I think so) and asked about writing/publication in my (more broadly my writing friends') future. My reasoning is this: while my friend has no financial stake in my reading, he does know things about me which might potentially lend itself to direct his interpretation of cards. Also? I have so many questions, but very few things I don't believe are flexible in their outcome so not a whole lot stuck out as something to ask.

As far as the reading, I felt like we should have been in Vegas in the middle of roulette and black jack tables. I jokingly referred to feeling like he should ask me to follow the card like in 3 card monte. He was being a showman and could probably make decent money at a fair or for a Halloween party hosting a tarot card reading table. Something to think about for a little extra holiday money, eh?

I shuffled my cards and was immediately reminded of my total lack of finesse at shuffling ordinary playing cards. I set them down after a few fumbled attempts.

"You done?"

"Yep."

"What makes you think you've shuffled the cards enough?" I watched C.Robin, a smile splitting my face, thoroughly enjoying the whole thing.

"'Cause it felt like it." I laughed. The more accurate answer? Because I felt like a dork if I shuffled those cards much longer. It felt like they needed a lot more shuffling. Performance anxiety.

The starter package, as I'll refer to the beginning of the reading, was heavy on the sword imagery.

Oh dear. Chaos. Upheaval. Not necessarily regarding my question, just about my life in general. I laughed, as I did most of the reading. Tell me something I don't know. Perhaps more to the point, tell me something YOU don't know. It's easy to see how quickly someone who wants to believe can be sucked in. Most of my cards were facing away from me, showing I didn't shuffle enough something being inverted or turned on its or my head. Family, something that impacts my family from long ago coming to the surface. C.Robin pointed out I had a tell there. And I knew it. It didn't happen instantly, maybe 30 seconds into his explanation of the card he was pointing to. My brain sorted through what could apply to this and *ding* we have a winner.

As C.Robin and I kvetch about our families regularly, sharing war stories if you will, it isn't at all shocking for him to get a hit by relating my cards to family. We had literally just talked about them by text an hour or two earlier. And there are few things that I discuss with as much openness as my family. It is, generally speaking, a sweet spot if you're going to read me. That's probably true with most people. I find most of my friends become animated at the mention of the weird thing their parents just did or their pain in the ass sibling. It's easy to get a reaction to work with and go from their. It's also just a universal concern. Family, strife, concern, love, old wounds.

Moving on to our lightning round, the cards that were specifically drawn to answer my posed question. Kind of less swords, but then a dead end. Family pulls at my endeavor and that's not going to change. I need to put myself first for a while. I write to escape, probably because of my family. And if I continue on with the way I'm doing things now, the dead end is the answer to my question. The writing career is not going anywhere in terms of making money. So sayeth the cards. C.Robin ended with things are able to be changed, nothing's set in stone, etc and so forth. But did I want to draw a final card? In all honesty, he started to explain that I may not want to because it's a 50/50 chance... and my brain was already manically chanting "Do it! Do it!" so I may have ignored a helpful warning. Or a recipe for spaghetti bolognese. I'll never know because I went for what was behind door number 2.

*Gong*

And that card, ladies and gentlemen, was heartbreak. I almost fell off the chair laughing. I know I clapped.

I was thoroughly entertained. And I deeply appreciate C.Robin taking the time out from his evening of writing to indulge a near life-long curiosity of mine. I suspect we have more notes to compare about our personal interests and experiences in this stuff. I need to buy him a cookie or coffee. And one of these days we need to keep the laptops safely stowed away in our bags and in the bone-melting light of day, compare those potentially strange notes. Like ghost hunts, dreams as omens, the unexplainable, the charlatans who make for good tv watching, things that made our hair stand on edge. You know, the basics.

I do see a practical kind of use for tarot cards, outside of general interest. In my bare bones skim of tarot info once I got home, I came across a mention of tarot cards being used along with meditation. C.Robin mentioned them being useful for personal reflection in that manner as well. A kind of focal point, if you will, for figuring out what's on your mind and puzzling through it. And anything that helps you figure out something for yourself gets a thumbs up from me.

Maybe at some point I'll do a little more research and even (finally) invest in my own deck. Until now, and my on-going shuffling issue aside, I've long considered tarot cards something I wouldn't necessarily be able to figure out on my own. And this first reading, much of what C.Robin explained to me is lost to the ages. Queen of Swords, Page of Wands (I think), a card with a burial chamber and a bunch of cards with swords everywhere. Then again, considering my extensive interests and hobbies and the information overload, maybe I'll stick to less detailed forms of meditation and personal insight.

Also, there would be much shuffling.

Special thanks again to C.Robin for the entertaining conversation and showing off his tarot skills.

Good luck campers!

Tomorrow kicks off the 2nd (and final) Camp NaNoWriMo for the year.

I'm not participating. Again.

I tried the virtual writing camp once, coming off my first full on NaNoWriMo experience. Maybe it was because I was in a 'cabin' with all local writers and not being placed with others writing similar genres. Maybe it was because your goal is made up by you (and I have a complete disregard for myself). Maybe it was because my clinical bitchy resting face is spreading to my brain. The event just didn't do it for me quite like the madcap November escapade did.

I can tell myself to write 500 words a day and fail spectacularly on any day of the year, thank you very much. No need to join a website to do it. Or get asked for donations at every turn.

That was... bitchy. And unnecessarily so.

The truth is, this current writing backlash is my own personal demon. Just because this particular incarnation of a writing activity didn't send me to the heights of creative glory before, doesn't even mean it wouldn't work for me now. The shiny inner child inside thinks it's a fantastic idea and I should totally join in. Oh inner child, your enthusiasm knows no bounds. My inner teenager seems to be more vocal.

I love the idea of writing activities throughout the year. If you've read my blow-by-blow of NaNoWriMo, you'll be aware I complain (at great length) about the timing of it. But it is a relief sad when it's over. Maybe I should give camp another run in the future. I probably have sold the experience short or focused on what I felt I wasn't getting out of it instead of rising to meet a writing goal.

There is no perfect place/time/situation to write (or anything else for that matter). So kudos (a word I don't think I've ever used verbally) to those who are choosing to make the extra effort this July to work on their writing projects. Keep going!

The Olympic Choice

I had a different post all put together and even posted it briefly. About 30 minutes after I did, I wanted to take it down. Revamp it. So I did. After spending hours, yes hours, on getting it close enough just right, I've decided to go in a different direction.

I may revisit that diatribe in the future. But the tone as it stands bothered me. Because I'm trying to rework my brain back to being more positive. The nice thing about this blog is it gives me an instant forum to work through thoughts or events as I experience them. The unfortunate thing about this blog is exactly the same thing. Not everything I want to vent about needs to see the light of day. Some things can be addressed in a different approach once the initial flood of what.I.feel.in.this.moment passes.

So while I wrote and it felt damn good to express myself, where do I go next to try to keep my blog updated on a (fairly) regular basis? First thing that came to mind was the Olympics.

When I was a kid, I loved, loved, loved watching the Olympics. Swimming most especially, followed by figure skating, gymnastics and diving. I entertained dreams of being an Olympic swimmer for a few brief, naive years. Some of which I maybe didn't even know how to swim yet. What can I say, imagination was always my strong suit.

I vividly remember staying up late into the night in the summer to watch all kinds of competition during my last pre-teen summer games. This was back when the winter and summer games weren't staggered two years apart like they are now. My interest in the games waned during the awkward teenage thru mid-twenties decade.

For the first time probably ever, I've been watching the US Olympic trials this week. It's something my father-in-law and I do together. My husband's family have been fans of collegiate/"amateur" sports. My dad watches pro, American football and that's about it. While I can't sit through the college world series... or whatever it's called, my father-in-law is tickled to come into the living room and I already have the Olympic coverage ready to go for us.

I can't imagine the pressure these athletes face. I also can't imagine what it's like to have literally millions of people cheering you on. It is the kind of heroic inspiration that I direct into my characters as they face their own situations. It is the kind of unity I wish the world population could get behind on a more regular basis to be more human to each other. Millions of people collectively screaming at the judges of gymnastics for an undeserved deduction. Millions of people holding their breath as the diver breaks through the surface of the water awaiting splash or no splash. Millions of people overwhelmed with pride, tears leaking from the corner of eyes as someone overcomes adversity/injury/being dead last to excel and stick the landing, cross the line first, make history.

I'm a little sad that the coming games are being overshadowed by a virus and the potential of facilities not being ready. It's not right that people with Olympic dreams and talent have had to make the choice to skip these games because of that virus. It's not fair for people to make the team, take the risk and not even have a prepared, even playing field ready to go. Such is life. I'm sure the athletes involved, the ones who truly deserve their place, will make the best of it.

Enjoy! Cheer! Marvel at 12 pack abs & buns of steel! Embrace good sportsmanship! Wear clean underwear! You can do it!

Climbing out of the rut

I should be writing. The lost in thought, internal movie playing, searching for just the right way to describe, squeezing blood onto the page exquisite agony.

But, like an unfocused, scared, doody head, I'm not. I'm blogging. And not that there is anything wrong with blogging - when anyone but me does it. But when I do it, when I'm put together 3+ posts in a row on varying topics and have another halfway completed one in my brain... well, I'm stalling.

Writer's block? I don't know that it really applies. I don't lack for ideas, regardless of quality. I don't lack for characters. Even when I struggle to find a particular way to phrase something for days on end. I don't think writer's block is really the issue. Unless my view of writer's block is narrow or lacking perspective.

Regrettably, I think I'm in the territory of pullum stercore. See? 'Cause wasting the time to look up how to say chicken shit was such a brilliant use of my time.

If I remark, for surely the four hundredth time on here, that it's been an off kind of time lately for not just me but plenty of the people I know, I'm not covering any new territory here. I feel dangerously close to wallowing. Which probably means I've been wallowing for some time and I'm getting uncomfortable as self-awareness dawns.

The writing community around my area has ebbed. The kick in the pants of getting together regularly that may have helped me get my groove back when I personally hit a nonproductive rut, is kind of having an off year as well. Not that my lack of motivation/energy/mental state is their fault. Or their problem. It's always going to come back to me. I finished one manuscript in artistic isolation. I don't really have an excuse. But if you've got a few minutes, I could readily expound on any number of reasons (*cough* rationalizing *cough*).

And I know I'm not alone. Not alone with struggling to get my rhythm back. Not alone struggling to make progress and keep up a viable momentum with life projects. Not alone, period.This past week I met up with friends several times. Went & saw a movie that gave me full on goosebumps for the first time in I can't remember when. We took in a regional attraction, and though underwhelmed, got in some exploring and tested out a new coffee shop. And chattered at one another.

It's helpful for morale. Alas, I'm still ankle-deep in a blog post.

I have been thinking about trying a different genre on for size. And then I get lost in an internal debate about am I just not finishing other projects I'm starting or realizing I need a change of pace? Overthinking until I cannot make a move.

Out of fear. Fear of being rubbish. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of success. Fear of being overwhelmed.

Out of guilt. There is so much I should/could be doing at the moment instead of playing make believe and dream of being a 'respected' *cough* paid *cough* author some day.

Self-inflicted mumbo jumbo drives so much of our own inner crap. And in the interest of being honest, it is this self-inflicted crap that is tying me in knots. I work out my inner sludge through writing. I entertain myself through writing. I express myself, liberate myself, unburden thousands of chaotic thoughts through writing. So when I notice that I've stopped reading, that I've pulled away from my characters and stories, that new ideas are no longer coming to me rapidfire, I'm in a muddy, stinking rut. I've let my self-inflicted crap get the better of me. It serves no purpose other than to make me feel less than and effectively take away that which personally brings me joy.

I'd love to finish this post with some rah-rah go get 'em ending. I'm still detached. I'm still sad. I do see the dawning of a new day and I know this will pass. I will make progress. I will get back into my writing groove. I will finish a project. And then another one. And then the next.

Respecting yourself

Even yourself

Self Judgement. Isn't that what we all think about in the wee hours of the morning on nights we can't sleep? Well, that and at least 5 dozen other rapidly shifting thoughts. It hasn't been a good week so far for sleep.

Contrary to what some may believe, I'm oh so aware of my short comings. They are plentiful. Just because I am working on this 'let it go' stage of life doesn't mean my own bullshit smells like a patch of petunias. I will never be the person I secretly long to be. Never making mistakes. Always on the ball. Manners and social grace for days. In short, perfect. Because it doesn't exist - or so I try to convince myself whenever I come across someone seemingly capable of it all.

Most (half to a solid two-thirds, maybe) days? I accept it and move on. Now. After a lot of behind the scenes inner dialogue. Unneeded agony. Internal melodrama.

Those demons and voices in your head, the ones that sound suspiciously like bitchy Aunt Irma, bigoted Grandpa Sal, a parent, a heard of catty heifers from middle school, a backstabbing confidant and so on? The ones who mock and systematically detail your every fault? It's like the wizard in Emerald City, baby. Clear the smoke and mirrors, pull aside the curtains and find a scrappy, dejected version of yourself.

Oh, to go back and shut that shit down sooner. Oh the grace I'd like to allow myself to have that I so willingly grant to others without thought. And the other others? The ones who you & I steadfastly believe have.their.shit.together? The ones you just know don't even break a sweat in the face of what keeps you up at night? They've dealt with or are still dealing with their own inner cacophony, too.

More to the point, what I wouldn't do for those I love and care about to be able to shut that shit down A. at all & B. without the lengthy & painful learning process. Just rip out all the pesky years of self loathing. And the reality is not everyone is going to learn how to love themselves. To accept themselves, warts, short tempers, catty moments, duh moments and all. But I so hope that you make the effort.

One thing about being shy and every kind of socially awkward is that it can be hard to open up to others about the things you're internally taking off points for. You sit and stew in the idea of you're a freak and nobody, nowhere else on the planet does whatever horrific thing(s) you believe makes you so unworthy. Because remember, in your mind, everybody else has all this stuff figured out from the word go. Few things bring as much relief to someone locking themselves up in their own personal judgement spiral as hearing the phrase "I do that, too!" when you're sure revealing a closely guarded weird factoid mundane personal bit of trivia is about to inspire fainting spells and gasps of horror from the mild mannered people around you.

Have you committed genocide? I seriously doubt if you're reading this that you have, so stop treating yourself as though you have.

But it can be hard to let go of that feeling. I totally get it.  And as in so many other things in life, you are not alone. There is a whole tribe of people afraid of how they'll come across so they just hide. (Or so I tell myself...)

I talk a good game in my blog posts about liking myself. About learning to accept myself and letting go of the negativity. It is a work in progress. But it is such a refreshing change of pace from the more traditional and socially accepted practice of never feeling good enough. I strive to create that inner peace. I strive to forgive myself and forgive other people. Oh, is that ever a work in progress. But it's active.

There is no manual that everyone else got, but somehow missed you. That 'perfect' person you're comparing yourself to? I'd be willing to be money they are as imperfect as you with the stomach flu horror story to prove it. Vomit and diarrhea, the great equalizers.

OR

There are people, far more qualified, far more eloquent, yada, yada, so on and so forth, who have said it better. And probably without the bodily fluids reference. Maybe not.

Like I said, better.

Respect yourself. Forgive yourself for being wonderfully imperfect. Accept yourself.

And for crying out loud, find a better hobby than writing blog posts before the butt crack of dawn when you can't sleep at night. And once you find it, let me know. No macramé. Also, fun fact, needlework makes me swear. A whole lot. So something quiet so I don't wake the house up. Like reading my library book. Or finger painting. Or making Christmas ornaments. Or figuring out world peace. Or finishing my friend's amazingly good manuscript that I shamefully have had for too long without giving helpful feedback. I'm an awful person. 

So tired.