I had nothing prepared today, and I was on the verge of letting a Wednesday slide. Of forgiving myself for being tired and depressed and worn out by this year. Of not starting a downward spiral of shame that leads me straight back into a blanket cocoon where nothing gets done.
And, I’ll admit, I was a little proud of myself. I’m almost thirty-five and finally, FINALLY, I’m allowing myself to be human and flawed.
But then I got to thinking.
I thought about my bullet journal that I skipped weeks in. How I just ignored those and started this week’s spread. How I didn’t dwell on the blank page in March that is normally for tracking. That I actually drew. In my bullet journal. And then posted a picture of it online.
And sure, I traced a bit of it and copied the rest, but that’s more than I’ve done in over twenty years.
From there, I thought about the files I’d cleaned out. Actually taking the time to file properly instead of shoving them all in a bag, tossing that bag in the attic, and promptly forgetting they ever existed. The budget I’d balanced. The checkbook register I’d filled out.
The spreadsheets I’d gone back and fixed instead of archiving and starting over…
I considered the selfies I’ve been taking. The ones I use to accept myself and any physical imperfections I might believe I have. The ones I hate in myself while cherishing in others.
I acknowledge that I’ve accepted the fact that I like being femme while also not forcing myself to fit the femme ideal.
I recognize that I can talk about myself without feeling vain.
That I can voice my desires without feeling selfish. (Yes, I would like either a carrot cake, any kind of cake with raspberry, or tiramisu for my birthday but if you get me an Oreo cake I will shove it in your face… I do not like them and I’m sick of receiving them.)
I also note, with pride, that I finally started spelling receiving right.
But most importantly, I’m learning that it’s okay to still be learning. That while my parents appeared to have their shit together while I was a child, they didn’t. Few people actually do, and no one is actually perfect.
But that’s okay! We can all always make progress. And even the tiniest of steps are still us moving forward.
And when we don’t make progress in awhile? Well, that’s okay. We all need to rest sometimes too.
I think what I’m trying to say is that it’s almost my birthday and you should get me a unicorn…
If you can’t, then instead try to love yourself. Just a little bit. Even if it’s just allowing yourself the time to cry because you’re not who you want to be or where you want to be. Yet.
It’s okay. You’re okay. And darling, I adore you.
Like what I’m doing here? Consider buying me a trinket for my birthday…