I don’t tend to do New Years resolutions. For one thing, January doesn’t feel like the start of anything for me. From the time I was very young I have considered a year to go from September through August – and when I say something happened ‘last year’ that is often the time frame I am going by.
For another thing, I don’t tend to stick to things long enough to say, “this year I am going to…” and mean it. I get burnt out too fast. I get overwhelmed too fast. I quickly fail. Again and again I fail. I really don’t need anything more to be considered failures for me as I carry them all around with me, and they weigh me down, and make it harder and harder to do anything well (or even have the energy to try.)
So I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, and this year is no exception.
Only I have been thinking about this a lot.
I am a compulsive person. I need routine. I need to know what is expected of me – even if I am the one putting those expectations on myself. I don’t do well with open ended suggestions, or time frames, or flexible commitments (what does that even mean?!)
Because of this I tend to push myself way beyond what is good for me (though I do realize it isn’t much in terms of what other people do) and I… make a mess of things. I push myself, and push myself to keep these commitments – and while I am keeping them, I am failing.
Take this blog, for instance (and for instance here means this is what I am talking about.)
In the beginning I was writing six days a week. My decision – not based on what anyone else asked for – yet a commitment just the same. I pushed myself to burn out, and finally decided to go down to three days a week.
That was more manageable (after all, most of my posts take less than 20 minutes to write – and it isn’t like I am doing much else) and yet I was still burning out. I have been writing now for 2.5 years, and for the last 7 or 8 months I have been pushing, panicking, overwhelmed trying to schedule three posts for every week.
I keep asking myself that. It isn’t like someone else told me I had to write three posts a week. It isn’t like missing some here and there would have been the end of the world. But I am compulsive, and I couldn’t not write.
Yet I have been painfully aware that because I am pushing beyond what I can handle, I have noticed that my posts (at times) have been suffering. It isn’t even so much that there is a badly written post here and there – that could happen, and I know it does, but… It is that when I am overwhelmed – whenever I am overwhelmed, I tend to become negative and start venting.
It isn’t a good thing.
The purpose I had for writing this blog was to say “Finally I have been diagnosed – now what?” I expected things to get better. I expected maybe that others would understand my struggles more, and that I would understand my struggles more, and that because of that, things would get better.
But I still struggle badly with depression and anxiety – even though I am no longer working. I still struggle with sensory issues, and burnout, and irritation. I still fall into moments of despair.
And I don’t think that it is good for me to be writing so much that I turn this blog into a journal instead. I am trying to remind myself that not everything needs to be shared in order to be honest – I really struggle with over sharing; I have for a long time.
So though it is not like me – and I am not even sure I can function this way – I have decided that it is best to only write my blog when I have something to say. No schedule. No pressure. No venting.
So not like me – yet so what I need, I think.
And this decision, I have to remind myself, is a good thing. This is not failure, this is making the right decisions for me. This is making the right decisions for my family.
This is me trying to live better.