Learning

I just read a post today by my beautiful friend Amanda. Call me a bit of a blogarcheologist.

It's an old post, but I always find so many new gems in her past writing, as she writes with an amazing awareness of who she is, and bravely confronts challenges with amazing wit, emotion and positivity. Forgive me, sweets, for using one of your statements in this post, I hope that's okay.

For the most part, as I've looked back at the last few years, I've noticed that my attitude has changed towards myself and life in general. My writing has gotten stronger, more sarcastic, funnier, a bit more ballsy. I like that. I'm proud of it. I'm celebrating a new part of myself this year and we're tackling a lot more amazing things than we ever thought we would. But we all have days, right?

And yesterday was a bit of a step back.

In Amanda's post, she wrote: So, I'm not perfect, this I know. I can be righteous and demanding, expecting more than most people are willing or able to give. I am annoying because I hold myself to the same standards and for the most part I make good, which can border on martyrdom.

That hit a tremendous chord for me. Brutal truth: I can be really curt, unforgiving, controlling and expect everything and everyone to be as perfect as I try to be. And if I feel hurt or disappointed in someone, I take it as a personal offense- as if someone doesn't give a rat's ass about me and has hurt me on purpose. It's a trait that I've had for as long as I can remember, and it's something that's been a battle to change. Almost harder than accepting that I have a serious addiction to Mexican food.

This post, and the lesson that came with it, was triggered by a simple phrase the other night: "My company is throwing a party for me and my colleague next week."

"Oh, can I come?" I said.

"Well, it's just the work crowd, it's not like a fancy party where people bring other halves, so you'd probably be bored to tears hearing me talk about myself and the business the whole time and standing there while we all get sloshed."

I bristled. I felt left out. Instead of saying "yeah, you're probably right", my brain flashed backwards. My memories of the past became razor-sharp and I threw them at him like darts, without taking a breath. Remember those times when you said oh, its just a work party and you strolled home at 5am? Remember when I kept asking to go with you to work functions and you always felt like you wanted time to yourself at these things? Why is it that other couples manage to go to things together and you feel it necessary to keep your private life separate from work? Why do you leave me out of these obviously fun events and I'm stuck at home knowing that I'm missing something? Why can't I come too??

Oh, fuck.

He looked like I had just slapped him. And I instantly regretted the viciousness of my tone.

The past is never relevant to a present argument, but I used it as ammunition. I was whining. I was spinning in my insecurity like those cotton candy-making machines.

It was a bad moment for me, and I probably should've walked away to cool down. But I forced myself to talk about why I was feeling like that. I forced myself to confront it and rip off the perversely comforting shield of insecurity that I've used so often. I dealt with it. And he listened, though understandably felt a bit hurt.

I dwell sometimes. I analyse too much. Especially about things and people that I cannot control. I'm still trying to figure out why, but I think it stems from some kind of fear of failure. Fear of my own failure. Fear that people will fail me. Fear of disappointment that things won't always be perfect (whatever that means). I feel like, if I hold myself to certain standards, I think others should be the same. Should be like me. It's rather unforgiving for the other people in my life, because it doesn't celebrate their differences. It punishes them for their faults.

For the people that know me, they can probably say that I am not a malicious person, I'm very loyal, and I love very strongly- even though it makes the above paragraph maybe bit contradictory. I'm just recognising that there are some residual bad habits that have a tendency to poke me if I'm feeling vulnerable, and entice me to fall into my familiar trough. I haven't felt this way in a long time, so it came as a bit of a surprise for me, hence the self-psychoanalysis.

It's my duty to talk about the fact that yes, I can be insecure and not recognise my strengths. No, I'm not perfect. Yes, it's okay to be angry that these moments happen. No, it's not okay to punish people for being different. Life is about missteps. The lessons in the failings. Laughing about the mud that gets on your knees when you fall forward.

And I'm pretty happy that I have a partner that no matter how hard it gets, he reminds me to do this and just start again:

(yes, my haircut and colour wasn't a disaster)