Personal Growth Goals: February 2015

Personal Growth Goals: February

As an adult, I think I’ve (mostly) got my shit together. I’m reasonable when it comes to my finances (go away ULTA/EXPRESS/KOHLS/AMAZON) and I’m semi-successfully holding down a job I really enjoy. By no means am I perfect (in fact, I suck at a lot of things-- I’m okay with this most days), but I think I’m doing pretty well for myself with all things considered.

This aside, there are things about myself that I constantly vow to change (and then I don’t change at all.). Ask any of my coworkers, or friends in recent years, and they’ll tell you about the total mess that is my car. I’ve been historically horrid at keeping a clean vehicle, and the current state of affairs that my somewhat new car is in supports this.

I tell myself constantly that I’m going to clean it up. I’m going to take care of my pretty little red car. I’m gonna do it. I get myself pumped up and then the moment I sit down in the vehicle, I immediately double back on the promises I made myself.

‘It’s too cold.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘I don’t have time today.’

I used to see a therapist when I was younger. I had been through a lot during my 13th year of life and spent a good week in a center for troubled youths. I used to lie awake at night and wonder what everyone around me what do if I were suddenly gone. I would fantasize about disappearing out of my life. I would dream of dying.

Maybe this is normal 13 year old stuff. Maybe not.

These thoughts led me to one day considering and damn near making an attempt on my own life. I thought that I was friendless and alone. I thought that no one would understand the deep waters that I was drowning in. Somedays, I still feel those waters creeping over my head.

I spent 6 days in a home, surrounded by peers of mine who had arguably lived through much worse than I would ever dream of, and when I was allowed to come home, I brought home a new perspective and a pack of little green pills that were supposed to balance me out.

Day three of my stay in said home, I had learned to cut the pills in half because I wouldn’t be able to eat otherwise. I realized that the medicine I was given had a powerful impact on my body and that it wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

I began seeing a therapist, recommended by the therapists that had with me during the worst of it, and she was a wry woman in what I assume was her mid-forties. What I remember most is that she had bright red curly hair and a white board behind her desk. She would often challenge me to think differently, and one time, after learning of my love of Harry Potter, she had pulled out a wand and asked me, “If I could magic away one aspect of your life, what would it be?”

I thought for a moment and replied with one of those instinctual answers that scare you as the words come out of your mouth, but also feel like one of the most truthful things you could say.

“I wish I could magic away my mom’s alcoholism. I don’t want to take anything else away about my life, because it would change who I am, but I would like to get rid of that.”

She paused for a moment, placed the wand back in the box, and took a breath.

“That’s probably one of the best answers I’ve heard yet.”

Now, I don’t want to convey the wrong image here, she and I weren’t always on these great terms where we would dissect the most intimate and frightening parts of my life with the wisdom of much-lived crones. Sometimes, I wanted to pull my headphones out of my backpack and drown her out because I was 13 and I knew everything.

She asked me one day, “How’s school? How do you feel with having changed so much in such a short period of time?”

I responded in a noncommittal way, and she asked about my homework.

My eyes darted to the poster (that I now know was one of M. C. Escher’s works), and I tried to avoid answering. I could see that my response had frustrated her in a bit. When she asked me why I hadn’t done as I’d promised and made a better effort to do my homework, I told her that I simply didn’t have enough time.

I had been at my dad’s, and I had wanted to spend that time with him.

“So, you think your dad would have minded you doing your homework?” She asked pointedly, and I was just beginning to realize the hole I had dug myself into. I stared at the Escher poster again.

“You know what.” She looked at me across her desk, “I was going to try and put a different quote on the board, but I think you’ve just let me know that that’s not the right thing to do. I’ll need to change it back.”

She had said these words calmly, but I felt as if she were shouting at me. I felt my cheeks burn as she erased a quote that I know I would never see again and wrote “NO EXCUSES” in big red letters.

No excuses.

I still think about this moment when I’ve pushed off another Blog Post Tuesday-- a holiday that I put in my calendar so that I would write a blog post on a weekly basis.

Returning to my car and, I’ve decided to create a monthly Personal Growth Goal. This/these goals won’t be super large goals that can be seen as a life changing endeavor, but are small goals to round me out as a person. 

For February, I intend to say “NO EXCUSES” and start taking care of the little things in my life (i.e. the previously mentioned car and my inbox for that matter). I also intend to learn the map of the United States because it is a total shame that I can’t locate each state and capital. I’ve lived here my entire life. I need to get my shit together.

On Self Sabotage

On Self Sabotage

Amanda Sickels

As a human being,  and generally someone who likes to make excuses, I know a lot about self sabotage. I've put my head down on the pillow at night to replay my previous failings for hours on end. Each time, I tell myself that it wasn't my fault. There was nothing I could do. I blame the other people involved.

I realize that this is a part of my innately selfish nature. Any of my friends will tell you I'm a rather endearing narcissist, but this is one place where my 'me' focus creates a divide between where I am and where I want to be. I tell myself, I'm just waiting for the right conditions to thrive in.

I keep hoping that someone else will water the dry soil that I've grown roots in. I think that it's not my fault; the conditions just weren't right. I tell myself that a day will come when the conditions are perfect, and I will thrive. But that day never comes. Something happens, I make an excuse and skip out on going to the gym yet again. I tell myself that it wasn't my fault that I had a bad day.

I grant that some of the bad that I go through is not my fault. There are outside variables that contribute to the moments when I fall short of who I aim to be. But the difference, for me, between those moments being a failure and a triumph, is my attitude. The difference is whether or not I chose to let life happen or let myself live.

This applies to a lot of what is going on in my personal life. I'm working on a project, and I have a great support team who are cheering me on every step of the way, yet I struggle to push out a couple pages a week. When that team of people asks for a status update, I find that I only have an empty page and shame to report. I believe in this project. I love this story, and I know that once I finish it, I will have told a story the needed to be told. Yet, I stare uninspired at the page night after night and pretend that I am working.

I make the excuse that I am tired. I say that I'm not mentally ready to write. It's not the right time of day. I don't have enough coffee. I'm hungry. I'm stressed.

I make every excuse I can to avoid taking the personal responsibility that I owe myself.

This morning, I made no deals with myself. Instead of going back to bed, I made myself go to the gym. I could have easily spent the 2 hours it took to motivate myself into putting on gym clothes and running on a treadmill in bed. But I decided this morning that if I ever had a hope at keeping the same body size that I have now, I would have to start acting like I want it.

I'm not the thinnest person ever, but I am lucky to be petite. I am lucky that my metabolism has been able to keep up with the bad food I constantly choke it with because I would be facing a lot of health risks if I were to gain weight. My knees are bad now (I'm 22, I can't imagine what they're going to be like in 50 years), and if I ever hope to keep from replacing them in the future, I have to start building good habits now.

I have to start taking responsibility for my actions both great and small. I have to realize that while I may have one bad situation in a day, it's up to me to decide whether or not that situation is how the rest of my day goes.

I have to make a conscious decision that if I ever want to do the long list of things that I want to do, I have to do them.  This seems simple, but it takes a pep talk to make myself open up the word document and get things started. And that has to change. In reference to Hemingway, I need to remember the hunger that comes with the art. I need to feel it in my gut and embrace it, so that I can let that desire propel me into being the person I want to be.

I won't kid myself into thinking I'm gonna turn over a new leaf tonight, but I am signing a contract to myself to do these things:

Take responsibility for what I can control,

Respect my body and take care of it,

Have faith in myself.

That last one is the hardest and the steepest uphill battle, but it is the promise most worthy of keeping. For me.