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No, I won’t be taking care of you anymore

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I had lunch with a new friend yesterday. (Full disclosure, if we hang out, you might end up in my blog.) And we started talking about what we do for us. 

We both realized, as we talked, that we hadn’t focused on us and what we actually wanted in just a really long time. 

Closeup Photo of Primate

What does that mean? It means, simply, that we’ve been programmed to only want to want to help others. And , even though I had to reread thst several times, I think it’s what I mean, but also, that’s a little insane. 

I spent some time reading a book, BURNOUT (I am going to look this up before I publish this post and give you the actual name— or at least I have every intention of that happening. If I’m being totally real there’s a pretty real chance of that not happening.) And this book was all about that. How women had basically been told since they were itty bitty that the joy in their lives is helping others. Maybe by even oh— you know, the men in their lives. 

Which, if you think about it, makes perfect sense, because men were the ones that designed the system we live in today, so of course they designed it in their favor. 

I can’t really begrudge their choices. Like that was just the time and all that… but dang this would have been a lot simpler if we didn’t have to focus so dang hard on making all of this work. Right? 

The thing is, a lot of times it was just easier in the last twenty or so years to just do what people wanted or needed from us than to listen to them complain about it not being done, wish we were the one doing it, etc., whatever— either way, it was such a total pain to put up a fight that it became the norm to help and make others happy. 

Until it didn’t. Until it all came to a head in the middle of the night after my gallbladder surgery, when my (ex)husband had an existential crisis— but I digressed again— here’s what I am trying to say— forever, the thing that made me the most happy was just to make sure that everyone is also happy. It just made the most sense. 

And now, now that my kids an adult and I’m here in the middle of this whole divorce— it’s just me. I’m the only one I need to make happy. 

And like, if the only way I’ve been making myself happy is to make others happy… well, then that’s a lot of pressure right? 

You see the issue, don’t you? 

I have to focus on other ways to make me happy. 

Which, is why we are here. Why my friends and I are bringing back the days of blogging where we just spit it all out on the page and don’t worry about everything else like page views and perfect images and algorithms and all that. 

Person Holding a Sticky Note

Honestly, I just can’t anymore. All I can do at this point is just this. I can say who I am and what I feel. 

And as I do that…as I just spend each day being unapologetically happy, and trying to figure out what that even means for me— it’s weird. My days can take a turn, sure, but’s it’s my turn. 

Sometimes I think I’m going to have a total blast at something only to discover that it is not for me. 

Sometimes I think I’m going to hate stuff but discover that I was totally wrong and it’s the most fun ever. 

I just wish I’d been doing this all along. Focusing on things I know I’d love to do. But maybe that’s a part of the journey— when you realize it’s okay to get to focus on your own stuff. 

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