One of the reasons I decided to commit to this blog is that it forces me to be more positive. Being an inherently pessimistic person, sometimes it becomes a genuine struggle to look at the glass half full, so to speak. For the most part, publishing my writing on the internet and allowing people I know to read it makes me hyper aware of the way my point of view comes across. I am negative, it is part of me, but I’m trying ever so hard to change that.
Sometimes, though, it’s tough to see through the shit and imagine that a garden full of peonies and kittens and money trees is waiting there just for me. Sometimes, I just want to tell people that no, everything will not be okay. No, I am not happy at this moment in time and no, I cannot see this getting any better.
Although I’ve not been a part of the blogging community for long, I have been reading blogs for a long time – probably around 6 years. I’ve noticed recently that a lot of bloggers have been writing about positivity and personal goals and overcoming obstacles, myself included. I’m bored of it. I’m sick of people who have their shit together making me all too aware that I do not have my shit together. Occasionally, I want to read something raw and emotional. I want to listen to someone talk to us about a struggle they’ve been through that they haven’t quite dealt with yet. I know putting feelings onto paper and then locking that notepad in your bedside cabinet isn’t quite the same as spilling your inner most thoughts on the internet, where an estimated 3.17 billion people tend to spend a large chunk of their time.
I’m not saying that I don’t want to hear about people’s achievements, because of course I do. I want to celebrate with every single person when they hit a target, or get a pay rise or land their dream job. Sometimes though, when I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, I want to know that somebody else is feeling exactly the same as me. Is that selfish? Maybe, but I’m only human. I can’t be the only person on this planet who has sobbed for the majority of an afternoon because nothing is going to plan.
Before I wrote this all down, I spoke to one of my closest friends about how I was feeling. She told me that I should spend more time writing because it makes me happy. The problem with this, I explained, was that when you feel like there’s a weight so great bearing down on you that you’re physically hunching over and you’re so on edge that it would be perfectly plausible to assume that you’d consumed WAY too much caffeine, it’s difficult to find something to write about without being incredibly passive-aggressive and down right miserable.
‘You would be lying to yourself and your readers if you never wrote anything while you were feeling like this. It’s complete bollocks to pretend you’re a ray of fucking sunshine all the time.’ was her response. Charming, right?
She’s right though. I’m not going to kid myself, or anyone else anymore. I have to stop putting pressure on myself to find the silver lining in every single situation. I’m having a shit time at the moment and that is OKAY. I haven’t been to work or left my house in over a week so of course my anxiety is at an all time high and I’m becoming slightly agoraphobic. I’ve barely seen any friends or family for what feels like a lifetime and I’m too weak to even do the washing up. (Hands up if you’re an independent woman like me!)
The world right now is obsessed with making people feel uplifted and proud of themselves and content with the way they look. Shouldn’t we also be making sure people genuinely feel okay, and that all this POSITIVITY bullshit isn’t just a farce. I’ll tell you something for nothing: Having to pretend that I’m completely satisfied with everything when sometimes I’m just not is a chore – it’s physically exhausting and mentally draining. Why are we so obsessed with the PMA? Some of the most enthusiastic people I know have had more struggles in their life than some of the most unhappy people I know. Of course, successful people will preach that being positive and working hard and always looking at the end goal is how they found themselves where they are today. What they don’t tell us about is all the times they spent wandering the seafront at midnight because they couldn’t sleep. They don’t tell us about the time their first long-term relationship failed and they slept all day and spent all night staring at the ceiling. They would rather us not know about that time they cried so hard into a glass of rum and coke that they questioned whether they had poured salt into their drink. Just because people don’t talk about it, doesn’t mean they don’t go through it.
I’m done pretending that I have a solution to every problem – I won’t kid myself anymore. I’m having a monumentally rubbish week, and if you are too, maybe we can stand together on this one.
Image from here.