I don’t know about you, but I am constantly struggling with the pressures of life around me. Pressure to be a better wife, pressure to be a better mother, to be a better businesswoman—but mostly, pressure to constantly be at the top of my game, no matter what the circumstance.
For instance, I am a writer. That means I am my own boss. I don’t have someone looking over my shoulder every day telling me what to do and how to do it, but I still feel this impending sense of doom if I don’t do what I think everyone thinks I should be doing.
I’ve taken marketing classes from social media experts who harass you with the idea that you have to constantly be spitting out new material.
While, I believe that’s true, I also firmly believe forcing yourself to create something you don’t feel any connection to is where terrible products come from.
I beat myself up on a daily basis about how many instagram followers I have, how many blog posts I’ve gotten up, how many pictures I’ve posted on social media… the list goes on and on.
But where does that faceless feeling of dread stem from?
I suppose it comes from a part of myself that feels as though I am not measuring up to the standards of society.
We are definitely products of consumerism—meaning, we are always searching for the next thing to consume.
But I don’t want to always have this invisible entity I’ve created hovering over my head, making me feel guilty for taking a bubble bath, or reading for pleasure, instead of working.
That’s the hard part about working for yourself… you never get to leave the office. Your brain is the office.
I’m bordering on rambling, at this point, but I feel if I don’t say these words to you, no one will.
Here they are. Are you ready?
Breathe. Slow Down. Everything will be okay.
So what if I don’t put up as many posts this week as I’d hoped to? Will the world stop turning? Will people stop liking the stuff I do post just because it took me an extra 24 hours than I intended?
No. None of those things will happen.
So, to the mom who didn’t get the dishes done today, I say, who cares! Is your kid alive and fed? Great! Then today was a productive day for you!
To the nurse who worked a 12 hour shift and just couldn’t bring herself to cook dinner for her family when she got home. Who cares! That’s what take-out is for! You saved lives today! That’s a win!
I could go on, but you get the point I’m trying to make here.
When did we become a society who frowns upon taking time to relax and do nothing? Why is it not okay to have a day, or even just an evening, where I watch Netflix in my hole-y sweatpants?
And when someone inevitably asks me why I’m not working on my next book, instead of binge watching Friends for the 100th time, I might just strangle them with those hole-y sweatpants!
I am a writer! Of course I’m working on stuff. But do I need to be reminded that I haven’t finished my next book yet? Why no, no I don’t. The constant anxiety I feel about it is enough motivation for me—thanks.
But this is what I’m talking about—it’s ridiculous that the smallest thing, like asking how far I am into my next project, can cause me to devolve into a pile of sobbing depression because I’ve allowed myself to create these insane standards.
All I’m saying is, give yourself some grace.
Don’t let the pressures of the world—or the pressures you think the world is putting on you—allow you to fall into the cycle of self loathing and defeat.
Breathe. Slow Down. Everything will be okay.