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Effortful imperfection
Life’s been taxing, and it’s not due to Tax Day.
I’ve been mentally going downhill since spring break, and most of the problems I face aren’t even my own.
I recently went to TAASCON and participated in a mental health caucus to put faces to experiences that those of us with anxiety and/or depression face on a daily basis.
One of the things the girl leading the discussion said really spoke to me. “I get 8 hours of sleep a night just to overwork myself the next day.”
I responded by noting the uphill treadmill of capitalism, which often asks people to measure their self-worth based on results and/or what they produce.
Writer’s block has plagued me for a while now. It’s been tough trying to think of new ideas when I’m slowed down by all my doubts and insecurities. And trying to be the strong one when my friends are struggling has taken a toll on my own health. Even though I very well know the oxygen mask rule, I struggle to know when to set limits and boundaries.
Sometimes it just feels like I’m trying so hard for something that may not be that worthwhile in the long run. Like what am I trying for?
Approval? Affirmation? Validation?
