Responsibility, such a grown up word

There’s a reason I justify my actions, try to find some meaning in what I do. It’s called… responsibility. Such a grown up word. Responsibility. All those things that I think I have to do, that I think need to be done. Every year it seems there’s more I should be responsible about. When they don’t get done, guilt comes knocking.

In the past there’s been three main things I do once that guilt comes knocking… distract myself some more, race to get more done than I originally planned, or sit back and stress about it. That last one usually leads to depression the quickest. Doing more is me telling myself that enough isn’t enough, or enough is never enough. Eventually, I sit back and stress anyway, so depression will come knocking anyway. Obsessive distracting… that’s self denial. Denial that there’s a problem and denial that I can do anything about it. Usually, it leads to overdoing things, then depression, with the added memory of feeling incapable and ineffective.

I’ve been working on putting things in perspective, being more laid back… if that load of washing doesn’t get done today, what’s the worst that can happen? There’ll be one more set of clothes to add to it tomorrow. Seems to me that’s actually a bonus. It’s all perception again.

Perception. I’m trying to find a balance between how I see responsibility and how things are. It always comes back to what message I’m sending myself. Retraining my mind. Of course the hardest thing I’m finding is the ability to be more relaxed about things. To let things slide and be okay about it. That’s part of the false perfectionism I always felt I had to strive for, the perfectionism that I never believed I could reach anyway.

So three days posts published on one day. I almost managed to say stuff it and let the other two days stay post free. In the end I compromised… and kept them short.

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