…which has never really been my strong point, to be frank. My diaries, a large stack that dates back to to 2004, are essentially a long record of my inability to commit, see things through, to be consistent. I ride on the high of new years and new habits and new goals and crash within weeks. The same high comes around again in August when the academic year starts, and again towards the end of October. I have developed very little in the way of habits and routines, with the exception of writing in my journal (…and whining about my lack of discipline within said journals).
I’ve spent 20+ years of my life fighting against this tendency and beating myself up for my wishy-washiness and flakiness that permeates all my decisions: the constant change of majors, dropping out and entering back into college; the long gaps of underemployment/unemployment, the never-ending battle with my weight and lethargy, the stacks and stacks and stacks of books I keep buying but never read.
The internal nagging I do to myself doesn’t work. I know that. But I don’t know how else to address this. I need a different way of being. There is a deep-seated envy for those who show up to the gym every day. The people with 300+ day streaks in their journals and habit apps. Where does this deep-seated need to be like this come from? Why do I insist on trying to conquer it? What am I trying to prove?
There is a need to show myself compassion and forgiveness and softness. I try to envision how I treat my daughter and directing that towards myself internally. It’s hard to direct that motherly love inwards (and it’s probably what I need the most).