It can be tricky. I’m sure that sometimes it can feel like the only thing keeping me upright is this notion that I have to press on for fear of disappointing someone. I can even pretend that I’ll be disappointed if I don’t follow through, but that’s not quite right.

Here’s an example. I have a picture in my head of how I want something to look. A story, a living space, a work space, a head space, my hair colour, my life.
And when it doesn’t quite work out exactly as I’d planned/hoped/schemed, it adds a layer of guilt to the weight I am already carrying around. Like the junk lady from Labyrinth, accumulating and rarely discarding, because I need all these things, yes?

No.

It may not seem like these moments fall under the label of “those things which require forgiveness” but why not? We ideally grow and are able to forgive others for a perceived hurt, for an inconsiderate imposition on their part, whether intentional or accidental.
And how hurtful is it to berate myself for something that didn’t turn out the way my (perhaps impractical) expectations demanded. How much of an imposition on my peace of mind to bear the burden of a vision that consistently falls short when compared to the existence of others?
I cannot speak for anyone else, but I am in constant danger of believing a good proportion of things I think, and if I think I’m an idiot, or a failure, or not someone worthy of leveling up, destined to be poor as a churchmouse who doesn’t deserve the kind of love she secretly adores reading (and writing) about, there is some part of me who believes that is true.

And for every time I’ve done so in the past, and for every time I might do so again in the future, I forgive the action, and understand that habits acknowledged as no longer useful are habits one step closer to being replaced by something that is.

Even now I can hear her, “Oh but you love your guilty wallowing, can’t throw that away, can you? Oh and here’s your little 3 am rehashing of conversations from 20 years ago about things that were insignificant then which you love to obsess about, hmm? You love those, don’t you?”

No, junk lady from labyrinth who lives in my head and tries to make my pernicious thoughts palatable by imitating a familiar voice from my childhood, I do not like or need them, thanks anyway.

Intense stare David Bowie and I are done with your shit.