Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Well, where to start on this one. There are so many things... I mean really? No really. I mean I am terribly hard on myself and that converts into me being hard on others and making people crazy over how hard I am. I expect perfection in myself. I do not expect perfection from others but I think that I am so hard on myself about being perfect that it comes across like I am looking down on your imperfections when in fact I do not care. I am anal, type A in some ways and have systems to get through things that I dislike like cleaning. I wished I could let go and be okay with it. I try, dammit, I try but I usually revert to the usual standards.
Laundry is a good example. I cannot for the life of me let it go. I take the laundry down at the same time every week (Friday evening if you must know). I get ALL of the laundry done over a weekend EVERY week and it is folded and put away by Monday evening. Everything is neat and organized and I could not stand to have it any other way. It would make me feel terrible if this did not happen.
I do not like clutter. It makes my mind feel messy. Piles of paper, crap on the counters, little toys and rocks and sticks piled up make me feel yucky. IN MY HOUSE. I do not care about other houses, only mine. I am constantly shuffling papers and moving them to the basement or ditching them in the recycling bin or just generally trying to find a home for them. It is weird.
I like a clean house and again it makes feel crazy when things get dusty, dirty, and disorganized. I will sweep the kitchen floor five times a day and aimlessly dust when the TV is on in the evening. I hardly ever sit down during that time and just veg out, read a book with a dog snuggled under my feet because I always have some cleaning project in mind.
The reality is I have actually let go of a lot the past few years! I am better then I used to be. I would say I hate this about myself.
I hate that I do not know how to just sit quietly. I do not know how to just let things go and enjoy the piles of paper or toys or laundry in lieu of the other more amazing things that are going on. It makes me feel weak and absurd for not being able to let it go.
It dawned me why I do this some time ago. It is about control. I started doing it when I was a kid and my family was a vast waste land of screaming matches and coffee mugs flying over head and I would hide in my room and organize and reorganize and clean and move things around and organize and reorganize. Like some people shop or drink or do drugs, I think that if I can just control something (generally my environment and how it looks) I will feel better.
Ah and the truth is? It is not true. I hate this about myself.