It's not quite the end of the year yet, but fall instinctually marks the start to my annual reflection process.
I can't remember anymore if every year simply feels like its gone by quickly, or if there were years where I felt it dragged on with no sigh of relief. Realistically, I suppose I do know I've had those years before, times when I was truly miserable, but what does it mean if it doesn't even matter anymore? What does that say about my current hardships?
This year felt somewhat comfortable. It's been too long since I last felt like I was doing something relatively comfortably. And while the year didn't start off comfortably (simply because I wasn't allowing myself to be okay with comfort), I've certainly learned to accept the current needs in my life. Not just accept, but really work towards feeling confident about it.
Everyone thinks comfortable is bad even though we're all looking for it, in one form or another. You can't be comfortable at your job. You can't be comfortable in your relationship. You can't be comfortable with yourself. What is the line between comfortable and too comfortable, anyway? No one makes the distinction, except some vague bullshit like "being challenged." My therapist said comfortable is okay but not if you're feeling bad about not being challenged. That maybe comfort isn't worth it, then. I guess I can agree with that?
I do feel comfortable, and I don't feel too comfortable. I also fear being challenged, even though I know I reap a lot of benefits in doing so. But sometimes, I doubt my mental ability to tolerate challenge, because it's been in question year after year after year. And even though I did learn a lot from the past, I don't particularly feel strong and confident that I could do it again, despite that I know it's just a feeling and not a fact.
I've been questioning what I have been feeling confident about in the last four years or so. Because, to be honest, I didn't really struggle an awful lot with confidence for the majority of my life. Obviously, I have my insecurities, but it didn't deter me from putting myself out there in a way that best reflects who I am. Today, that's different. In an ironic way, I wonder if I was seemingly confident a few years ago simply because I was more insecure. Because the more secure and accepting of myself I am, the less I feel the need to show it off to the people who don't even matter in my life. I think that's why, for example, I was able to let go of social media; accepting that I'm the type to only have a handful of friends, and those friends I will reach out and make an effort towards. (In defense of myself though, I didn't consciously post things about my life to make others envious, at least certainly not in blog-form. I would like to believe that if not on any other platform, my blogs have always been honest.)
This year felt like a year of true efforts to accept myself. A roundup of words and phrases used heavily in therapy during the past five months: "autonomy," "boundaries," and "own your own narrative," the last of which has tremendously changed the way I think about myself in relation to others. That I write my life's story, not that it's written for me. It sounds both cliche and obvious, but not to a neurotic. What is "normal" to you, what is "comfortable" to you, is not "normal" or "comfortable" to me, and it doesn't have to be.
