I originally planned to post this on my birthday, but personal stories are the most difficult for me to write.
My 36th birthday was almost three months ago. Thirty-six. That still feels so strange to write. There are times when I still feel young, and other times when I think back over the events of my life up to this point and I’ll feel so old. I’m sure that can be said for most people my age, though. The past few years, I haven’t really wanted to acknowledge my birthday. I don’t know if that’s just part of getting older, or maybe becoming a parent, but my birthday is just less important as time goes on.
This year was a little different. I feel like a lot of things about myself have changed recently. Things that once seemed important in my 20s and even early 30s, don’t seem important at all. Yes, we all change over time; I’m not the person I was 10-years ago, I’m not even the same person I was one year ago. There’s nothing remarkable about this, it’s all part of getting older, but in addition to this natural change, there has also been a conscious change, an intentional effort on my part to try to change for the better— to surround myself with positivity and to be more uplifting to others.
For years I’ve had this really bad habit of comparing myself to others and worrying about what other people think of me. It’s easy for any of us to do, and I did it in every single aspect of my life. I have been an extremely self-conscious person for most of my life. Outwardly, I would always try to give the impression that I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, but I did care. I cared so much. I constantly doubted myself and my abilities, I would beat myself up over decisions I’d made or things I’d done. I’ve cried more tears than I care to admit over things people have said about me.
Then, one day very recently, I just stopped.
I wish I could pinpoint exactly what happened— what thing clicked inside my head, but I can’t. Maybe I was just tired of it all. Which seems like a reasonable conclusion, because it’s an exhausting way to live. Or maybe it was just another product of my recent decision to be more positive with myself (and especially with my thoughts). Whatever it was, something finally made me realized that no matter what I do, I cannot control how another person feels about me. No one can. So why try? Why waste so much energy and lose so much sleep over something I will never be able to change? I want to be happy with the person I am and with the life I’m living, and I want to set a positive example for my kids; none of that is possible with negativity and constant self-doubt.
It’s taken me a very long time to get to this point in my life. To stop comparing my accomplishments to the accomplishments of others. To stop being so hard on myself, and to really not care what other people think of me, good or bad. This is also why I finally, at 36 years old, decided to start writing a blog that I would actually keep up with. In one of my earlier posts, I mentioned that this is the third time I’ve started a blog, but I recently stumbled across an old blogging account from 2013 that I had completely forgotten about— this is actually my sixth time to start writing a blog. Every single time I started, self-doubt kicked in and I gave up after a few posts. What if people read this and laugh at me? What if there’s a typo I missed? Who would even want to read what I write?
See? Like I said, it was an exhausting way to live.
There really is freedom in not caring. I love to write and tell stories. I have recipes, DIY projects, and so many more things that I want to share with anyone who’s interested.
I’m looking forward to what the rest of *36* brings.