Raspberry Iced M

Not once in my life have I ever been perfect. Nobody has.

But I have definitely pretended to be perfect in order to be accepted.

With honesty – below is a list of what I believe are my biggest character flaws. I am working through these, gently and slowly. And I am finding that consistency is more important than intensity.

1. I over-function and over-extend when I am afraid of being abandoned. When connection feels uncertain, I explain more, give more, accommodate more. And I take responsibility for things that are not mine. None of these are forms of manipulation. But they come from fear + loyalty + a deep desire to be understood. On the flip side, this flaw only teaches others that I can carry the load alone. And then I resent it. A vicious cycle played out in real time, throughout so many of my former relationships with people.
2. I confuse self-awareness with self-punishment. I am introspective, and that is a strength. But the flaw lies in the insight that doesn’t stop where it should. And it turns into replaying, self-interrogation, moral sentencing. Instead of “What can I learn from this?” my brain goes straight to “What does this say about who I am?” And that’s not accountability. That’s actually erosion, and it’s not beneficial.
3. I stay too long out of hope. I see potential. I see nuance. I see context. So I wait. I explain. I give chance after chance after chance. And I assume growth will catch up. My flaw isn’t that I hope. It’s that I sometimes delay my own relief waiting for others to meet me where I already am.
4. I intellectualize emotions instead of letting them move. I understand my feelings better – or – to a higher degree – than I actually feel through them. And those emotions turn into essays, patterns, conclusions, and eventually identities, instead of waves that I sit through, and waves that eventually pass. It is exhausting.
5. I take responsibility for outcomes I don’t control. Have I mentioned I have control issues? So when something goes wrong, I believe, “I must have missed something.” And while that makes me dependable, it also forces me to carry baggage that I really need to leave on a metaphorical curb somewhere. I don’t yet trust that things can fail without feeling like I’ve failed.
6. I am slow to trust ease, as opposed to tension. Chaos feels familiar. Hypervigilance feels competent. And peace feels suspicious. When things are quiet, my brain starts scanning for what I’ve missed. And it’s not drama-seeking. It’s just my nervous system, which has been trained in uncertainty.
7. I expect myself to be better than human. I give others nuance, context, patience, and grace. But I expect myself to know better, sooner. I expect myself to heal faster. I expect myself to hold steadier. I expect myself to get it right consistently. I struggle to apply my own philosophies to myself. I believe them. I just don’t extend them to myself yet.

None of these flaws mean I’m broken. They don’t mean I am unsafe. And they don’t mean I am unworthy of trust or love. They mean that I have learned to survive intelligently.

And now I am learning how to live without armor, a transition that always feels awkward.

I am not “too much.” I’ve been hard on someone who has been trying very hard for a very long time – me.

And I’m working on changing that.