Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • Raspberry Fear

    Fear has always had a strong voice in my life. It speaks quickly. Convincingly. And with urgency dressed up as wisdom.

    And for a long time, I let it lead. I didn’t trust it, but it was loud. What I can see now, looking back, is that my values were never absent. They were just quieter than my fear.

    And maybe this blog page is my way of turning the volume up on the right things. I am learning to let my values be louder than my fear.

    I’ve stopped using fear as my compass. Fear is really good at identifying risk, but it isn’t good at identifying truth. When I let fear decide, I shrink decisions down to what will keep me “safest” in the moment, and not what will necessarily keep me aligned in the long run.

    I am listening to what matters, not what panics. My values speak differently. They’re slower. Steadier. Less dramatic. My values ask questions like, “Is this honest? Is this kind? Is this consistent with who you’re trying to be?”

    I am choosing integrity over avoidance. Fear urges me to stay quiet, stay agreeable, stay unseen. It can also push me to seek validation from the wrong things or the wrong people. But my values ask me to be clear, even when clarity costs me something – like a relationship, for instance. I am learning that discomfort is somehow the price of self-respect.

    I am letting courage be ordinary. Courage does not always equal boldness. Sometimes it looks like moving forward, keeping a boundary, or telling the truth once and letting it stand.

    I am practicing values in small moments. Not necessarily the dramatic stands. But the daily ones. How I speak. What I tolerate. What I agree to when no one is watching. Because the fact of the matter is that alignment is built quietly. In small increments. Moment by moment.

    And I notice that fear gets louder when I am close to breaking a bad habit. When I am close to breaking through a destructive pattern. And that fear used to stop me. But now I accept it as a signal that something meaningful is at stake. Fear doesn’t mean I am wrong. I usually means I am moving.

    I am letting peace be the confirmation. When I act in line with what I believe – even if it’s not perfect – something in me settles. It’s not relief, necessarily, because sometimes it does hurt. It’s peace. And that’s how I know I’ve made the right decision.

    I can’t eliminate fear, so I reordered it. Fear still has a seat at my table. It just doesn’t get the final vote. My values decide what stays and what has to go.

    I am trusting consistency over reassurance. I don’t need constant certainty. I just need coherence between what I believe and how I leave. And it’s been really difficult to accept that.

    I’m choosing to be guided, not governed. Fear will always try to protect me. My values will help me become myself. And I’m learning, now, which one deserves the microphone.

    In my life, fear asks, “What if something goes wrong?”

    But my values ask, “What do you want to be if it does?”

    I am still not fearless. I’m just more clear-headed. So I let my values call the shots now.

    Have an amazing Thursday.

  • Raspberry Punish-No-More

    Since September, I have attended weekly therapy (minus two separate weeks – one because of illness and one because I legit turned my alarm off in my sleep).

    On one hand, someone to whom I no longer speak told me I needed “serious help.” On the other hand, I am an advocate of therapy.

    And there’s a third hand somewhere in the air that also knows I think and feel certain things I could not and would not share with an amateur.

    (Not only do I have control issues – but can you tell I have trust issues, too?)

    Today, we talked about two things: (1) The path to self-discovery; and (2) Self-forgiveness.

    I do not know when it happened, how it happened, or how I learned it, but at some point I deduced that in order to be loved, I needed to be productive.

    Make good grades. Clean the house. Make the dinner. Wear the dress. Pay the bills. Be available. Relinquish the boundary. And bend to every whim assigned by others. Maybe then (but probably only then) would I be accepted. Because as long as I was producing something, I couldn’t be dismissed.

    But as the cycle often goes, production without rest often leads to exhaustion and resentment.

    So while I’m cleaning, cooking, paying bills, and buying the gifts, I’m questioning my worth, and in the back of my mind, frustration is building.

    “I can’t – and should not have to – do this by myself,” replaying over and over in my head…

    Until I break. I stop. And I run.

    And I run to something often toxic and/or unhealthy, just so I can feel like “me” again, justified by the internal phrase, “I deserve to be happy.”

    The problem with running is that running doesn’t actually make you happy. It’s just a distraction.

    Running does not solve the problem. It creates different problems.

    So imagine my disgust when I stop running only to end up with two different sets of problems:

    1. The mess I made when I took off (i.e. – selfish, impulsive decisions, toxic relationships with people for whom I also ironically had to “produce,” and the once healthy relationships that suffered because I neglected them), and the subsequent clean up required, internally and logistically, in order to make things right.
    2. The cyclical process of forgiving myself for making the same mistake, over and over again, seemingly without learning my lesson, because apparently, I cannot learn from my mistakes after one go-round. I need to make that mistake 3 or 4 times just to verify that it’s actually a mistake.

    Facepalm.

    For the last six months, I have been making very intentional steps to remedy the first problem. Therapy. Journaling. Blogging. Reading. And most importantly, prayer. Praying for those I’ve hurt. Praying for those who have hurt me. Praying for answers. And praying for forgiveness.

    The second problem, self-forgiveness, is where I get stuck. And I figure that’s where a lot of people get stuck, especially those who have control issues like me.

    Punishing myself by replaying those mistakes over and over is, in the long run, a way to maintain control. It’s my way of preventing future mistakes. I subconsciously decide that I do not trust myself, and I place my decisions into a box that requires constant attention and cultivates constant second-guessing. And I also decide subconsciously that I simply do not deserve forgiveness until everyone else is okay. “When he/she forgives me, I’ll forgive myself,” thereby leaving my fate in the hands of others (which may not seem like control, but it is).

    But shame never fixed anything – my mistakes, most of all.

    Shame is, counteractively, unproductive. Shame freezes your pain and makes your circumstances permanent.

    So I asked my therapist how to forgive myself. I share the information I learned with you. It is cathartic.

    Self-forgiveness isn’t about pretending nothing happened.

    It’s just about releasing yourself from perpetual punishment.

    And while I used to think that forgiving myself meant erasing the past or minimizing harm, what I am learning is that it actually just means (1) telling the truth; and (2) refusing to stay imprisoned by it.

    No, these aren’t easy steps for anyone. But they’re steady.

    1. Tell the truth without embellishment. No minimizing. No catastrophizing. Just, “This is what happened.” Write it down if necessary. Forgiving yourself begins with honesty, not drama.
    2. Separate responsibility from identity. Acknowledging harm is not a character sentence. Making a mistake is something you did, not who you are.
    3. Allow appropriate guilt, but not permanent shame. Guilt can help guide repair, but shame keeps you stuck. If a feeling does not move you toward wisdom or change, it should not stay forever.
    4. Name what you’ve already learned. If you would not make the same choice today, that matters. And read this carefully: Growth counts even if consequences remain. Learning is not an excuse. It’s evidence.
    5. Acknowledge what you didn’t know then. Context isn’t justification, but it is clarity. We act with the tools we have in any decision-making moment. Understanding your past, and the capacity you had, creates compassion without denial.
    6. Make amends where possible, and release what isn’t. While you should repair what you can, you also have to accept that some things cannot be fixed, only respected. Self-forgiveness does not require universal reconciliation, and that’s as hard for me as it probably is for others.
    7. Stop resentencing yourself. If you have owned it, learned from it, and adjusted your behavior, you’ve officially become accountable. Continuing to punish yourself is not accountability. It’s just habit.
    8. Practice speaking to yourself like someone who is redeemable. Not lenient. Not indulgent. Just a human being. And another thing? If redemption is possible for others, it is possible for you.
    9. Trust the process and allow forgiveness to be gradual. Much like growth, self-forgiveness is not linear. You won’t wake up forgiven one random morning. This is something that requires practice, especially on days when self-doubt resurfaces. It’s a choice you have to make every day, in small steps. Rinse and repeat.
    10. Choose forward responsibility over backward obsession. I try to look at it this way: Self-forgiveness in no way erases the past. It frees us up to live responsibly now. And that’s the most meaningful apology I can offer.

    Self forgiveness does not equal forgetting. It’s just the act of releasing the belief that you must suffer forever to prove that you understand.

    Two things can be true at the same time – you can carry both regret and dignity. You can remember and move forward. You can be accountable and free.

    And you are allowed to begin again, without dragging a sentence behind you.

    I hope your day is going really well. I’m signing off to make baked spaghetti.

  • Raspberry Disappointment

    I am learning to let people be disappointed in me without fixing it.

    It isn’t coming from a place of anger. It’s coming from a place of exhaustion.

    For a long time, I believed disappointment was something to resolve immediately. I adjusted myself, over-explained, and sometimes even offered more of myself – money, time, affection, attention, compliments – until everyone was okay again.

    What I am figuring out now is simpler, but much harder. Sometimes disappointment is just information, not a problem that needs immediate resolution.

    I used to think disappointment was a personal failure. If someone felt let down, I assumed I had done something wrong. I scrambled for context, compromises, and even apologized, often before understanding whether or not I had actually crossed a line.

    I confused care with correction. I thought caring meant preventing discomfort at all costs. But removing every hard feeling is not empathy. It’s control disguised as kindness.

    (I told you I had control issues.)

    I overextended to soften other people’s feelings. I filled gaps I did not create. I paid emotional debts I did not owe. And I smoothed the rough edges of myself so that others would find me “acceptable.”

    I did all of this because I believed that fixing disappointment would keep relationships safe. If I responded fast enough, nicely enough, thoroughly enough – enough, enough, enough – maybe nothing would fracture. But relationships that require constant repair from only one side are not stable. They’re just familiar. And even when it is hard to let go of the familiar, it is necessary when familiarity causes harm.

    I am learning now that disappointment does not always equal harm. Someone can be disappointed and still be okay. I can say no and still be respectful. And I can choose differently and still be kind.

    I am resisting the urge to over-explain. Explanation used to feel like responsibility. Now I’m noticing that, often times, it is just a reflex – a reflex rooted in fear of being misunderstood or disliked.

    I am allowing feelings to exist without managing them. Disappointment is a feeling. It’s not an emergency. It doesn’t need my immediate intervention to be valid. But as I started to recall how many times I have been disappointed in other people and their behavior – even maliciously hurtful behavior – and still survived that disappointment – I figured out that I can do the same thing.

    The trick is to stay grounded when others are uncomfortable. This is new. And quiet. And it requires that I stay present with myself instead of rushing outward.

    I am trusting that healthy relationships can tolerate friction. Mutual respect should not dissolve at the first unmet expectation. And if that is the case, the relationship was fractured, or at least fragile, long before that first feeling of disappointment.

    I am choosing self-respect over emotional appeasement. I care deeply, and I know that I do, whether others see it or not. But caring should not mean I have to contort myself. I can be considerate without correcting anything. And I can let people feel what they feel, and still stand where I stand.

    Letting people be disappointed (and stay disappointed) isn’t cruelty. It’s clarity. It creates room for honesty, for mutual responsibility, and for relationships that don’t depend on one person doing all of the emotional labor.

    I am not withdrawing. I’m just stabilizing. And while it has been a tedious process – one I am still working on – for the first time in my life – it feels like peace.

  • Indispensable Raspberry

    I am letting go of the urge to be indispensable.

    For a long time, i believed being needed was the safest way to belong.

    If I was useful enough – available enough – surely my spot would be secure.

    What I am learning now is that being indispensable actually means being exhausted.

    So this isn’t resignation – it’s relief.

    1. I confused worth with usefulness. I measured my value by how much I could do, fix, hold, or anticipate. I felt responsible. But it wasn’t sustainable.
    2. I thought being needed would protect me. If I made myself necessary, I wouldn’t be replaced – or abandoned. But reliance isn’t the same as connection.
    3. I over-functioned to stay relevant. I stepped in early. I stayed late. I filled gaps no one even asked me to fill. I paid for the dinner. Agreed to others’ criticism of me. All because it felt safer than stepping back.
    4. I rarely asked myself what I needed. I focused outward. It was easier than admitting my own limits.
    5. I equated vitality with loyalty. I made my own needs small. But loyalty that depends on self-erasure isn’t loyalty. It’s survival.
    6. I’m learning to trust natural connection. Relationships that stand the test of time don’t hinge on constant usefulness. They breathe. Fluctuate. They make room for rest.
    7. I am practicing being present, not essential. I can care without carrying everything. And I can contribute without overextending. And I do not have to abandon my own needs to tolerate the way others use me.
    8. I am letting people manage their own roles. I do not have to be the solution to remain valued. I am allowed to step back and let others step up.
    9. I am noticing how much lighter things feel. Without the pressure to prove my necessity, there is so much space left for ease and honesty. And for choice.
    10. I am choosing to be wanted, not required. I want relationships where I am valued for who I am, not for what I provide.

    I don’t need to be indispensable to matter. And I don’t need to be constantly useful to be loved.

    And letting go of that urge has been incredibly difficult. I look back on the number of relationships I should’ve walked away from a lot sooner than I did. I definitely haven’t lost my place in any relationship worth having.

    I’m standing in it.

  • Raspberry Space

    I will not fight for space in others’ lives.

    This isn’t an ultimatum.

    It’s also not up for debate.

    It’s just an understanding I’ve come to, gently but firmly.

    I will not audition for access. I will not negotiate for attention. And I will not compete with indifference.

    Not anymore. And not because I’m angry. I’m just done abandoning myself.

    1. I used to confuse effort with worth. I thought that if I showed up consistently, tried harder, explained better – I could secure a place in people’s lives, and perhaps even earn a spot on their list of priorities. What didn’t click was that belonging isn’t earned through exhaustion.
    2. I’ve learned that mutual interest does not feel like pursuit. My therapist once told me that friendships are usually based on mutual benefit. And when care is reciprocal, it moves naturally. There’s a certain rhythm that comes with the give and take of meaningful relationships. There’s a responsiveness – an ease – that comes with respectful, effective relationships, whether that relationship is with a spouse, a child, a friend, or co-worker, a pastor, or even an animal. A very unwise, cruel person once said to me, “In any relationship, someone always sacrifices more.” That is simply not true. And if I am straining to be seen, the answer is already there.
    3. I will not chase availability. If space has to be forced open, it is not a space meant to hold me. I am not longer rearranging myself to fit into rooms that were not made for me.
    4. I am done with conditional closeness. Affection that requires constant proving is not closeness at all. It’s performance. I want connection that stays – even on days when I feel like I can’t try anymore.
    5. I will step back where I am not met. Not loudly or dramatically. But with my dignity intact.
    6. I trust absence to tell me what words won’t. I no longer interrogate distance or explain it away. I let it speak. And in instances like that, yes, silence is loud. But it’s okay.
    7. I will no longer mistake tolerance for invitation. Being “allowed” around is not the same as being wanted. For far too long, I have operated under a “prove myself” mentality. And sometimes that meant excusing and/or tolerating behavior that I wouldn’t accept otherwise. I deserve to be “it.”
    8. I am making room for ease. Space that welcomes me does not require persuasion. And it doesn’t make me wonder where I stand.
    9. I am choosing self-respect over proximity. I would rather have fewer relationships that are mutual than many that require me to shrink or strain. Love does not have to be earned.
    10. I am not withdrawing. I am aligning. None of this is because I’ve given up. I’m just returning to myself.

    The people who want you in their lives won’t require convincing. And with all of my flaws, shortcomings, and failures, I exist on this planet because my life is worth something. YOU exist because yours is, too.

    So don’t chase. Don’t allow others to make space feel scarce. Meet effort with effort, care with care, and presence with presence. But do not fight for space that isn’t freely given. When a relationship becomes too one-sided, when it’s no longer easy, when you start to hate who you’ve become – all of those are signs to walk away without apology.

    You’re worth it.

  • Ducking Out Raspberry

    I will block you so fast now.

    As someone who internalized every broken relationship, like I was the problem. As someone who is often blamed for actually being the problem. As someone who overthinks every tone, every “off” vibe, every unanswered text. And as someone who is on a journey to let go of things, people, and situations that/who do not and will never help make me the best version of myself.

    I suppose that is why my “circle” is awfully small now.

    Stepping back from those things, people, and situations is so hard. It doesn’t always come after a big blow up. Sometimes ducking out happens after a series of small signals we explain away.

    I never pinned myself as a quitter. In fact, I too often held onto things that were not good for me, because walking away somehow seemed worse than hanging onto something unhealthy, something that drained me emotionally, or something that pushed me in a direction I did not want to go.

    But I realized, not too long ago, actually, that it’s not about quitting. It’s not even about withdrawing dramatically. This is about noticing when something – someone – a role – a conversation – no longer feels sustainable.

    I am learning to recognize those moments.

    1. I feel relief at the idea of distance. If imagining space feels calming instead of painful, that’s information I have started listening to, and it’s information I wish I had listened to earlier in my life. I could’ve saved myself a lot of heartache.
    2. I am the one putting in all the work. Initiation. Following up. Explanations. Repairs. Over-extended apologies just to keep the peace. When balance continues to tip one way, it’s a sign.
    3. My nervous system never fully relaxed. I’ve I’m braced, even during neutral moments, it’s not something to push through. No one should have to be on constant alert.
    4. I kept rehearsing conversations. Too many times, I scripted how to be understood instead of feeling understood, and that meant something was off.
    5. I found myself shrinking parts of myself to maintain harmony. I stopped expressing my needs. I edited reactions. I avoided honesty. And if you get nothing more from this post, please repeat this as many times as is needed: “Peace that costs you your voice is NOT peace at all.”
    6. I felt drained after most interactions. Occasional fatigue is normal, especially for introverts like me. But consistent depletion is a signal, and salvaging any relationship, NO MATTER WHO IT IS, is not worth the exhaustion.
    7. I stayed hopeful, but nothing changed. Effort without movement? That’s burnout. Hope needs evidence to stay healthy. I had to learn to recognize when I was the only one making the effort. Unfortunately, I often learned too late.
    8. I felt responsible for how things were going. We are not meant to carry relationships, roles, or dynamics alone.
    9. I stopped trusting my own experience. I found myself second-guessing how I felt. Something was undermining my self-trust, and it caused a lot of problems for me, internally.
    10. Stepping back felt like self-respect, not punishment. This is the clearest sign of all. When distance feels like care, it is time to go.

    May this post serve as a reminder to myself that stepping back doesn’t equal failure.

    It doesn’t mean I didn’t try hard enough.

    And it doesn’t mean I didn’t care.

    But sometimes, stepping back is necessary to stay whole.

    I hope you have an amazing week.

  • Cease to Explain Raspberry

    There was a time when I narrated myself constantly. Clarified. Softened. Qualified. Over-explained. As if being understood required footnotes.

    So this post isn’t about shutting down or being closed off. It is just about recognizing that some things are just…true.

    Some things do not require approval to exist.

    1. I need time to think. I process internally first. That is not avoidance. It’s just how I arrive honestly. And I don’t have to do it on anyone’s time table.
    2. I don’t always respond immediately. Urgency is not always appropriate. And during times when I feel like I am just living my life between messages, I will, without permission, walk away from an email exchange or a text conversation.
    3. I prefer fewer, deeper connections. It has never been important to me to have “lots” of friends. And it’s never been about exclusivity. But in a world where I have learned that I am one of two things – too much or not enough (which, how is that even possible?), it’s just capacity management.
    4. I get quiet before I provide clarity. My silence, while often times interpreted incorrectly, is usually a step closer to understanding, not the opposite.
    5. I am sensitive to tone. Tone is information, too. I don’t overread it. I just read it.
    6. I don’t enjoy constant intensity. Even though I would have at one point in my life equated chaos to chemistry, peace is no longer boring to me. It’s actually regulating. I am never up for being around judgmental, critical, hateful people.
    7. I ask questions. Curiosity is not interrogation. It’s interest.
    8. I do not always want advice. Sometimes I am not stuck. I am just being human, out loud. Why is that so hard for people to understand? Not all things require immediate solutions.
    9. I’ve changed. Growth doesn’t always need a press release. I am allowed to evolve quietly and without permission. And just because someone doesn’t think it’s genuine doesn’t make it fact.
    10. I’m learning to be comfortable being misunderstood. Understanding that costs me peace is too expensive. I am committed to doing things at my own pace. I am allowed to opt out of constant explanations.

    I am not withholding. I am just done justifying. The people who need these explanations already know them. The rest? They can fill in the blanks. Or not. They can talk about me behind my back. Or not. They can judge me from afar. Or they can give me grace for being a human being. Either way, I’m okay.

  • A Raspberry Doormat

    For a very long time, I thought being easygoing was a virtue. I thought accommodating meant mature. I thought absorbing discomfort meant loving well.

    What I didn’t realize was how often I prioritized others’ comfort over my own safety, clarity, and peace. I thought that’s what kindness required of me.

    Someone I love very much snapped at me today. Unprovoked.

    And because I can’t allow an unfortunate event to occur without thinking it to death, here I sit, at 9 p.m. on a Wednesday evening, trying to figure out how I became someone people believe can be run over emotionally.

    1. I confused empathy with endurance. I believed that understanding someone meant tolerating everything. And it doesn’t. Empathy does not require self-erasure.
    2. I mistook flexibility for obligation. Just because I can bend does not mean I should. Adaptability is a skill, but it’s not an expectation others get to place on me.
    3. I absorbed emotions that weren’t mine to carry. Other people’s anger. Disappointment. Their stress. I picked it all up like it was my responsibility to fix. And it wasn’t.
    4. I over-explained to keep the peace. I narrated my needs carefully, softly (at first) and endlessly, hoping it would prevent conflict. It rarely did. It just left me lost and exhausted.
    5. Other times, I stayed quiet to avoid being “difficult.” I have smoothed so many things over at my own expense so that I didn’t come across as “too much.” I laughed off or excused away so many of my own hurt feelings that I lost a big chunk of what was actually important to me. Silence felt safer than losing someone.
    6. I accepted bread crumbs because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I told myself things were fine when they weren’t, because wanting more felt like I was asking for too much. But it wasn’t too much. It was honesty.
    7. I confused patience with permission. Waiting longer for someone to treat me right or to get his/her own act together didn’t make things better. It just trained people in what I would tolerate.
    8. I believed love meant limitless access. But love without boundaries isn’t connection – it’s depletion.
    9. I equated discomfort with growth. Some discomfort is growing pains. On the flip side, sometimes discomfort is a warning. And learning the difference changed everything.
    10. I thought that saying “no” was cruel. It’s not, though. It’s clarity. It’s self-respect. And sometimes it is the most loving thing I can do, especially for myself.

    What I know now is that being kind doesn’t require keeping my mouth shut. Being loving doesn’t require self-abandonment. Being understanding doesn’t mean being endlessly absorbent.

    I’m still compassionate. I still care so deeply.

    I’m just no longer available to be walked on in the name of being “kind” or “easy going” or “nonjudgmental” or “understanding.”

    And honestly? This version of me is healthier. Stronger. She possesses more clarity and stands firmer in her boundaries.

    Here I stand.

  • Unremarkable Raspberry

    None of the below will make it into a bio.

    They won’t come up in icebreaking exercises or “get to know me” klatches.

    There is no “fun fact” energy here.

    And yet this is the stuff that actually makes me me.

    1. I need a moment to settle into most things. New rooms. New conversations. New days. I don’t arrive fully formed. I need to warm up.
    2. I function best when I know what to expect (and what is expected of me). It’s not about control, a thing of which I have often been accused (even by myself). But warnings help my nervous system stop scanning for danger, even in everyday-life-type circumstances. A cereal aisle. A church pew. A “We need to talk” text message.
    3. I care about tone more than anything. What people mean matters more to me than how perfectly they say it. Delivery is everything. So is kindness.
    4. I notice small shifts. Energy changes, mood changes, pace changes. It’s not drama. It is information I cannot unsee.
    5. I function better when mornings are gentle. Abruptness sticks with me all day. Slow starts are like preventative care to me.
    6. I need reassurance sometimes. Not constantly. Not desperately. But not disingenuously either. I need just enough to stay grounded.
    7. I am steadier than I look. I feel deeply. But I don’t collapse, even when I want to. Having survived every terrible thing meant to destroy me (yes, even terrible situations I created for myself), God’s grace, I believe, has seen me through. He has given me the gift of resilience. And that resilience can be quiet.
    8. I prefer honesty that isn’t harsh. The truth doesn’t need sharp edges to be real. Kindness does not dilute honesty.
    9. I am more observant than expressive, at least at first. I listen more than I speak. That can sometimes be misread as disinterest. But it’s not. It’s just wading waters.
    10. I am learning to trust that being “ordinary” is not a flaw. Granted, my career has developed itself into something pretty extraordinary. But the rest of my life is quiet. In fact, most people’s lives are small, repetitive and unremarkable. That doesn’t make my life, or yours, unimportant.

    Closing thoughts – these traits aren’t exciting. They don’t sparkle. They’re structural.

    They explain how I move through the world. What I need to feel safe. Why certain things matter to me more than others.

    Unremarkable. But crucial.

  • Competent Raspberry

    I have proof.

    Actual documented evidence.

    Emails sent. Texts exchanged. Problems solved. Days survived.

    And yet, somehow, my brain decides, periodically, that none of it counts.

    How does that even happen?

    1. I treat every new challenge like it’s my first day on Earth. Past experience? Irrelevant. Surely this obstacle will be the one that ends me.
    2. I discount success because it felt hard. If solving a problem required stress, effort, or learning, I assume it doesn’t qualify as competence, as if “easy” is the only acceptable metric.
    3. I assume good outcomes were luck. Timing. Kind people. A one-off fluke. Definitely not ability.
    4. I remember feedback selectively. Because criticism sticks like glue and praise travels right over my head like it was never meant for me.
    5. I raise the bar immediately after clearing it. Like the issue I just overcame was fine, but I need to think about why it doesn’t really count going forward. Facepalm.
    6. I compare my behind-the-scenes to other people’s highlight reels. A classic mistake. I know better. I do it anyway.
    7. I forget how many things I figured out without instructions. No roadmap. No manual. Not even a lot of advice. Just me and my phone, Googling, or watching a YouTube tutorial, and making it work.
    8. I confuse “still learning” with “not capable.” I think we all have this idea in our minds of what it means to be an adult, or by what age we should have an accomplished career, bought a house, or [insert adult thing here]. But being “in progress” in certain areas of my life does not erase things I already know.
    9. I overlook quiet achievements. I am really quick to shame myself when I don’t get credit, yet I neglect to give myself credit when I have overcome certain obstacles, big or little. I have mastered the art of homemade blueberry muffins. I talk to attorneys (technically even my bosses) like I am their equal, and I’ve done it so much that my input and my voice actually mean something to them. I am a fast reader. I learned how to use tampons all on my own. I cut my own bangs now with ease. Not everything I am good at is loud, impressive or visible. But that doesn’t make those things less real.
    10. I underestimate myself by default. It’s not because I am incapable. Or incompetent. It’s because self-doubt can be louder than receipts sometimes.

    Competence and a sense of accomplishment don’t always announce themselves. Those things accumulate quietly by showing up, learning, and being resilient. These days I practice by looking at the evidence, even when my brain tries to pretend that evidence is missing.

    Did you know you have survived every single thing meant to destroy you? That thing that’s whipping your physical body, mental health, or emotional stamina is another thing you’ll survive, too.

    Happy Tuesday to you.