I like to have long conversations with other people, but by myself.
It’s easy: I know exactly what everyone is going to say, so I’ve decided in all my wisdom to beat them to the gut punch. These hypothetical words, like crudely duct-taped pillows, fasten to my body as an armor, made of what I think is resilience. But…I’m starting to think that maybe it’s just another one of my DIY projects gone wrong.
In fact, these mile-a-minute conversations are just highlighting my insecurities, and the ways in which I’ve been hurt before that still feel a little tender. They’re a bargain highlighter duo, designed to give those dark shadows some life, some shine, some dimension. To make them take up space on my face, in my mirror, in my home. I’m just giving the spotlight over to those things that stole the light from me in the first place.
And this: if these words are coming with such certainty, why waste my breath on something that’ll come along eventually? Why sit around waiting to hear the same junk twice?
Imagine how I felt on the day I discovered this: me, a goddess of efficiency and deduplication, willingly offering myself up for the sacrifice of hearing thoughtless things twice. Okay, maybe it’s not quite so majestic, but still. A girl can dream.
So I’m here, ready for feedback, open to critique—because those are the things that make us better. But maybe it’s time to stop paying the bill and unplug the open line I have with those imagined conversation buddies. Time to conference in a higher power, a grounded spirit, a boundary-setter, to twirl my finger around the curly pink phone cord and say:
Seeya later, alligator.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, ask yourself “what story shall I tell myself today?” and if it’s not a good one then, my dear, do not tell it.