Tessa

Some people journal. I blog with a little more swearing.

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about

Wild-hearted. Well-worn. Always learning. I write to connect, heal and remind us we are never alone in the mess.
Now I don’t need a garage full of cars But I’ll take a whole box of Cuban cigars And I’ll smoke ’em nice and slow Like they were good for me Don’t need a ranch or a big piece of land But I like to get a little bit of dirt on my hands Keith Urban – Little Bit Of everything

  • When I feel like it (to every damn day!).

    My hobby, like most hobbies, started out as a fling. I was in the sixth grade and my classmate was infatuated with an older man ( I think he was an eighth grader), and so my story telling abilities were born. Every day I crafted a tale about the two of them. I wish I still had it. I bet it was terrible and filled with angsty love sick drama.

    Little did I know it was going to began an obsession I didn’t know how to shake or what to do with it.

    I started dabbling when the mood would strike. I would write a paragraph or maybe even 5000 words or more and have half a story, but I would get stuck and stop. I would walk away. Telling myself I would come back when I figure it out. And then I would really commit. Suddenly, months and years passed and those stories just remained untouched and unfinished in notebooks.

    Sound familiar?

    The truth is, discipline isn’t just for gym rats and corporate ladder climbers — it’s the secret sauce that takes your hobby from casual fling to long-term love story.

    And no, adding discipline doesn’t have to kill the fun. In fact, it can make your hobby way more satisfying.

    Hobbies are supposed to be fun — your little rebellion against the structure of work, bills, and “grown-up” life. So the thought of scheduling your watercolor practice or setting a goal for your baking hobby can feel… wrong.

    A little structure is what I needed to get out of stuck and back into loving to write.

    I have started getting more focused with writing. I have two different platforms I have been creating stories on and posting. I have a dedicated word count to hit every day. And I have this little blog.

    I am able to come back to this blog because of the structure and discipline I ‘ve put in place. I started writing for me, and stopped putting pressure on myself to write 80,000 words. . I listen to my voice and my muse. It’s how I ended up slowing down and just writing little shorts.

    I have daily reminders and tasks and skills to build. I want to get really good at this little hobby of mine and to do that I need to practice. Every single day.

    Mornings are now mundane and filled with routine. I have exercises to do and homework to do before I ever get to the actually writing part of my day. It’s a warm up to help my brain focus on the task.

    But here’s the trap: without a little structure, my hobby would remain in my notebook. Just another dream turning to dust.

    If you want to get better at something — whether it’s knitting, woodturning, photography, or salsa dancing — you have to treat it like both a playground and a training ground.

    Think of yourself as an “artist athlete.” Fun gets you started, but practice keeps you sharp. That means showing up even when you’re not “feeling it” — because skills grow in the repetition, not the rare bursts of inspiration.

    According to Google here are some Practical Ways to Build Hobby Discipline:

    1. Schedule It Like a Workout

    Block time in your calendar just like you would for the gym or a meeting. Same day, same time each week — non-negotiable.

    2. Set Micro-Goals

    Forget vague goals like “get better at guitar.” Try “learn one new chord this week” or “bake two new bread recipes this month.” The smaller the goal, the more likely you’ll stick with it.

    3. Track Your Progress

    Keep a journal, a photo album, or a spreadsheet. Seeing your skill level improve over time is addictive — and it’ll push you to keep going.

    4. Mix Drills with Free-Play

    Dedicate some time to skill drills (practicing scales, working on stitches, testing new camera settings), but also allow space for pure play where you create with zero rules.

    5. Build in Rest Days

    Even with hobbies, burnout is real. A rest day keeps you from associating your hobby with pressure. So when I am mentally tired, I give myself the day off from the pressure of trying to finish my chapter or create more of my short story. I have deadlines, but just like a gym routine; I rest when my mind tells me it needs a break.

    I commit to showing up — even for just 20 minutes a day — my hobby stops being something I have to squeeze in and starts becoming part of my identity. I find myself thinking about it more, improving faster, and, ironically, having more fun because I’m finally seeing real results.

    Bottom line: You don’t have to choose between fun and discipline. The sweet spot is when they work together. Show up for your hobby like it’s an unmissable date, and soon it won’t feel like effort — it’ll just feel like who you are.

    Until next week.

    You can find me and my short stories on Substack : Substack.com/@tessaburmanwrites and Wattpad (where I write under my pen name TL Wilde). I have three chapter from a short story called Soft Launch.

    love and chaos,

    Tessa

  • Be a Menace.

    I woke up this morning, sleep-deprived and under siege by a 10-pound cat who insists breakfast is whenever she decrees—usually before 6 a.m. My version of hitting the snooze button? Tossing a pillow at her. That bought me five minutes of peace before she started yowling again.

    I rolled out of bed, but my dog—traitor that she is—stayed put, claiming my warm spot, curling into a ball, and pulling the covers over her nose. I grabbed my phone and started scrolling. I know, terrible habit. Blue light and social media before I’m even fully awake. Halfway through, I dropped the phone, remembering I got up to feed the cats. While I was at it, I fed the dogs too. I used to have two big dogs, but now I’m catering to two pint-sized pups under 10 pounds. Go figure.

    Sipping my pre-workout, I set up my yoga mat and weights. I’m a goal girlie with commitment issues, but one thing I know: lifting weights keeps me sane enough to tolerate society. I’m always sleep-deprived and grumpy about it, but I feel better after. That’s what keeps me going.

    Let’s be real—I’d love to sleep until 8 a.m., then lounge in my gym clothes for two hours. Ideal morning, right? But lately, I’ve been taking stock of my life, asking what truly makes me happy—not my partner, my daughter, or my family, but me. As a firstborn daughter and granddaughter, that’s tough. The people-pleaser in me runs deep. For a decade, I’ve made promises to “get my life together” and chase my goals.

    Spoiler: that hasn’t worked.

    So, I decided to be a menace instead. I’m done with behaving, chasing traditional goals, or squeezing into some box I built for myself. I’m a freaking delight, and I know it.

    As my friend Lisa’s husband put it one summer day, we’re “Judgmental Life Coaches.” He’s onto something. I’ve got opinions, born from experience, and I’m here to say: maybe listen for a minute so you don’t have to burn everything down to become the you-est you.

    This isn’t your typical goal-getter blog with tidy lessons. It’s more like torching your Pinterest board and embracing chaos at its core.

    Because here’s the truth: nobody’s getting out alive, and we’re all faking it. Did you know not everyone will make it to your funeral, even if they loved you? Weather might hold them up. So, get a little selfish, a little reckless with your life.

    For me, that meant finally sharing my short, chaotic stories with the world. I’ve got six or more in progress, sparked by a muse who hands me a sentence and says, “Do something with this.” AI has been a game-changer, helping me outline stories when I get stuck obsessing over perfection. That’s how I started on Substack, turning my wildest adventures into short stories with just enough chaos. It’s freeing—most of my ideas are under 10,000 words, perfect for the characters and muse driving them. My young adult storyline, led by Mary Francis (the muse names them), came to me in a dream a year ago and wouldn’t let go until I wrote it down. It may turn into something a little longer and I may just hit publish on it for public consumption. It’s not the book I thought I would write first out the gate; but something in this character won’t let go. For now my stories are on my Substack—my Best Fiends story, a wild ride born from my brain’s urge to unleash pure chaos, wraps up soon on Substack. Next up is Roped In, where two women, fresh off breakups, stumble into love with cowboys during rodeo season. I’ve also got a wild tale on Wattpad, Soft Launch, sparked by a prompt about meeting a celebrity and thriving in the spotlight. All my stories are free right now, so dive in and let me know what you think!

    My brain’s got a few tabs open, and I’m done fighting it. I just let the chaos in. I lay out my yoga mat, set up my weights, and let my workout quiet the noise. I don’t beat myself up for missing a session anymore—I’m chugging water and popping supplements; something’s gotta give.

    If you’ve got a dream in your heart, here’s what I’ve learned: just start.

    Put it out there, imperfect and raw.

    Some of us were meant to thrive in the chaos.

    Let that be you.

  • Running on Fumes.

    I didn’t sleep well last night.

    Not in the tossed and turned but still got six hours kind of way. I mean the stared at the ceiling, contemplated every life decision I’ve ever made, then finally passed out thirty minutes before my alarm kind of way.

    Those nights when the dog startles you out of a deep sleep barking in your ear or when the cat you fed at 9 pm decided that wasn’t good enough.

    You know those mornings when your body wakes up but your soul stays in bed? Yeah. That’s where I’m at. I feel like I could drink my weight in caffeine and still have the energy level of a damp paper towel.

    I shuffled into the kitchen like a cryptid. Hair wild. Face puffy. Mood: aggressively neutral. I stood there in front of the coffee maker like it owed me rent. And when the first drops of coffee hit the pot? A single tear may have rolled down my cheek. The caffeine gods had blessed me.

    But even after coffee, I’m still walking around like I’ve got dial-up internet for a brain complete with sound and a body made of concrete and regret.

    The truth is, exhaustion isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s just quiet and constant. A background hum of meh. You go through the motions, answer emails like a zombie, forget why you walked into a room (twice), and try not to cry in the bread aisle.

    It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s just slightly on fire.

    So today, I’m giving myself permission to be a little slower. To sip the extra cup of coffee without guilt. To wear the comfy clothes, postpone the non-urgent, and maybe take a nap that turns into a life reset.

    If you’re running on fumes too, just know you’re not alone. We can’t all be morning people. Some of us are barely people before 10 a.m.

    Go easy on yourself today.

    And maybe drink some water between cups of coffee. (Or don’t. I’m not your mom.)

  • New Chapter.

    A New Chapter: Short Stories, Substack, and Best Fiends

    Hi friends,

    If you’ve been here a while, you already know I believe in the power of a well-told story. The kind that lingers. The kind that catches you off guard and makes you think, Wait—what just happened?

    That won’t be changing anytime soon. But today, I want to share something new I’ve been working on—something I’m genuinely excited about.

    I’ve launched a Substack, and I’d love to have you there.

    Why Substack?

    I’ve been craving a space where fiction can stand on its own—where it doesn’t get buried under life updates, musings, or algorithm noise. Substack felt like the right move. It’s simple, clean, and personal. A place where stories go directly from my hands to your inbox. No ads, no filters—just you and the story.

    My Substack is simply called Tessa Burman, and it will be the new home for all my short stories moving forward.

    What’s There Now: 

    Best Fiends

    To kick things off, I’m publishing a story called Best Fiends.

    What Is  Best Fiends?

    Best Fiends is a no-holds-barred short story series about two chaotic best friends—Lola and Mess—who drink too much, fight too loud, and love each other like war buddies in sequins.

    There are llamas.

    There are biker bars.

    There are glitter-related incidents that probably violated local laws.

    Every episode is a bite-sized blast of unhinged friendship, questionable life choices, and ride-or-die loyalty told with full sass and zero apologies.

    If you’ve ever:

    – Worn heels to brunch just to ruin someone’s day

    – Or adopted a stray animal because “it felt right”

    …then Best Fiends is for you.

    Follow this link to the first two episodes:

    https://open.substack.com/pub/burmantessa/p/best-fiends-episodes-1-and-2-whiskey?r=29n3f7&utm_medium=ios

    Wait—What About This Blog?

    Still here. Still me. Still all the messy thoughts, behind-the-scenes peeks, odd writing rituals, and occasional rambles you’ve come to expect.

    The Substack isn’t a replacement. It’s just a new room in the same house.

    This blog will continue as always—but if you want to read the latest stories as soon as they’re released, or follow Best Fiends as it unfolds, the Substack is where that’s happening.

    Come Along?

    You can check it out and subscribe

    New stories will land in your inbox, along with a few extras from time to time—like notes on process, sketches of ideas that didn’t make it, or maybe even some behind-the-scenes chaos.

    I am learning as I go. Right now I have another episode set to drop on Friday of next week.

    Thanks, as always, for reading. Your support, your comments, your quiet presence here—it all means the world to me. I’m excited to start this new chapter with you.

    See you there (and still here),

    Tessa

  • Recover

    Hi. I’m Tessa. I’m a recovering people pleaser.

    I say I’m in recovery because even though most days I can stop the intrusive thoughts that make me pause before asking a question or simply telling someone no; I still have to have a good talking to with myself.

    I feel that slight panic and the hint of disapproval before I even say or ask. I have to shake my head and remember I am kind. I am not nice and I am not a pushover. I am kind.

    As a recovering people pleaser I would often not speak my mind or tell them how I felt without some deep brushing over in attempt to make them feel better. I have learned that it doesn’t help them or me when I simply brush over the way they carelessly hurt my feelings.

    Now when I receive a text and it has the veiled hint of their insecurities pushing out under the pretext of an apology; I ignore the empathetic response and answer in the direct I can with leaving a hint of bitch.

    I received such a text a little while ago from someone who is a repeat offender. She has been in and out of my life since we were young and it’s almost like an abusive relationship. Feelings get hurt and we try in vein to be friends, but there is a wall. Whether it’s hers or it’s mine, it’s really hard to tell. We haven’t spoken in over a year. Again. If we happen to see each other in person, she will seek me out and the last time I tried to avoid it. Very people pleaser of me to not want to confront anything. But there we were sitting at the table later in the night while she apologized for being a bad friend. Again. Words poured out while I said, “Thank you.”

    I didn’t say, “Me too.” or that I was sorry too. I didn’t have to keep up the facade. I needed to break the cycle.

    We parted ways and I didn’t hear from her in any capacity. No, I didn’t reach out because changed behavior is what I was looking for. Or maybe I was protecting myself from another round of feeling like her punching bag. Either way, I thought I had let it all go until I woke up one morning to a text from her.

    She once again reached out to me, picking at me or trying to understand whatever situation she was going through. She said she owed me an apology for a past transgression that she either made up in her head or someone whispered to her to cause trouble.

    My initial response upon seeing the text was WTF. WTF.

    I, of course, did what every female does when getting a weird out-of-blue text: I texted my BFF. After much debate about not responding; I of course responded.

    Not in my people-pleaser voice. More in my recovering voice. I replied and asked if she was okay and briefly defended myself (I am in recovery ) after explaining I wanted off her apology tour and wished her well.

    I know I could have not responded. She didn’t deserve a response of any kind. But I also know that’s not who I am. As a people pleaser in recovery, I felt the need to stand up for myself. I didn’t need to be passive or nice. I just chose to be kind.

    If you’re someone who is often putting others first or trying to please everyone, just know that I’m here to support you on your journey.

    Finding the balance between being a people-pleaser and being direct isn’t easy, but it’s all about being kind, not just nice. Once we understand this, our healing can begin.

    It’s not easy to put this into practice in the ugly reality of the world. I know. I just know I can feel it in my body when I go against my intuition. I’m only hurting my own feelings by failing to voice my thoughts or opinions.

    And some days I have to remind myself that I’m in recovery.

  • Grown up

    When did you consider yourself a grown up? I keep waiting for that answer myself. I mean I do what society considers grown up things. Do I consider myself a grown person? Even while I am raising one to be a grown up? No. No, I do not think I am grown. Let me explain.

    I do so much self help that I have self improved myself into a corner; into a space where I think I need to over think and handle things better. Of knowing I should say what is on my mind and not having the courage to say it at the time. I still resort to being that girl in middle school with crooked teeth and being made fun of because my legs were too long or how I wore my shorts. I am always looking for the more adult grown up to speak up. Then I realize that I am the adult and I need to stand up for the middle school girl.

    Recently, I left one job to do another. It seemed like a good idea. More pay and work with, what I thought, a group of fun people. It was. At first. Then I was humbled by mistakes I had made and then the fun group slowly started to pull away. It was like being in middle school all over again. Although, I know these aren’t the popular girls trying to push me around. These are just grown women who are just insecure but have decided to form their own pack. And when women decide they are the bullies, they make sure everyone around them know it too.

    Remember the lunch table in high school? A gathering spot that was used to talk and whisper and make plans. It could be a fun thing and it could be used against you. What happens when you get to work and realize that grown ups now use the lunch table in the same manner? It happens. When I was inside the circle I didn’t really realize how much it was used and pushed, all while making it sound like everyone else was just jealous. Maybe jealous isn’t the right word here. I will say once I was pushed out, it was interesting to see just all the ebbing and flowing under the guise of breaking bread happened.

    The humbling experience for me was going back into that building after being gone for the summer and expecting grown ups to behave like, well, grown ups. What I received instead was the very clear cold shoulder. It was one day and I got a clear preview of what the rest of time would be like. The ability to blame is very real but not the ability to accept part of the blame for the problem.

    I have been told several times over that I am brave to return. Am I really?

    There really isn’t enough self help books to walk me through mean girls in their 40s. There probably should be. I just think the same rules apply. I just don’t abide by them. I am professional and keep my inside thoughts on the inside. Or at least I think I do. The need to fit in is still there or is the need to have everyone like me? I am not sure. I am not very good keeping my face from showing all my thoughts. I am work in progress. I am also self aware enough to know that even if I take all the blame they put on me (and I could say that there is enough to go around), it wouldn’t change how they have decided to play it or how they have made me the villain in their story.

    When do I stop lying to myself and come to realize that I am not as kind as I think I am. I mean I am nice, but am I always kind? No. So when do I stop pretending to be kind and be the asshole I know I am. That is a question I ask myself frequently. I tend to think I should want people to think I am kind and nice. I just want to fade into the background and not be always front and center. That shit makes my heart beat faster and hard to catch my breath. The other question I keep asking myself is why do I want to keep blending in to the back ground? I don’t any longer. I don’t want fear to keep holding me back or the fear of what will happen if I say the things that I want to say to the people that need to hear them.

    It’s a fine line I am tired of walking.

    I am walking into the unknown professionally. My job description has changed and I really don’t know where I will land. It makes me anxious because I like to know everything ahead of time. I know; we can dig into that another time. Knowing how people will behave, but seeing it happen in real time is something else all together.

    I am pretty straight forward by nature but being lied about and ran over by a bus over and over; well, that a lot for even the thickest skinned person. I am re-grouping and realizing that using lunch as a weapon isn’t a good look on anyone. Being a bully in a work place isn’t a good look on anyone.

    Experience is a great teacher. When I was just out of dental assisting school and got my first job in a place full of women, I was pushed around. I was messed with and bullied. And all I was doing was to trying not to make waves and fade into the background. There I was forced to the front.

    Again the universe is putting me in uncomfortable situations where I have been talked about and asked to stand tall. I will stand in front of the little girl I was in middle school. I will also remind myself at 49 that I have done so much self growth and I have been through a lot in the short life; being pushed around isn’t anything new. In fact, it’s just getting old. It also reminds me that the universe will keep showing me lessons until I learn. I keep trying to fade into the wallpaper and not be noticed. The problem is them people start to take advantage of kindness and mistake it for weakness.

    I have been going through a growth spurt. I have been making promises to myself on the precipice of my upcoming milestone birthday. I don’t have them all in black and white fine print yet; but one thing I will be living by. It’s something I have said to my daughter since she was six years old, “Be kind but take no shit.”

    It’s time to practice what I preach.

  • Transition.

    I have been having a rough go of it.  I am just going to say it. My personal life has been in , well not the ditch exactly, but ditch adjacent. 

    There is so much good in my life. My transition to momming from afar to the most well adjusted child is going good. I think. She isn’t the best communicator about her thoughts and feelings; she plays everything close to the vest with me. I think I am overwhelming as a mom because my feeling ebb and flow like a river. She isn’t quite so dramatic. But even so she makes me feel like a rock star mom with her grasp on life. She gives me good advice. It’s crazy to watch a once 4 year old wearing Disney princess night gowns every day turn into this amazing human. I look at her and can say I did one thing right. 

    Now the rest of my life. Well, I would like to look at this way. It’s more like driving down the road in your favorite pick up truck, the windows are down and the radio is turned way up. It’s a good day. Little sun and wind. Hair blowing in the breeze. Right before a pot hole. 

    Every thing bounces and is thrown off balance. I realize that this is my own fault for not looking further down the road and paying attention to the signs.

    I believe I am glass half full kind of person with room for more. That has lead me to become a fixer to almost everyone I meet. I also get told what I should be doing or how I should be doing it. Quite a bit. It’s usually with the shrug of my shoulders that I keep going. 

    What I need to say to my daughter is; it’s great to the girl with all the advice; but, you have to remember that too much input leads to confusion. I forget to trust my own voice as much as I am trusting others. And sometimes I feel confused by what I am hearing or what I am being told. It’s almost like there’s static on the line and they are missing some of the words coming through from me. 

    I can say that I have become a quiet person, and I know that is going to seem a little odd. Considering I am loud much of the time. I have found myself not saying as much as I should. I have felt my voice become smaller. It’s not that I don’t think I have something to say or an opinion to voice. It’s just become too overwhelming to ask to be listened too. That my information matters too. I have started to try to quiet all the outside voices telling me what to do; even after I have vented to them about a worry. After all, their decisions and opinion matter or I wouldn’t be going to them; but it only effects them. They aren’t living with the decision after it’s made.

    Transitions are hard on everyone. I know this. Many of us don’t go through something hard or heartbreaking without becoming a changed person. But not every transition has to be an ending but maybe to a new something. We all have to find that something. Right now that’s all I am desperately trying to do. 

    I am trying to get back to driving down the road carefree with the window down and radio up. It’s not easy. In fact it’s rather hard right now. The radio isn’t coming in without the static and there are clouds are the horizon; but I have faith the size of a mustard seed that everything will be alright. 

  • Forward.

    I haven’t been here in awhile. I had lost my muse or my will to write anything. Writing takes time and your brain has to create space for the imagination. For me that means space without stress or pressure, and unfortunately for me; space has been rare to find.

    Unforeseen pressure is always character building. That’s what we get told and that is what nature shows us. Diamonds, for example, are found from pressure. We put pressure on ourselves to shine. I am not sure where I am going with this but to say this year I have enough pressure that I should be sparkling.

    I have learned that I need to pull my self out of this cycle I find myself in. That spot where I become secure that things will be taken care of and that I don’t have to worry. There is such thing as being too independent and I will raise my hand and tell you that I suffer from the common, “I will do it myself” fatigue.

    I am stuck being a leader when truly I would like to be a follower. I don’t want to have to make all the tough decisions. I don’t want to be the one who just gets it done. It’s exhausting. Women have so much pressure on themselves to do it all. Well, I am freaking tired okay. I want to put my ass in a chair on the beach and watch waves and drink something cold. But when you can’t relax sitting at the beach starts to look like work. I can only sit for so long. The sun is hot, the shade is cold and the breeze feels good. Too much glare off Mrs. Ocean and so I have to get up and move around. I walk the shore. I look for shells and collect too many so I have to come back to the chair, the shade and the breeze. So now I can busy myself looking the shells. See? Even the beach for me is exhausting because I cannot relax.

    “Just relax.”

    If only it were that simple.

    Am I doing enough? Probably. Most likely. Is it things that make my eyes sparkle? No. It is the mundane daily tasks that have to be done.

    My child moved out of my home and in with her dad for her Senior year of high school. She had her reasons and I really understand her need to move forward; but it has been an adjustment. I hit a hard wall of depression questioning every decision. Add to the guilt were everyone’s opinion on my parenting.
    “Just tell her no.”
    That was the most advice I got. Solid advice. It doesn’t help and it doesn’t encourage. Especially when she is at the age where she needs to grow and spread her wings a little. She is still in a nest, it’s just not my nest. I parent from a far now.


    I was making forward progress, I had also hit the wall of depression. I didn’t want to get out of bed and I didn’t want to exercise. I didn’t even want to clean my house. I just wanted to sit or sleep. I felt like a bad mom. That my daughter had to get away from me, and I know that’s not case. It had only been me and her for so long, it’s hard to remember who I am without her. I know I had prep time for this because she has spend every summer and Christmas with her dad for the past six years; but I knew she was coming home. That’s a different kind of missing your child. This feels more permanent so that means I need to move forward.

    While I was in that wall of depression, life passed me by. I wasn’t present. I was worried about everything else going on in my life at the time. At the same time I also felt I wasn’t allowed time to be in the depression. I was some how suppose to just keep everything together even though I wasn’t together at all.

    What I came to realize is it’s okay. It’s okay. Life changes and it keeps moving forward. I just am figuring out how to move forward and not get bogged down by every day minutia. Or feelings of inadequacy. I am good mom and a good human. I may not get it right every time, but I am engaged and I am showing up. I am now learning to take it easy on myself and make time for my passions. Whatever they may be. And that includes telling everyone around me that I need alone time and I need space. Space to create and reconnect with the one person that needs me the most.

    Me.

  • Strange.

    I mispronounce words. A lot. Or enough that it becomes noticeable. It could be that my tongue just gets in the way and it sounds wrong. At any rate, I have noticed my whole life I don’t say or see things the same way others do.

    I don’t fit in.

    It could be I am too sensitive.

    I am like a square peg in a round hole. My clothes, my style, the things I find interesting or pretty aren’t in tune with the rest of the world. I often stare in amazement at the way a whole group of society can have the same taste in clothes and make them look good. I could be shown a whole rack of clothes and still not pick the thing that I “should.” I have a shoe collection that I shouldn’t have all because I am in constant pursuit of the right shoe. I think I should scrap them all except for my boots, my vans, and a good pair of flats or flip flops.

    It could be I am too sensitive.

    I have to admit I have felt out of sorts this past year. Like I don’t fit in my own skin. I can’t seem to figure it out, but everything feels off. My to do lists gets longer and my have to’s seem to grow along with my prayer list. I worry too much about the future. I am also a creature of habit and my oldest child brain likes a certain order to things.


    It could be I am too sensitive.

    Everything feels heavy. I had a week of complete darkness. I hate it. I hate being in that frame of mind that I can’t get out no matter how much sunshine or getting up every morning to burn it off. I just wanted to sleep. I like to blame it on hormones. I think this was more and I hate to say that out loud. It was heavy. Mostly coming out of a lot of weirdness and worry. A lot of shouldering more than I should and just kept pushing forward. I can’t help it. I just push on. I know if I just keep moving forward I can shake it.

    It could be I am too sensitive.

    This week is better. I am eating better and moving around more. I still feel the weight of the world on me and I am worried about far too many things that aren’t in my control, like the grass growing or calves gaining weight or rain. I can either pray or worry but I can’t do both. That’s something I need to remember and most of what is so heavy isn’t as bad as I think or it is.

    Maybe it’s the weight of feeling I should feel or act more like an adult. The weight of that will make a person crazy.

    It could be I am too sensitive. It could be I need to shake off the opinions of others and that includes everything I tend to think about myself. It’s okay I am little off balance. I don’t always say the right word right and I don’t always follow a crowd. I don’t have a sense of direction anyway and the music was a little too loud for me to hear anyway. It could be that 17 year old me would be really disappointed in the lack of confidence wrapped up in attitude I lost some where along the way. I just need an open road and wide open windows on a dream car.
    It’s sitting in my drive way. It’s on my adult to do list. It really belongs on my 17 year old to do list. If I think about it……

    I could be I am too sensitive.

  • Dishonest.

    I’m a little disappointed in myself.

    I would like to think I am a pretty smart person, but than I look back on the stupid things I’ve done and I realize I need to follow my own advice. Especially when a number of people around me take the time to say something to me.

    The last year has been trying. I have felt like I am in a row boat going up stream that keep filling up with water. Health issues aside, there is something about dealing with someone else and their issues that you never quite expect.
    I am a people-pleaser and I have a “I’ll save you complex.” I thought I had learn some things along my journey to 48 but it turns out I need to learn a few more. Or more to the point, stop saving everyone’s feeling at the expense of mine. I know it’s hard to believe, but I don’t always speak my mind as much as I should.

    I have a wonderful, silly dog named Grace. She makes me smile just thinking about her because she is generally just a happy beautiful soul. I really don’t deserve her, but she has taught me so much. For instance, Grace barks at everyone. I mean friend or foe, Grace will charge at you barking. No amount of yelling her name or telling her to stop will work. She doesn’t hear me, she is just running to the person or animal that she sees. Once she gets there, she stops barking and is so friendly. She also doesn’t mind very well. She does what she wants. She’s 9 years old. She stopped giving a f*ck. She is also too nice and too considerate of other animals. She will let another dog or cat run over her until she finally has had enough. I guess in a way she is my dog after all.

    We all have our breaking points.

    Mine comes from doing too much for others or letting them guilt me until I give in. At that point it is their disrespect for my opinion or boundaries; not me. I can only yell so loud in a crowded room before I realize no one is listening. Much like Grace, no one takes my barking seriously.
    So I stop. I stop helping. I stop suggesting and I stop worrying. I just stop. It’s my coping mechanism. I realize I need to trust my instinct and put my needs and values first. No one else is going to take off their oxygen mask to save me. It’s my job to save myself.

    When this happens others will take notice and ask what is wrong. After all, I have been so much for so many that they find comfort in the fact that I will just continue to be there and to bend for as long as needed. As long as they need. There is nothing wrong. I am putting my oxygen mask on. First.

    I can only love or give advice or hold your hand before I am all done. I was in therapy awhile back and the one thing that keeps coming back to me is he said, “you are trying to make sense out of a nonsense situation. Trust yourself. You have the right instincts.” I have forgotten that every once and again, so I think I need to put up my wall so I can read it every day. Pep talks are needed when you get so far in the hole, you forget yourself.

    I am reclaiming myself. We all have periods of doubt and low self esteem. It’s normal human nature. What is also a normal human nature is to remember all that I am and all that I can be. It’s okay for me to take care of me first and demand others around me start to listen to me.

    I shouldn’t have to yell.