I’m writing this blog post no matter what. I don’t know what I’m going to write about but I know I want to write a blog post. I feel happy when I write. I feel happy when I work through my list of tasks for the day. I feel like that makes me sounds kind of crazy or not quite normal. But well maybe I’m not. Probably I’m not. But if something makes me feel better then it would surely be even more crazy not to do it.
I think I wrote something similar last week, about how I seem to be the opposite way round to everyone else because I like my working weekdays and I really feel quite uncomfortable on holidays and at the weekend. I like Saturdays, and Sundays are ok, but it’s during the week that I feel happy. I love the peace of it, of knowing that I can do exactly what I want. And I suppose that’s how some people feel on the weekend. I was going to say most people, but I actually doubt that very many people genuinely feel they can do whatever they want at the weekend. Parents are busy taking their kids all over the place. 9 to 5 ers are catching up on errands.
I wonder how many people can genuinely say they are doing what they want to do most of the time? I actually feel like I probably can say that more than most. That’s what working for myself gave me. But I also choose time on my own, slow living to an extent, health and fitness and peace of mind rather than achievements. I do from time to time feel guilty about my lack of care and attention paid to housework or what I look like or the fact that I’ve never seen the latest films or been to the latest restaurant to open. I forget to do the washing and hang it out on the sunny days. Often someone will remark to me in the evening what a lovely day it’s been, and ask me if I’ve been enjoying the sunshine, and I’ll realise I spent the whole day in my bedroom, typing or reading and not even aware of what’s happening outside of my house or even myself.
I often don’t notice the world around me and I think I’m sometimes happier that way. It’s sometimes hard to achieve this kind of life. People automatically assume you’d prefer to be with someone else or doing something outside the house or more obviously productive. They don’t necessarily criticise, but they invite you to do stuff every time they notice you’re on your own, and it can be hard to tell them the truth – that you genuinely prefer to be on your own a lot of the time. It’s hard for me to admit that I just don’t really like going out, especially at night, especially in groups of more than about four people. It feels like I’m saying I don’t like people, but I do. I just prefer seeing people on my own terms, I guess. I prefer having something to DO while I’m seeing them. I prefer one-to-one or very small group conversations.
I don’t even really like running with other people all the time. I like biggish groups where you don’t necessarily have to talk and there is absolutely no pressure to run a particular pace. I think I feel pressure from other people. I’ve realised that I’ve been feeling uncomfortable around someone in my family because lately (and maybe always) I’ve felt like I just wasn’t quite behaving the way she feels I should behave. And that’s totally in my head and probably not at all to do with how she really feels. More so, I guess, I compare how I am to how she is and I feel that I’m not good enough. I’m not feminine or huggy or chatty. I don’t show my love through words very easily – if at all. And to be completely honest I don’t really feel very happy or comfortable when people tell me their woes. It makes me feel like I need to find a solution for them, and usually there isn’t one, or it’s not in my power to find one, or most likely of all, they don’t even WANT me to find a solution for them. So, it makes me feel really uncomfortable and then guilty for not having made things better for them.
The truth is this family member doesn’t act in the way I feel a loving person SHOULD act either. And I’ve realised that maybe her love language is in gifts and words. And my love language is in actions and attention. I feel loved when people want to spend time with me. So, for me, taking someone flowers, while absolutely lovely, doesn’t make up for the fact that you didn’t answer their calls or messages or let them come over to see you when they wanted to. But that’s just my particular love language. So, I went to bed last night feeling really unhappy about the way a family visit went this weekend, and I woke up this morning still feeling actually completely awful about it. And it’s taken half the morning for me to work through what was going on but I think that’s it. A simple issue of people having different ideas of what love is.
Because often the hardest thing for me to accept, and what causes me the most pain, is when I just don’t understand how people can be so seemingly MEAN! I spend literally hours, sometimes, going over things and unable to understand the reasons behind someone’s behaviour that seems so incredibly inconsiderate to me. I must remember this because I think that’s all it is. I’m not capable of using words or gifts to show how much I love people. And some people in just the same way may not be capable of giving their time or ATTENTION to show it. Obviously, from my perspective, it seems to EASY to give time and attention, and also, to me, gifts and words seem kind of meaningless, but those other people probably feel the opposite! Duh! How can I be so clueless about life!
The lesson I need to learn is to be more accepting and forgiving of myself and others. We all make mistakes. We’re all trying our best and everything would be alright if we could all just let go and breathe and let things be easy. I honestly believe that it really can be that easy.