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Over the past few months I’ve come to an astonishing realization.
I can’t do All The Things, All The Time.
What? You knew?? I had no idea…not until trying to do everything, on some schedule only I understood, damaged my body.
I get it now. You can’t say yes to everything. You can’t always do things on a schedule no one else even cares about. If a blog doesn’t get written until 9:00 p.m. or a tweet never gets sent, it’s okay. Sometimes the better part of valor (and my well-being) is to say, “This isn’t going to happen today.” (Or this week.)
But knowing that fact and living with it are two different things. What’s good for my health isn’t always good for my goals. But should I care more about some random item on my to-do list more than I care about my body and mind?
Probably not. Maybe not? No? Definitely not? Fuck if I know.
Setting goals and crossing things off my to-do list is as much a part of my identity as being a submissive or being a sex blogger. I get shit done. Except it becomes toxic when you care more about a list than you do about yourself.
I’m worth more than the stress I place on myself about things that no one but me even cares about.
And yet, I have these audacious dreams and goals that only happen by putting in the work, showing up, grinding it out, and getting shit done. I’m good at those things. The self-care? Not so much.
Sometimes all I want to do is curl up with my to-do list, my goals, and my dreams and forget the rest of the world. Sometimes “self-care” isn’t fun or exciting or particularly caring. Except I know closing the laptop, forgiving myself for not living up to my own impossible standards, and allowing myself to say no is a form of tough love I need.
When that fails, I let a certain Daddy Dom inflict his own form of tough love, and I go to bed without (much) complaint. Not because I’m the slacker my lying brain tells me I am, but because I’m worth much more than the work I want to do.