Today I hit reply all on email at work with a less than appropriate response that was meant for the sender only. I realized it immediately and wanted to die. Thank god I was not in the office. And mind you, I am the one who LOATHES when someone hits reply all. This is punishment for every time I overly judge someone for using that bloody button. I do the same when I get behind someone who forgets to turn of his/her blinker.
I promise judgement is a terrible habit on which I am trying to work. BUT IT IS SO HARD. But know this, friends – I judge no one in this world worse than I do myself. It’s a chronic disability and has become debilitating at times. And has continuously become worse the older I get.
I tend to make really stupid mistakes when I am drinking (that’s not exactly rocket science, I know). I swear I am not an alcoholic, but the problem is I can’t metabolize adult beverages as well as the average person/I used to. I’ve had to learn this the hard way in recent months. When I found out I had a defunct metabolism last fall, all I could focus on is how that related to my inability to lose weight for the past three years, not how it affected anything else of importance or consequence.
I talk about drinking a lot, especially bubbles, cause that is my signature beverage. But I actually don’t drink nearly as much as I did from my late 20s to mid 30s. Those hangovers do not play around the older one gets, am I right? Anyhow, when I do decide to throw down like it’s 2008, I pay for it, in one way or another. And it never fails my questionable overindulgence is in direct response to a situation that or person who brings out my insecurities.
I went to a Christmas party last year with a guy I had been “dating” for most of 2017. A guy, honestly, I had no business dating in the first place (hi, my name is Nikki, and I am a terrible choice in dudes aholic). We hadn’t seen each other for four months and I was quite shocked to hear from him. I let this person, like most guys I’ve dated, make me feel like pure shit about myself. Like, I weigh 400 pounds, am entirely too old to try to date, never going to be good enough for anyone pure shit. It’s not okay. I’m working on that. But the day of that party, I barely ate – not out of nerves, more out of scheduling – and hadn’t really been drinking a lot for several weeks. Not to mention, there were a lot of leftover issues from when we had split in the summer that should have been dealt with before we ever tried to hang out whilst partying. Recipe for disaster, much?
I am sure you can see where this is going. Stupid things were said and thanks to Tito, it got way out of hand. I will be honest and say I don’t remember much. Just the aftermath. I spent three straight days destroying myself over it. My friends were worried, my therapist was worried. It was an ugly situation and I wallowed in unnecessary shame and despair for hours of my life I will never get back. I cried to the point of dehydration (not the first time that has happened over a boy, but I swear it will be the LAST). A part of me will always miss this guy; I’ve never met anyone with whom I have so much in common. But now I know that might not be such a good thing.
I didn’t think I could ever feel that much self-loathing again until I went to Mexico earlier this year. I was around individuals from all across the world and none of them speak English as a first language. Outside of the other two individuals from the U.S. and my roommate, no one spoke to me much. Instead of logically thinking about why, I automatically assumed it was because they thought I was silly, stupid, weird, a moron, fat, ugly etc. I let myself get a ridiculous complex. Again.
On the last night, one of the girls came up to me and told me most everyone had wanted to talk to me all week, but were hesitant to because they were nervous about their English. I had to bite my tongue before I screamed out “YOU LIKE ME, YOU REALLY DO LIKE ME!”
I’m an idiot. I know.
So what did I do when they actually started hanging out with me? Try to consume tequila like I was one of them, all of whom are born and raised Latin Americans. Needless to say, that did not turn out well. And the fact I had only a collective 17 hours of sleep that week did not help. I was not myself and borderline sick for days. And I was mortified. I beat myself up, again, for an absurd amount of time. I didn’t actually do anything stupid, but it was just a major “I am entirely too old for this” moment
Being chronically hard on myself has been a lifelong struggle. My parents were always called into school because my teachers thought I was under too much pressure at home. My mom had to tell every one of them it wasn’t her or my dad, it was all me. I have made an art form out of self-criticism. I have no doubt it’s why I am single, have anxiety and had a consistent eye twitch for the past two months. I am well aware I gotta get a grip. I refuse to take this habit and behavior into my 40s.
Having said all this, now you can imagine how I reacted when I accidentally replied all this morning. I wanted to die. So I literally googled “how to get over doing something stupid” and I came across a blog post from a therapist. I can’t seem to find it now, but this I remember:
You are human.
You are not perfect.
You make mistakes.
And that is okay.