I quit. I quit taking on all of the burdens of my family, friends and co-workers, while I slide deeper and deeper into the mud of my own anxiety without anyone pulling me out or lifting me up, or even noticing. I quit allowing my needs and wants to not be met in relationships, whether with my husband, my family, or friends. My needs are not second to yours. I quit not putting myself first. If I don’t ever put myself first, I will always be last. While that’s been ok for 34 years, it’s not ok anymore. I quit yielding my schedule to those around me. Your schedule is not more important than mine. My schedule always involves at least two other people. My schedule trumps yours. It is fixed and unvarying. You can figure it out. I quit allowing others to tell me what I need to do. I’ll go to therapy when I’m ready, and to the therapist of my choice. If I need a glass of wine or a muffin laced with a generally giving substance to calm down at the end of my day until then, then that’s ok. If I need to pull all of the weeds out of the flower bed, or practice for two hours in the evening to calm down, that’s ok too.
I have a two year old, a husband, a demanding job, a time consuming friend, all of which are male. I quit having men govern my life.
I quit apologizing for being weird. I have an eccentric taste in music. I have an eccentric taste in most things. I’m not particularly friendly most of the time, and I hate emotions. Crying is overrated. I quit apologizing for feeling that way.
I quit not being me. I am weird, and analytical, smart, and decisive. I have a lot to offer the world, and I’m tired of nobody seeing that.
Dear World, I quit. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.