Hello my fellow neurotic turtles and anxious bubbles.
I’ve been moving this last week. Not like…up off my chair kind of moving (although that too is an occasion), but moving house. Big life events everybody. Yay.
I’m not being sarcastic, I’m actually over the moon and extremely grateful for the last week. The last few months, really. I know its the unpopular opinion, but this year has truly allowed me to get my shit together.
So lets talk about how I’m not together and my own brain has forced me into contemplating the meaning of existence, simply because I packed up my earthly belongings and moved them to an alternate location. One point to anxiety, ladies and gentlemen.
Of course, any rational person will fall into a spiral about what it means to be ourselves when putting the contents of their junk drawer into an unmarked box. Normal. Of course.
Not to mention I’ve had this spiral before, many times, you can even find blog posts about it on this very website if you look hard enough.
Anyway, moving house led me to question who I would be in this new house. And since I’m going to be sharing it with someone who I’ve not lived with in the past, will I be myself now that I won’t always be alone? But why does being alone constitute being myself? Are you not yourself with the person you love? Are you more yourself with the person you love?
See where I fell…? And I fell hard dude.
We with anxiety know the struggle when it comes to moments like this, you create something out of nothing and before you know it, you’ve dug yourself into an inescapable hole of doom. This hole being your own mind.
I’m okay now, instead of freaking out, I picked up the microphone. (Okay maybe I freaked out a tiny bit) It did make me feel better. I don’t think I answered my own question, but I did explore some possibilities.
Come and have a listen. You can check out The Confused 22 Podcast on Spotify, Deezer, Podchaser and Podcast Addict.