Sometimes, I feel rather British. Granted, this feeling is intensified as I’ve just watched four episodes of The Crown, but part of me feels like a stiff upper lip is needed to get through life. It’s how I’ve dealt with most things, but apparently that’s called compartmentalisation, and isn’t healthy for you.
Alongside all my usual health concerns, slight hesitancy when it comes to blogging, work, and new house drama, there’s a lot going on. I’m visiting my birth place with an increasing frequency where relatives tell stories that they think are ‘cute’ but are actually traumatic, resting for days to recover from the stress on my body then doing it all again, dealing with PTSD (probably cPTSD), but most predominantly grief.
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I give too many fucks.
I’ve known that I give too many fucks for some time, but a conversation with the Gent at 2am this morning really highlighted that fact when every worry I had was met with ‘that’s because you care too much’.
Caring is great, in fact the world would be a better place if people cared even a smidgen more, but caring too much can leave you paralysed with fear. It can give you endless anxiety, decision fatigue, and insecurity. It can make you reconsider your identity, your work, and ambitions.