I have this exhausting habit of thinking every feeling needs an explanation. Something hurts and before I’ve even really felt it, I’m already asking myself what the hell is wrong with me. Why did that hurt? Why do I care? What does this mean? What does it say about me? And somehow I almost always find a way to make myself the problem. The shitty part is that the original feeling might have passed on its own, but instead I grab onto it, analyze the hell out of it, add guilt, and keep it alive way longer than it probably needed to be.
Today something showed up that has hurt me before. I saw it, actually went back and looked at it again, and instead of that awful drop in my stomach, I smiled. That was it. And almost immediately my brain wanted to start figuring out why I was okay this time. Because apparently even peace needs to be fucking analyzed. But I stopped myself. I don’t know why today was easier. Tomorrow might not be. And for once, I don’t want either one to mean anything about me. I’m tired of treating every emotion like evidence in a case against myself. Today something that used to hurt didn’t hurt as much. I smiled, kept scrolling, and my day went on.
I think I’m finally realizing that sometimes the kindest thing I can do for myself is not ask another question.