On days when I am feeling truly smug about my life, I read one of those articles about the daily routines of women who “have it all”. They are the entrepreneurs, CEOs, political movers and shakers, and philanthropists, who get more done in a day, than I do in a full work week. Nothing bursts my bubble as hard as an article which details how a woman gets up, works out, meditates, and answers all her work emails before 7 am.
These deliberate plunges into self hatred are few and far between these days, but there was a time, when I constantly asked myself, “Am I doing enough?” and always fell short.
I am an independent woman, who was raised by strong women who taught me to strive for success. I was not raised to value a husband more than a career, and my upbringing gave me all the tools to lead a productive life. Yet, here I was, with nothing much to show for my three decades on this Earth, except for a few mediocre pieces of writing. All around me were images of “hustlers” and “girl bosses”, women who juggled empires, babies, and charitable fundraisers. I thought they were better feminists, better women, better human beings.
I, like many women, am simply wired to be emotionally masochistic. Some may do it by holding onto toxic relationships, I tortured myself by comparing my life to Alexandra Ocasia Cortez, who is also younger BTW. Here she was, trying to eradicate institutional poverty with her Green Deal, while I can’t even wake up on time.
So, I set myself up with tasks–ideas to flesh out, personal projects to complete, and people to meet. I constantly asked myself “Are you doing enough?” and even when I crammed my days with more work, the answer always seemed to be a resounding no. There was always someone who was doing more.
However, the result of stretching myself thin was not a more productive day. I was able to tick off more items from the To-do list I made for myself, but the tasks were shoddily done. When I forced myself to write a page of fiction every day, the words were not vibrant, they were cliche. The one hour of food prep that I forced myself to do went to waste because I ordered and stress-ate junk food. The time I spent volunteering at animal shelters, felt tiresome, instead of rejuvenating. So, I stopped.
I did not give up doing the things that I had formed for the routine, I just did not do them as per a tyrannical time table. I stopped measuring my capabilities by the arbitrary “To-do” lists. Some may call me a quitter for this, but I am definitely a lot happier. And today, that seems enough.
