There is no bad time to start. This is my mantra, lately. I have had a shit storm of events this past year, that has allowed me to slide into an unhealthy mind space. I have been working diligently to unfuck myself. In less vulgar terms- I am trying to heal. The hardest part has been being compassionate and forgiving to myself. Everyone has seasons where they slip, and self-love is a great steppingstone out of the heaviness. By self-love, I mean actually being nice to your own mind, body, and soul! Tonight, I did a great work out with my roommate+soul sister, Sidney. We have been trying to hold each other accountable to be less garbage people. I know that some of you read that sentence and think “Libby, that wasn’t a very nice sentence to yourself”, but sometimes you have be honest with your situation. Sidney and I recently recommitted to working out, eating cleaner, and keeping our apartment in better shape. Easy tasks for most, but we are notorious for not doing any of those things. For a while we ran with it like it was a little quirk in our make-up, but then we had a discussion about how this was more of a choice we were making to not to be our best selves. Which is ok! Everyone has times in life where they aren’t their best selves. We grow from them. We had a event recently-ish, that I like to think triggered our “we gotta change some shit up around here” conversation. A family friend of Sidney’s was stopping by, and our apartment was a mess. We had friends over a few days prior, and we were still living in the filth. I keep it real with you guys, so this next part is both unflattering and potentially embarrassing. I have very little shame, because I am who I am, but I do know this is worth mortification. In the rush to get things semi-decent, we grabbed armfuls of dirty dishes, and trash bags of garbage and shoved them onto our balcony. As I watched Sidney do most of the work, I looked around the apartment. The lights were off, which added to the darkness of the moment. Ew! We had just hid our filthy cups, plates, pots, pans, and a plethora of garbage outside on our deck. It felt like a gross secret. As the family friends arrived, I hid in my room. My mind was on the hidden mess. When the friends left our apartment, I walked back out to the deck and took it all in. I looked up to check if my neighbors were witnessing our downfall, but to my surprise no one was outside. As I scanned the neighbor’s balcony’s, I noticed the people directly across from us had boxes of garbage on their deck as well. Aha! They had a secret too! I imagined who they were hiding their mess from and speculated if they felt as ashamed as we did. In the neighbors defense, they didn’t have any dishes stacked on their patio furniture. That one was all us. I find a lot of humor in the situation we had created. My coping mechanism for stress is laughter. When I find myself in moments of uncomfortable tension, I feel myself cracking smile, which turns into half hearted giggles, but eventually pours out of me in gut busting-uproarious laughter. The people closest to me either laugh along in these uncomfortable laughter moments, or they shoot me daggers with their eyes as if to plead with me to control myself. I respect that some people can’t handle humor in stressful moments, but once I start, I truly can’t stop. The laughter invades me, until it takes me over from head to toes. At times, this sort of coping mechanism has gotten me into trouble. People can perceive it as me not taking a situation seriously, but if anything, it’s a hell of a marker that I am very aware of the predicament. Luckily, or maybe empathetically, Sidney has a very similar reaction to stress. We sat in our living room and started laughing at the absurdity of what we had just pulled to conceal our filth. The imagery of us scooping up dishes and scurrying onto the balcony was absolutely hilarious. After the moment of humor passed, we both agreed we needed to live life with a higher standard. We began listing some areas we could improve upon. I had just eaten goldfish crackers for dinner, so I knew that nutrition was an area that needed some tender-loving-care. Reilly, our other roommate is a hell of a cook, so between us three we knew we were capable of eating real meals. Reilly is the queen of mushrooms and cilantro, which makes her true royalty in the kitchen (in my book), because I love both of those foods. Reilly is also the kind of person who listens to good music (and slightly sings when she doesn’t think people are listening), while she cooks. The music and vibe she puts out in the kitchen makes her food full of love, or so I think. The three of us have been cooking more than ever, and it is kind of fun trying new recipes and using what we have in the fridge. I guess this is what adulthood feels like; using up the last of the radishes in the veggie drawer before they go bad. An awareness of what we have to cook with and making the choice not to order pizza just because it is easier. Growth! There is no bad time to start!
P.S. On an unrelated note, enjoy this picture of my sweet golden doodle, Flossy Blue!
Libby Anne Groseclose