Category Archives: Monday love

I will never be perfect. Maybe that is perfect?

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I’m in a place right now where I feel happy but frustrated. Lack of patience has always been something I’ve struggled with. I think you can see it in my posts sometimes too. Perfection is not me. I want to get shit out as soon as possible. I like that though, that it doesn’t have to be perfect before I can share it. Because that makes it more me than if everything would be perfect. Or if everything had to be perfect. That’s why journalism school wasn’t for me. They all saw things I would never see. The small things in texts. I didn’t like changing my texts. Because it felt like I had to change me into what someone else wants. I’m not perfect. And I’ve never been perfect.

I get uncomfortable when people expect perfection of me. Even if it’s subjective. Probably because I don’t really care about perfection. You know when what you do is never enough, and you can always improve. Sometimes I just wish we could settle and be happy with what we achieved. But then again, when would you grow? You grow in challenges. I’ve got areas in my life where I welcome challenges. Like with mymondaylove. I want it to last. And I get so much out of this blog myself. It’s like therapy. Like my computer, baby-David, is my shrink. With every post I’m in the psychologist office trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, and what will “fix” me. I often understand myself more when I write it down. I need to get my thoughts out of my head. That’s enough to me. They don’t have to be perfect. My thoughts.

“Even when I reach what was once was my ideal body my eyes only saw what was wrong”

Just then, when I went up to get a cup of tea, a coconut and ginger tea which is the best I’ve tried, I realized that I’ve always aimed for perfect. In so many areas of my life. In school I had to have the best grades in everything. If I had one thing wrong in a test I couldn’t be happy for all the rights. With my body. I’ve never been happy with my body. Even when I reach what was once was my ideal body my eyes only saw what was wrong. I’ve never settled. The annoying thing is that I have pushed myself through shit I don’t even care about. What a waste of time that is. Just for others to think I’m perfect. In school there wasn’t many times I did stuff for me. I needed good grades so that the teachers would see me as the perfect student. So that my grades would look perfect on paper. I wasn’t a natural easy learner. I sat and read and read until I fell asleep on my French revolution book and woke up and threw it into the wall. I hated it. But I had to do it. Not for me. For “them”. And yesterday I met a little girl, 12 years old who reminded me a lot of me back then. And she said that she can’t settle for less than perfect. I told her that I used to be like that and looking back I wish I didn’t took life and things I didn’t care about so serious back then.

Imagine if I’d understood then that there is more to life than perfect grades and a perfect body. If I could have focused on my lack of confidence and worked on how to be myself in the society without caring of what everyone thought of me. You know, I’ve wanted to create a blog since I was 15 years old, but I haven’t been able to do it because I’ve cared about if other people would approve it. If they would find it tacky, corny. Imagine if school would help people focus on not caring if people judge you, because everywhere people will. But it is only if you let it get to you that you’ll try and shape yourself after other peoples judgments. Or what you think other people would think about you. Most of the time it’s just in your own head.

What if I had tried to chase what I love, rather than what I thought would make me fit in?

I didn’t have anything then. Or I had my need to please others, be perfect in school and have a perfect body. Three things that would never happen since I didn’t have the ability to see perfection in anything I did. And then of course I had partying to escape the imperfection in my life. What if I wouldn’t have cared about being judged? What If I would’ve had the courage to be me, be with people who treated themselves and others well rather than who were the “cool” people who didn’t support anything that wasn’t “cool”? What if I had tried to chase what I love, rather than what I thought would make me fit in? What I thought would make people approve me?

Maybe this is why I have always loved writing. Because it’s the only area in my life where I settle and love the imperfection. I appreciate inconsistency in texts. I know that how I write isn’t textbook perfect, but for some reason I share it anyway. It’s the only area in my life where I don’t expect perfection from myself. And it’s also the only area where I feel free. What does that say about me? Perfect is shit and can never be achieved. Imperfection is beautiful.

Bring back balance

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My blog has been under construction. I therefore  haven’t been able to send out mymondaylove emails. I’m working on that so that soon they will pound like a heart in your inbox again.  Basically the blog and I has been out of balance, but now we are bringing it back to centre. One step at a time.

What do you do when you feel out of balance?

Being out of balance scares me. It’s like I’m loosing control but cant be bothered taking it back. To start all over again. Although I know that I’m not starting over again, sometimes a tiny step back can make it feel like you have lost everything you’ve worked for. That’s when it’s most important to know that anyone, even me, is capable of going back, of making good decisions. From now on. Every decision I make I either follow my dream or taking a step back from it. I either get closer or grow the distance.

It’s always easy to plan a change. It’s easy to decide to get better at something, or deciding to get healthier and start exercising, save money or whatever it is that you need in order to get closer to your dream life. What’s harder is to choose the right path when it actually gets to the point. When you have to choose between doing or not doing. When you have to choose between what you think you want now and what you know you’ll appreciate more later.

We can all talk, and plan, and think, but then, when it comes to the doing part, sometimes we get lost in the endless maze of options. We have so much to choose from that it’s hard to see what’s “right” when we actually have to make a decision. I’ve been imbalanced lately, and I am not a big fan of that feeling. And I can either choose to complain and plan a change, or I can start making tiny good decisions that will take me back to where I want to be. Happy, satisfied and content. From today on I will choose to go towards my ideal self with every decision I make. From what I eat to how I talk to myself. All small, tiny steps matter.

Happy monday <3

 

 

Brain bullies body. Fuck brain.

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I am not my body. I think that is something that I need to understand. I have always been so obsessed with what my body look like. So obsessed that when I look in the mirror it’s like I’m at a carnival looking in those funny mirrors. When I feel fat I feel trapped. It’s like I can’t enjoy what I do if I don’t feel like I have my body under control. My brain needs to have my body under control. How does one change that? Because there must be more to life than a smookin body? It can’t be the purpose of life. The meaning? What do you do if you look back at your life and see a nice body but lack of experiences. Lack of life?

I know that there is a mind body connection, and they have to some what sync. I need to listen to my body in order for my brain to feel good. But when my brain controls my body, and my body is forced to listen to my brain, something happens. The brain is such a powerful tool. You can use it wise or you can use it to destroy your life and others with it. We know how propaganda works. How you can be tricked into doing things you never once could imagine you would do. The brain controls everything, and if I’m not aware of that I do myself no good.

I let my brain control my body, I punish myself if I eat shit, if I miss a workout. My brain constantly compares my body to others and telling me “they are more beautiful that you’ll ever get”. And my body is doing everything it can to please my brain, but my brain will never be pleased. If I don’t take control of it. My brain is nothing without my body. It’s like that insecure bully who takes that weak person and turns her into her bitch. But once that weak person realise what the bully is making her do and tell the bully to shut the fuck up and leave her alone, the bully has no one. Hopefully the bully then understand that you’ll get nowhere in this world by being a bully. And understand how good it feels to be kind.

I’m getting my body to tell my brain to shut the fuck up now. Because I don’t want to live a life where I don’t enjoy living because my brain keeps comparing me with others and telling me that I have to starve and work out every second in order to get permission to life. And then I’m too tired to live anyway. I don’t want to be bullies through life.

The bottom line is that I need to start eat with my body, not my brain. I know what my body needs. And I know that I have to stop listening to my brain when it tells me I’m not good enough. I’m not my body. I’m not my brain. I’m the one trying to balance those two. The consciousness if you may. But most of the time I live through my brain, and that’s when I allow stress and doubt to dominate the way I live. That’s not who I want to be, and how I want to live. I want to be free, happy, and alive. And full of love. Love for myself and through me, love for others.

My control is getting out of control

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It’s starting to occur a lot to me how controlling I actually am. I’ve never really looked at it in that way. I’ve never thought I need control to relax. But I do. I always look at myself and believe that I am totally aware of my strengths and weaknesses. I often say that no one is more aware of everything that is wrong with me than I am, and still I haven’t understood how big my need of control actually is.

It make so much sense though, with an eating disorder passed, which basically is all about self control with rewarding thoughts when I managed not to eat. I thought I left it all behind. But coming to Sweden and being out of my controlled environment, without my routines I really understood how much of a control freak I actually am. Still. At home I have my workout routine, my breakfast routine, I know what I’m doing, when I’m doing it and I don’t think much of it. I love waking up 5am to do a workout and basically living a whole little morning life before the rest of the world wakes up.

I loved the first few jet lag days here in Sweden when we woke up too early and went down to the out door gym and manage to shower and bake bread before the rest of the family woke up. I reward myself for being so active. When people sleep and I am active it makes me feel good. But I’m here in Sweden to hang out with my family and friends. That should be priority one for me. And no one is living that life here. I fought with my brain and family when they want to go out for “late dinners” (7-8pm). I think that I can’t be in bed too late because I want to go up and work out. Which is not why I’m here. So you’d think I could be a little bit more flexible.

The first few days when I went up at 8am, and got down to the gym at 8.30 I stressed. I felt like I was loosing important time. Like the day was slipping through my fingers. And I kept starring at the watch, getting annoyed when people took their time. I was in a constant rush to nowhere really. I’m on vacation, I have no place I have to be and I can’t relax and enjoy a sleep in without hissing like a cat at the people around me. I can’t enjoy a late dinner because I am to stressed of being tired the day after at the gym.

I need to have control over something, and if that is not food, it’s the gym and my work outs. I can’t relax if that part of me isn’t under control. I won’t think a good and happy thought if everything isn’t under control. I need that time in the morning to set myself up for the day ahead. And that’s ok. But not when it prohibits me from actually living my life, spending time with my friends and family and ruins my day if I can’t do my workout one morning.

I haven’t got an answer to how I’ll take control over my controlling needs. But from now on I’ll be more aware of this side of me, so that I hopefully can stop myself when I stop living. When I don’t care about life just so that I can follow my rules and have shit under control. I’ll ask myself If it’s worth getting angry, stressed and upset, practically ruin a morning because I’m at the gym at 9am instead of 7am. After all, I’m preaching the power of choice, how you can choose how you feel, and I want to choose to be a free spirit. And I have some shit to work on in order for that to happen.

Restrictive life?

Am I boring?

I feel guilty for not wanting to be out all night. I’m scared that I’m letting myself be boring. I love doing nothing at home. Or is it that I’m too scared to be tired and sick that restricts me from doing anything? I get anxious of just the thought of being out all night. Why am I so scared of being tired? What am I afraid of?

I’m afraid of not being able to work out because I’m tired. I’m afraid of losing control over my body. Finally I’m happy and I am scared of loosing it. I cant afford to loose it. I’ve been lost for my whole life and now finally when I feel at home and content I think that I’m doing everything to keep my happiness under control, and that makes me scared of impulsive decisions. I have a routine that works. I have a routine where I can get my energy from training, where I always wake up feeling rested, where I have control over my day ahead. And If I fuck with that routine I’m probably scared, deep inside, that I might loose track of my emotions and happiness. If I try the unknown; what if my anxiety comes back? What if I start doubting myself? What if I don’t like who I am? Again. That’s why I love keeping it safe. And that’s why I don’t like going out anymore. Because I’m scared of loosing the love for myself. Again. And I’m not willing to jeopardise that.

But I know that I am such an extreme case of a human. It’s everything or nothing, and I say that if I want to do something, like have a beer or a “real” coffee I will just have it. But when you have been “good” for so long, and not had any alcohol or coffee it might turn into a competition, and I don’t like myself when I’m competing with myself. That’s when shit get pear-shaped. I get too restrictive and I only like myself if I stay within the frames I’ve created. As much as I have to work towards being happy, healthy and energized I also have to work towards not restricting myself from living. I’m not just worth loving when I am as “perfect” as one can be. And perfect isn’t “never being unhealthy” perfect is when I can just be without judging myself. I have to loosen up and live outside of my robotic rules, because otherwise I might get to forty and wonder what the hell happened and when I stopped living? And that’s a nightmare. Last night I had one beer, and today I had a real coffee. I wont start boozing and drinking coffee regularly because that will not make me happy, but I will not allow myself to feel like I have let myself down if I have a beer or a coffee once in a while. For normal people this is probably gibberish. Most people probably don’t think anywhere near this, but for me it is a constant dialogue in my head. And I just try to feed both sides evenly so the crazy-addictive side doesn’t take over the crazy-rules side.

I actually love my life now. More than I’ve ever loved life before. But I’m constantly working on getting better, happier and healthier, and sometimes you have to take a few steps back in order to get back on the right track.

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Old places, old habits

It’s funny, or not funny really. Strange might be the word. Frustrating? It’s like all my restlessness, lack of self esteem and obscure body image is trapped in the walls of my old room. I’m easily agitated. I feel fat but I know that I’m not. I’m frustrated with mum and dad, or mostly dad. Or his carriage? It’s like my old soul was waiting for me here.

Well this sounds a bit worse than it is. We are having an amazing time, mostly, and I love spending time with my parents. I don’t want to get away from them. I love them. But sometimes I get so frustrated because they aren’t taking care of themselves in the way I would love them to. Because I care about them. I Suppose this is how frustrated they used to be with me. When I didn’t care about my health. When I drank too much. When I starved. So I suppose that we are even now. But Life isn’t a competition, and I just want them to be happy. Like they wanted me to be happy back then. I feel my old feelings of helplessness awakens. And I feel this field of electricity in my body, like I can’t reach them. I cant reach dad and his carriage. And then I feel like my body is not what I want it to be. Like I did then. Like my old self would think. And feel.

Adrian wondered how I feel here. He could sense something. Am I’m happy. Content? Honestly, I just feel lost in my body. But happy to be here. And then it fucking hit me. It’s lingonberry week soon. It’s not the walls, and old habits entering my body. It’s my bloody, literally, hormones messing with my brain. Like they do every single month. And that I always forget. Surprise surprise.mayaadrian

Vacation at home!

What a weird feeling. Strange experience. I’m back in Stockholm, in the hippie apartment, with paintings and concrete tables everywhere. Plants and guitars. Circus lights and love. I love this apartment, and walking in I didn’t feel like it had been more then a week since I last was there. The only thing that felt weird was the dining table. It used to be so big. And now it felt so small. As an effort to beat the jetlag we decided to go for a walk up the main street. Get some fresh air to keep us from falling asleep to early. It’s interesting. Two years has passed but the first person I see on the street is the lady with the trolley. She is homeless and walks around with a trolley brimmed with god knows what. Bags and blankets. Every time I see her I wonder what she has in that trolley, and how often she goes through it. Like my dad believes that his body is a carriage, Marie- which is her name, might believe that the trolley is a part of her. She asks for money to buy food and coffee. Two years, and it’s like nothing has changed.

It’s a fun experience to go on a holiday to a place that used to be home. That feels like home in my body. My mum and dad picked us up from the airport. Dad was so excited to tell us he had bought a summer-car, so that we can go places easy when we are here. He is the one person that beats up the price rather than down. It’s a total wreck. Wholes and rust everywhere. And when he proudly shows us the car and open the trunk we see that one tire is completely flat. He brings Adrian along with him to find a gas station with a pump while mum and I are left on the airport parking. Old me would be angry, annoyed and embarrassed. But I can’t do anything but laugh and love. I love them both…so much.

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