In these days of the new phantom Phase 3 - which is already making me nervous like a hyena given the amount of people who started going out as if nothing had happened - I found myself thinking about how I experienced this forced confinement at a time in I was working hard on finding a balance with myself.
In short, a question of "self-confidence" which makes it cooler to say so.
I have to admit that I underestimated the problem in the beginning, but who thought it would last so long?
Then I tried to figure out how to take advantage of the time I had available to do something productive, since on social networks I only saw people training, painting, sewing, studying, graduating, changing the closet, eating healthy, turn the house upside down, buy plants, take a cat (I wanted it too), make sweets, knead the bread, post photos of the yeast, complain about the lack of yeast, rejoice and complain about the hair, do yoga, settle hair regrowth, etc.
My "good intentions" were not many: learning a new language, trying to do yoga, putting the closet in order and learning to write with the right hand.
Of course, of all these things I only managed to carry on yoga, which had intrigued me even before this slaughter broke out. However, I had to study not having finished university and find a way to fit the other commitments.
Although I felt apparently quite serene, there were days when I managed to do more, others when I did less if nothing at all, but always with one constant: the sense of guilt.
I saw people training every day and I felt guilty if I did it three or four times a week; I saw them graduate while I felt guilty for not having done it yet; I saw them eating healthy for fear that their body might be affected, and I felt guilty for having taken that extra biscuit; I saw them suffer from imprisonment while it almost seemed to me to feel safe within the walls of the house, if it were not that I felt terribly the lack of the people I care most about.
But why did I feel so guilty? And for what then?
What was I supposed to prove? And to whom?
So I started to think and reflect on all the work that I have been doing on myself for over a year now, and that I certainly didn't want to blow up because of this f****g paranoia. Because being paranoid is right - I'm a huge fan of paranoia - but you have to be careful to give it some space and not to let it swallow your soul.
We have the constant need to be told that we do well, that we are well, that we think well. We compare ourselves to others to understand if we are doing well. But well according to whom?
We work so hard to want to be authentic and always end up in the same trap. Alone. As if it were a race where in the end nothing is won. And nobody wins.
It's not the rules of others that make ours, it is not the concerns of others that become ours, it is not the times and the "standards" of others that become ours. These damned standards.
With this quarantine I realized again that I am what I am, and that there is no right or wrong way to deal with anything that can happen. And that if I want to do something, that's fine. If I don't feel like it, it's fine. It is right to run, but it is also right to stop. It is right to laugh, but it is also right to cry. It is right to have courage, but it is also to be afraid.
It's only me who chooses, it must be me, and nobody is to blame. There are no faults.
And that finding a balance with yourself is a very hard job, perhaps the hardest of all, but also the most necessary. And how if it is.
I can't wait to talk about it again with my psychologist.
.jpg)