cagejam (cagejam) wrote,
cagejam
cagejam

Fall is indisputable these days. The mornings near freezing temperatures, the grey sticks around. Layers and sweaters and scarves. The leaves are falling all at once now, the trees are left naked.

The time for inner work is now- inside the home, inside the soul. Moving with the natural rhythms now. I have so many beautiful glass bottles— I’ve been looking up recipes for bath oils. I plan to make 2 today or tomorrow. Homemade, home remedy, homebody. I look around my home and see potential in everything and many things to be done. Of course I do. But I am teaching myself to also see me. My space, the essence of. To enjoy and relish in the artful energy of me that pours from every room, every inch. To respect the present by not wishing it away. Just as there is always something to be done, there is always something that has been done to be proud of. I am excited for my bath oils. I am excited to work in the shop once I’m ready. I’m excited for the life that snuck up on me, somehow seen as a fantasy until now.

Since deleting Instagram yesterday I’ve already accomplished so much (by my own standards.) More reading. More thinking. More fruit. More ideas. More staring into each others eyes. More presence. Less longing. Less comparison. Less guilt. Less anxiety. The anxiety aspect is more apparent than ever. So much of my stress is relieved upon leaving the app. Not an obvious stress with an obvious cause- more from the overstimulation that comes from taking in (pointless) information every time I had a moment to myself. From the way it eats up every spare moment, filling it with uselessness. Something in me translates this to an insane anxiety, a preoccupation with everything. All I was able to see was what needed to be done, what was lacking, “pressing” obligations (often due to procrastination) and irritation. Like my mind would remain in overdrive. This is the most noticeable change so far, a loosening, an obvious release. It had never gotten so bad as it is this time, my anxiety. It is sneaky- disguised as productivity. Pretending to be necessary. Ruining my present with preoccupation. It isn’t gone just yet, but like a cyst being cut open, the pressure has been relieved, now left to seep. A deep infection.

Somewhere along the line I developed the habit of keeping myself busy with criticism. Criticism of self, not others. To the point where nothing is enough. To the extent of being unable to enjoy any moment, too focused on the ways I needed to improve it. Focused so hard that procrastination was an inevitable result. Unable to truly relax. Unable to unwind. Even simple tasks like washing my face before bed developed a pressing nature- began to stress me out. An obsession with accomplishing even the most simple of tasks before i deserved to take it easy. I don’t know if this makes any sense but it’s been wearing on me. More rest without guilt. More enjoyment. More allowance, more time to do what I want. The issue isn’t in the knowing, it is in the reminding myself of. It is in the remembering, the application. The remembering to apply. I am allowed to curl up on the couch and do nothing. Wow. Baby steps are progress.
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