the day after the birthday.

Found on
Found on

Alright. I’m not sure if it’s anxiety or it’s my birthday or it’s trying to deal with so much change happening so quickly or WHAT. All I know is that yesterday I was insanely happy, cheerful and optimistic, in love with another year older and growing and learning and all that. And today….I am freaking out. 

I think it’s all those “supposed tos” that I have always been so fond of obsessing over. I’m supposed to have a real job, not be a nanny. I’m supposed to have a boyfriend, or at least a hearty and glamorous dating life. I’m supposed to not have overdrawn my checking account 5 times in the past month without realizing it. I’m supposed to have a plethora of great friends that hang out at Central Perk and laugh over our hearty dating lives. I’m supposed to have a flatter stomach and have incorporated working out into my weekly schedule. I’m supposed to care less about whether he texted back. I’m supposed to host uproarious theme parties with my plethora of friends, instead of mostly seeing them on social media.

I am drowning under the weight of what, somewhere along the way, I decided I was supposed to be doing.

It’s funny, because I think I have had a habit of blaming “society” or “my parents” for these expectations, and what I’m realizing is they’re mine, all mine. Just what I’ve always wanted. Happy birthday to me, here’s a heaping list of perfectionist expectations. Mistakes are for losers. You need to be an awesome fictional character played by Jennifer Aniston when crop tops with no bra were in style.

I don’t know how to be Jennifer Aniston. I don’t think I really know how to be me, either. I get that thinking like this is wrong. Just turns out that I’m pretty great at existential crises.


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