This is a Medicore Blog That You Probably Won't Read, but I'm Sharing it Anyway.
“Come on Chantelle, you used to be good at this… just write something inspirational…” that little voice inside my head said.
“I don’t know what to say”, I said back.
“No? Can’t do it? Geeze, you suck.”
Seriously, that little inner critic be a real bitch – can’t she see that I’m trying?
I’d been sitting at a café for half an hour, willing myself to put a pen to paper (or should I say fingers to keys) and write something. It’s been months since I’ve written anything, and to be honest, I’m petrified.
My last blog post got a positive response – or should I say – it got SOME response.
It was called - “I’ve just been diagnosed with a rare, progressive neurological disorder – nicknamed “The Suicide Disease.” Fuck, so now what?”
Even though the title might give it away, I wrote it while in the midst of a massive health crisis where I’d been diagnosed with a condition that is considered one of most painful conditions on the planet.
I’m pretty sure I know what it feels like to be burnt alive – because that was my experience.
Hence, the name, "the suicide disease".
So that was my last blog post – and I’m not entirely sure what to follow it up with.
Obviously I didn’t kill myself.
Obviously I’m still here.
And I’m working my butt off to heal myself from something most medical doctors consider incurable – oh, and I’ll beat it too – but I’m not ready to write about that yet.
I just needed to write something.
And it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be ‘something’.
Why? So I can stop putting so much pressure on myself to BE someone or something more than what I am right now.
Because I’m doing the best I fucking can.
And hey, isn’t everyone?
But for the most part, it’s never enough.
Most of us have the whips out. Beating ourselves mercilessly – aspiring to this bullshit idea of perfection that exists nowhere but inside our minds.
We question our worth. We wonder why we aren’t exactly where we want to be yet.
Perhaps you’re the mother who wakes up, looks at her two children and wonders if she’s doing a good enough job.
Or the entrepreneur working hard on her business, but still questioning herself every bloody day. Is she making any progress at all? Or just deluding herself? Should she just go back to that well paying comfortable job?
Or the girl with anxiety and depression weighing down every ounce of her, who fights to get out of bed, put on some clothes, and slap on a smile. She walks out the door, hoping to just make it through the day.
So often we measure ourselves against where we want to be, our pinnacle of success, our idea of perfection, instead of looking back and realising how far we’ve come.
What if we celebrated progress instead of perfection?
This isn’t going to be the best blog post I’ve ever written. But it’s the first time I’ve sat down to write anything in months.
In fact, just a few weeks ago, I started working on Be. Bangles again after spending almost 6 months unable to do anything for myself.
I had people cooking for me, driving me places, I was on a couch or bed for most hours of the day, barely able to sit in a chair, walk or move.
Now I’m sitting at a café, with my legs down (something I couldn’t do without insane amounts of pain just a few months ago), eating a delicious open faced brie sandwich and writing a blog.
That in itself is a goddamn miracle.
So you know what?
Cheers to mediocrity.
Cheers to trying the very best you can. Every. Fucking. Day.
Cheers to showing up.
It may not be perfect, but you’re doing your very best.
And that’s the most anyone could ask for.