Here’s the thing – I have anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and more often than I like to admit, these two mix together and create a nice little cocktail called depression (starting today’s post off on a fun note here). Over the years, I’ve found myself looking up different approaches to dealing with these which has always led me to some variety of “self care”.
Now, for me, I’ve always taken self care tips with a grain of salt. Especially as “self care” has become more of a mainstream activity, and it seems as though people are using it almost as an excuse for any behaviours outside of their normal. Which to be fair could stem from me having used it to justify eating too many red velvet cupcakes, and also the six step skin care routine I dropped several hundred dollars on at Sephora last year. Did either of these things better my mental health? Definitely not. Could they for others – maybe.
Self care is incredibly important to me – despite what you are probably thinking after that last paragraph – when done in the true essence of self care. This being to set time aside to sit with yourself, process your emotions and thoughts, and spending time doing things that serve you. For me this means meditating twice a day and filling in my eyebrows, but for others it can mean a wide gamut of things – bubble baths, shaving your legs, watching a marathon on Netflix while drinking a bottle of rosé, what have you. Debatably, the most common form of self care out there (if we’re going off Pinterest tips here) is journaling. Which you’d think I’d be all over, considering the fact that I blog now, and it is practically the exact definition of what I said self care is at the top of this paragraph. But, no. I’ve always thought journaling was a crock of shit.
That was, of course, until I bought a journal a couple months ago.
We all know the saying “time heals all”. And this might be true with, say, a broken heart or a busted leg. But have you ever been so embarrassed that changed who you are as a person? That shit stays with you, man.
While I was at work earlier, the radio was playing – innocently enough – the 2002 Matchbox 20 classic “Unwell”. Let me tell you, that song was my jam. This is saying a lot as we all know that 2002-2004 had some of the best music of all time (okay, I may be the only one who thinks that). Unfortunately now, it makes me think back to one of the most ill advised decisions I’ve ever made – joining a singing competition.
If you caught my first couple posts, you know that I left a pretty serious job in the big city a couple months ago to move closer to my family. And if you don’t know, now you know (shoutout Biggie).
The move, really, has been great. However, finding a job proved difficult. Especially in the same field as I was working in before – which, to be completely transparent, on paper I was pretty much not qualified for in the first place. I also don’t know that my energy was in the right place to allow me to find work, because I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my career – the universe can’t help with unclear intentions. I’ll save that talk for a different day. Moral of the story, I decided to take a part time retail job in the meantime while I figure my shit out.
Little back story. I have never worked in retail before in my life. Weird, right? It seems like everyone has some sort of experience in that realm at some point – be it a store or fast food, something to do with customers. Not me. My first job in high school was at a martial arts studio, where I worked in the office and also taught classes (I’m tough, don’t worry about it). After university, I did some bookkeeping work, and other office-y things before eventually getting into my Project Management career (the one I left). Please note, not a single ounce of this had to do with the Political Science degree I have.
Hello, yes, I’m almost 30 and I’m writing about the Dolan Twins. I can’t help it. I’m a fan, first of all, and after watching their interview last night with Shane Dawson, I can’t stop thinking about them. Not in a creepy way. More in a “holy shit, I can’t believe they’ve held it together this long” sort of way. It also – to the point of this post – proves, to me, what is wrong with the “social media star” mindset. The fear of losing relevancy, and the need to stay consistent. The fear of your fans (stans? I don’t know, I’m old) lashing out against you for showing any sort of change or cracks, and the stifling of growth to fit into an ideal. Social media is a scary place – and it seems the bigger of a creator you are, the scarier it gets.
Welcome to October, everybody! Spooky season is here! The skeletons are out to play, and pumpkins have become more menacing. It’s the time where ghosts and creepy clowns have their moment in the spotlight. In honor of the scary season, I wanted to talk about, and learn more about, my biggest fear:
Yes – aliens. I know what you’re thinking – aliens are so September. Especially with the Area 51 raid. But, that’s exactly why I want to write about them today. Because I ignored the raid completely, and now I feel out of touch.
I’ve heard a lot about Area 51 over the years, as you can imagine, but I never paid any attention to it. This was for one pretty major reason – I AM TERRIFIED OF ALIENS. I’m not kidding when I say they are my biggest fear. Irrational, maybe. But I’m so afraid of them, that at one point when I was younger and I hadn’t slept for days after my friends made me watch the movie Signs, my dad (out of sheer frustration) had to say to me (and I quote): “JESS. Out of the billions of people in this world, you really think the aliens are going to come for you?”. Which, now is the most hilarious parenting moment I can think of. And he probably had a point, honestly. If I was an alien, I’m going straight for government officials and billionaires. Probably not 12 year olds in the middle of nowhere Canada. But, I can’t say it helped the fear much.
With that in mind, you can imagine the lengths I went to to avoid ANY talk about aliens over the years. This became practically impossible when earlier this year, the internet seemed to explode over the idea that everyone was going to storm Area 51 in September and find what the US government has been hiding from us. Now that the raid’s over and no aliens were found (thank God. I would have been pissed if they did, honestly. I can’t imagine how I’d live my life with concrete proof that they exist), I figured it was as good of a time as ever to sacrifice a night (or a couple) of sleep, and get myself in the know about what the big deal is with Area 51. Without further ado, let’s get this over with shall we?
My grandparents are currently on vacation overseas (hard life), and while they’re away, I was tasked with the very important job of buying tickets for the lottery. Of course I – being the caring and loving granddaughter that I am – agreed to this without hesitation… once my percentage of the winnings was agreed upon, that is.