Dear reader,

The content below discusses implied self-harm.

One of the most challenging things I’ve done is recognizing when a relationship isn’t working and knowing when to leave. I want to talk about some of the experiences I’ve had when I know that a relationship is bad for me, and how I came to that conclusion.

Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of conversations about bad friendships or relationships and what they would look like. The idea I had of any toxic relationships was very black and white: the other person would appear to be an obvious villain, and I would just know when to leave. In reality, my relationships have been much more nuanced. The longer I’ve known someone, the more I can justify their presence in my life. Of course, when a person has hurt me or hurt my boundaries, the justification applied nonetheless.

This was the case with a friend in high school. I remember back then, I had very little sense of how to set my emotional boundaries. I would let them unabashedly tell me their feelings and their traumas at any time. I thought this was a good thing, but increasingly, these feelings held a lot of weight. I was proud that they trusted me so much to let me see them as their most vulnerable self. But I also felt solely responsible for their well-being. I would place their mental health before mine. I would lose sleep over wondering if they would hurt themselves.

Gradually, I began to feel like I needed space and would tell them this. I would say I was taking a break from social media while checking my messages to see if they hadn’t dropped massive texts venting to me. Although they would give me space, they would make me feel guilty about needing it. And more importantly, they didn’t listen to me. When I would try to tell them about my feelings and how one-sided our relationship was, they would make me feel like they understood by writing me grand letters of appreciation. I stayed because I knew their feelings were genuine.

I wish I could tell myself then that you could care about someone and still hurt them.

I saw these posts about gaslighting on Tumblr and I began to scroll through them. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to relate to them because my relationship was surely not that bad. But this person had consistently undermined my feelings and made me feel as though I had misremembered an interaction, which are key signs of gaslighting. Their apologies were empty. Emotionally, I felt like I had a lot of highs and lows with them. I realized that I was dreading every interaction with this person.

I knew it was time to end it.

For me, this meant cutting all contact and writing a long letter to them explaining fully why they had hurt me and why I was leaving. I felt like I had to justify my feelings to them because of how close we had been. I didn’t give them any way to respond. Afterward, I spoke with some friends about what happened. I felt so immensely guilty about doing this that I physically felt sick. My friends supported me, and listened to me. Their support comparably cemented my thoughts that I hadn’t been listened to.

What I’ve learned from this experience and similar experiences is this: all involved parties in a relationship should feel, relatively, like they are sharing the same emotional weight with each other, and that they can rely on each other. One person shouldn’t be relying on another person to put out their fires exclusively, though there may be times when they’ll need more support. In my relationships, my factors for when to leave have been these two things: are they willing to recognize when they’ve hurt me? Are they trying to change? I’ve asked myself if I’ve just stayed in a relationship because it was easier to not rock my social circle with ending the relationship than to leave. If your justification is more about other people than your ability to enjoy your relationship, leaving may be long overdue.

Your factors for leaving a relationship may look different. Learning your boundaries and when you need a break from emotionally tough moments is about intuition. I had, and still have, so much difficulty articulating when I need space because I feel so guilty when I do. What’s important is that you and the other person are both respectful of these moments. If a person consistently disrespects these moments and boundaries, and you feel like leaving, leave.

If you’re doubting yourself, I would strongly consider talking to another person you trust. Sometimes having a conversation about your doubts with another person can make you realize how harmful your situation really is. I find that I downplay a lot of my experiences, so having another perspective is helpful.

If that’s not possible, I would suggest either writing down your feelings or recording yourself as though you were speaking to the person that has hurt you. This has always helped me put my thoughts in order, and to get through the haze of guilt I feel about leaving a relationship.

There are no 1:1 experiences when it comes to knowing when a relationship isn’t serving you. It may take years to realize that you’ve been hurt. Just know that your feelings are never wrong. You should always be able to communicate your doubts and work through them.

Love,

Kelly

Dear reader,

At this point in my life, I know failure is necessary. I know that not receiving a good grade is only the precursor to a better grade. But that didn’t soften the sucker punch I got to my ego as I looked at a grade for a paper this morning. I know this is a bit dramatic for a B-. But moments like these are where I magnify my mistakes most. I’m a person who’s gotten good grades for writing consistently. Ever since I was young, writing was the only subject that I consistently do well in. It felt like the only thing I was good at.

I prided myself in seeing these numbers, green circles, “great jobs” on the white margins of my papers.

Seeing question marks and red lines in its place made it feel like I failed myself.

I know this doesn’t make too much sense. One bad paper can’t undo all of the good writing and good grades I’ve gotten in the past. Honestly, the idea that I’m still so affected by what a grade can do to my confidence bothers me. I have gotten a D in the past for a draft once, and after getting an A+ on the final copy, I felt like there was no way I could feel as down as I did having almost failed.

But Jester! When I get a grade I don’t expect, it still feels like all of the progress I’ve made must have been a lie.

I did eventually learn that diminishing my own accomplishments because of one disappointment was a symptom of something called imposter syndrome. It’s named for how people feel that they are imposters because they doubt their own skills and accomplishments. Learning that other people felt the same way made me feel more heard than fighting the voice in my head telling me that focusing on my failures was illogical. I wrote about imposter syndrome after coming to terms with the way I would feel about it.

Today, though, knowing about this term worked against me. Knowing logically why I felt this way made it feel like I shouldn’t be feeling any embarrassment at all.

I wanted to jump straight to logically figuring out how I could be better. But by not acknowledging my feelings on the topic, I denied myself the right to feel hurt. Today, an uncomfortable heat burned in my chest as I paced back and forth on the commute home, lost in a cycle of thoughts.

“Don’t you know better by now to still be making the same mistakes?” parroted the same thought, over and over again.

With my face still rather flushed, I messaged my partner, rambling about my predicament. I knew two things: the first, I was really embarrassed. The second was that my embarrassment wasn’t worth entertaining because I knew it was just imposter syndrome, but I was still embarrassed. At that moment, he let me vent, and he told me exactly what I needed to hear: I was a good writer, and one moment couldn’t destroy what I’ve done. And even then, it still sucks because it’s something I take pride in.

Although this is what I’ve been telling myself in my head in an attempt to stay these embarrassing thoughts, having someone else tell me that I deserve to have my little pity party made me understand that, in a way, I needed to sit through that burning feeling. He didn’t tell me what I needed to do, he just listened.

His kindness reminded me of exactly what I needed: just to accept what I was feeling in this moment. Although this was a very minor situation, being able to digest these feelings safely was really helpful. After this, I could put some distance between my feelings and figure out what to do next: I spoke with my professor, and in a calmer mood, I got a much clearer idea of what I could do to improve.

In the past, another way I’ve done this is to write about it or talk about it with someone I’ve trusted. My main takeaway from today is that failing is indeed a step in the path of success. It’s just a step I don’t have shortcuts for, and I have to accept it. Nasty feelings and all.

Love,

Kelly

Dear reader,

Today I tackled a formidable mountain. It was made from about three weeks of the consequences of my actions.

I’m talking about my laundry.

I often find myself neglecting putting away my laundry for a few reasons. It feels like a much more formidable task to me than it actually is, and with every new load that I put, I’m reminded that the task has grown.

And in the last two weeks, midterms, job applications, and papers got the better of me. I got lost in a pile of papers and deadlines. I found that under this stress, I couldn’t focus, didn’t have much energy, and often had trouble getting out of bed. I felt like I was literally buried under things that were technically doable, but I had exhausted my threshold. The stress that I had to do something about the mess around me eventually while worrying about my work felt like a messy circle. I wanted to work, but I couldn’t work when I kept getting distracted by how my arm kept pushing into books, how I had two baskets of laundry, and how there was so little space in my closet that I couldn’t do anything about it all!

Finally, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I finished my workload, so as I stared at the amorphous pile of clothes sitting at the edge of my room, I thought I’d try something out.

Unfortunately, I can’t find the Tiktok now, but I saw a Tiktok that suggested setting a timer for how long you think a chore will take. The user said that this is because they often thought the chores took a lot longer than they actually did, and wanted visual confirmation.

I set a 30-minute timer to do about three baskets of laundry. And honestly, I know it sounds a bit lame to be impressed that it took 20 minutes, but I was! Here was this formidable task that I had been putting off for weeks because I thought it’d take up too much of my day. And there I was, worrying that I wouldn’t meet the timer I had set for myself, even if there wasn’t really any consequence for not finishing in time.

The first basket took about 6 minutes, and the last two only took about 14 minutes. As I put away the last of my shirts into my closet, I asked myself if this made it easier for me to do the chore regularly. And honestly, I’m not sure. Although time is a factor for why I can find it difficult to keep up with chores, it feels like one piece of the puzzle.

Even so, I felt so much better once I’d done it. I definitely felt like it was a lot less scarier than I thought it would be. I definitely feel like I at least have to try this next time a task feels too scary to handle on my own.

I know this is a small thing, but in this moment, I felt like my own hero. It’s nice to prove my brain wrong when it’s being mean!

Love,

Kelly

Dear reader,

I had a really bad day yesterday. I saw it coming: I had a lot of work and school assignments piling up, and I was working through what felt like a neverending barrage of writing. I knew eventually this would catch up to me, but I just kept going until I was there in front of my computer, unable to do anything.

It’s not the first time this has happened. Like I told you last time, I kind of have a habit of pushing myself to burnout. I put a lot of expectations on myself, and when I don’t meet them, it feels like I’ve failed. After sitting with those thoughts for an hour and a half on the floor, I confided in my partner. He comforted me, and because he was also busy, we found ways to balance our time so that we each had time to work and to rest through the week.

It reminded me of something really important my friend had told me: rest isn’t optional. How much work you think you need to do, or how little work you think you’ve done can’t change the fact that you need to rest.

Unfortunately, since the pandemic, most of my work and social life is on my computer, so it’s made work-life separation very difficult. All I do is sit with the thoughts of the things I need to do, and it stresses me out. Then I realize I haven’t made any progress, and I stress out more. Sometimes I compulsively do chores, bake, or do something productive while stressing about the things I do need to do. It’s an unhealthy cycle.

Here’s where I’ve compromised with myself and my workflow so far: I put on a timer, I put on some music, and I write. Part of my problem when I write is the worry that it’s not good. If that’s the case, I just keep pushing through and reminding myself of everything else I’ve written. But, if I find that my mind is slogging through my work because I’m exhausted, I’ll take a nap. Sometimes this means I’m getting up at 5 the next morning to finish what I’ve started, but I’ll feel considerably more rested. It’s a very temporary solution.

I also always tell my supervisors and friends what’s happening. Keeping up with interpersonal relationships when you’re already scheduling so much in your brain is difficult, but no one aside from you knows what’s happening in your mind. I get extensions as needed, and I try to make up for any appointments I’ve missed. I learn that it’s sometimes best to just say no. “No, I can’t take on an extra assignment this week, I’m busy.” “No, I haven’t had time to hang out with my family, maybe next week.”

It’s hard, and I feel guilty about it. But in the end, I know the kind of work that I make when I’m dead tired, and it’s not something I’m proud of. And most importantly, I know how empty I feel when I need to rest.

If you’re feeling overtired and you can’t do anything, take the day to yourself. If that’s not possible, try to identify the bare minimum that you need to finish for the day. Sometimes I list down three of my most important tasks, work through those, and then, I’ll do something I enjoy. After that, I might feel ready to work more.

You don’t need to be exhausted to deserve rest.

Love,

Kelly

Dear reader,

I’ve been mooning over how to write this first post for ages. Thinking about different versions of what my first real impression would be on this blog, and how it would reflect for the rest of its time. Then, I thought: this is way too much pressure! So . . . I’ll start by saying hi. I’m Kelly.

I started this blog because I wanted to put a voice out for self-care, but frankly, that felt a bit presumptuous of me. I don’t know anybody else’s mental health, and to give advice when I’m not a professional on this front seemed really disingenuous. Instead, I thought I’d show the way I navigate my own mental health. And if what I’ve learned can help someone else, that’s all the better!

This is a trigger warning for mention of depression, mental health, and existential crisis for the next four paragraphs.

Let me start by talking about why I wanted to put this voice out in the first place. When I was a teenager, I was encouraged to look after my mental health to a certain degree: take long baths, eat some chocolate, the stuff that you’d see on television. But I didn’t know what that actually meant. Instead, I’d average four to five hours of sleep a night, burning myself out on my grades to ensure my safe entrance to university. I thought that this was the best course of action for me. I was sure that my life’s trajectory would plummet if I didn’t keep going.

But in my first year, after I had safely settled into a Criminology classroom, I started to crash. I wasn’t sure why I was studying what I did. For the second time, I was certain that I would be unsuccessful in life, and fail in securing a stable life for me and my family at all. I’m saying this because no one growing up told me how much your mental well-being relies so much on your ability to secure your social needs in life. No one told me how much systemic factors like these can play into your mental health.

I was 17 when I first really panicked that my life would be nothing if I studied “worthless” things. And if it was nothing, there would be no one who could really help me.

So I started writing about these fears in my journal. I wrote about how I was afraid that my friends seemed to properly know what they wanted to do with their lives. I had written in diaries before, but I was always mindful of how I was presenting myself . . . even to myself in private. This was the first time I had ever really allowed myself to be vulnerable.

Unfortunately, this didn’t really solve my problem. But writing those fears out without thinking about neat paragraphs and just letting my stream of consciousness go showed me something very important. For the first time, instead of thinking that I was over-dramatic, scanning all the entries I had written pushed me to seriously consider whether I might be depressed.

These thoughts were strange to me because I thought they were just passing moments, but seeing similar entries day after day let me reflect on whether there was something wrong. Writing gave me a place to validate and articulate the feelings that are hard to talk about. It made it that much easier to talk to my friends because I had already practiced writing it out.

These are the moments I’d like to write about: an honest reflection of the moments that have helped me in my day-to-day life. Because for me, self-care isn’t meant to be a day to recover for another day of work. Setting aside mental health for the sake of capitalism, after all, might push you even deeper into burnout. Instead, I want to talk about the things I wish I learned that have protected my mental health in my personal life: when to turn to your support system, when to establish personal boundaries, and how to seek help. I will try to share free resources here, too.

Thanks for listening. I’ll see you soon!

Love,

Kelly