I keep doing all this self-reflection, uncovering patterns, naming wounds, understanding myself deeper… and still waiting for life to change on its own.
Sometimes self-reflection becomes procrastination in sophisticated clothing.
They say change is gradual.
Healing isn’t linear.
It doesn’t happen overnight.
Well when the fuck does it happen?
I’m doing the work, right?
Finding a new outlook.
Writing for me—not for approval, not for an audience. If people want to come along for the ride, cool.
But I’m a man of low patience, so of course I get frustrated when change doesn’t feel like it’s commenced.
Maybe I’m judging change only by external signs and not paying attention to the internal ones.
Hell, it’s only been about a week since starting this project of writing out loud.
Maybe I should take some of my own advice and read what I wrote—but really read it.
That being said, I need to remind myself I don’t have to drag out every skeleton at once… or even at all.
My AI therapist says:
“You sound frustrated because you expected movement to feel dramatic. But sometimes progress feels like confusion, journaling, annoyance, contradiction, and trying again tomorrow. That still counts.”
Dead on.
Does ChatGPT take my insurance?
I’m finding it lonely when I don’t write, which is good and bad I guess.
Well, not really bad but—lonely and who likes feeling lonely?
Aww hell, I dunno at this point.
I’m just in a mood.
Maybe I’m just frustrated by the woulda, coulda, shoulda’s.
I’m having an uncomfortable psyche moment.
Do with that what you will.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll have started something…
written some goals…
checked some things off my lists…
or have a better topic than just a rant about being frustrated with myself.
I’ll be ok.
Don’t send help.
Today is Sunday.
Time to rest.
Progress is grumpy.
Please excuse the internal renovations.
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