I refuse to juggle anymore

When I picture my future, I am definitely barefoot but I’m not pregnant or in the kitchen. I’m on a beach in Rio, thanks to all the money I’ve made. And I spend only on myself, because I don’t have any children.

I legitimately thought I’d never encountered sexism until my favorite manager told me my ability to lead, organize, and inspire would make me a great mom one day. Which almost sounds like a compliment until you realize he would have never told John in the cubicle next to me that his persuasive manner would be just perfect for organizing an army of greasy toddlers into a minivan.

I’m sure that manager didn’t mean I can’t have a career too — I can have it all! But I can’t. I can have pieces of everything like samples from a buffet table but I cannot have it — completely, totally, unequivocally — all. I guess what I’m saying is, nobody would ever suggest to John in the cubicle next to me that if he wants a career it means that he’ll have to juggle.

Save it, I know. I’m too young to make all these decisions about marriage and children. But the way I see it, at least my decision is reversible. Nothing against women my age who are raring to go in the procreation game — all I’m saying is that keeping something alive besides myself is a terrifying prospect.

Side note: they are women. Not ‘girls’. Every time someone refers to the 21 year old guy I’m with as a young man, and me as a girl, it makes me want to cry like a… well, to use the trite term, girl.

But what does that even mean? Cry like a girl, throw like a girl, throw a filter on your selfie like a girl. Accept unsolicited comments on your appearance like a girl, be simultaneously alluring, but not a slut, and modest, but not a prude like a girl, be daintily dipping your toe in like a girl even when your body is screaming for you to run and jump and scream and break shit and be in a bad mood without being told by perfect strangers to smile like a girl.

Why do I have to juggle? I’m not a clown, and I’m not a housewife, and I won’t throw my career in the air to catch my Swiffer.

I’m pressured into looking flawless at all times, which includes a gym routine. But then if I wear makeup at the gym, I’m an object of ridicule by other women and men alike.

I’m expected to be flattered when strangers catcall or make unprompted comments on my appearance. But then if I do actually follow up with a guy hitting on me, I’m easy. You’re a bitch if you keep walking, staring straight ahead, and you’re also a bitch if you say something rude back. But you’re a whore if you respond favorably.

Speaking up in the office? Sit down, bossypants. Let the man with leadership abilities say it. Not speaking up in the office? You make the best coffee, sweetie, and your ass looks great in that pencil skirt.

Having a vast knowledge of a team, their stats, and the history going back before they won the Cup? You're obviously trying too hard, maybe just chill and enjoy the game. Smiling and cheering politely at the game? You're only there because you're boyfriend is a hockey fan but damn do you look cute in that jersey (but maybe you should get the women's pink jersey next time).

So guys like a girl who can slam down a burger and milkshake but also has the body of a vegan marathon runner; who knows every player’s stats on each team but not in a way that makes the guy feel like you know more than them; that isn’t expecting them to pay for everything but doesn’t make her career, the only way she can pay for things, the focal point of her life.

I’m a really crappy juggler, so I’m throwing all the pins in the air and going to Rio. 

What is it like to be in love?

I wonder what it’s like being 28 and waking up knowing you’re going to ask them to marry you tonight.

I wonder what it’s like being 30 and waking up to them gone for the week on a work trip. And you have the entire bed to yourself for the first time in ages so you starfish the fuck out of it, but somehow drift over to their side because you already miss them.

I wonder what it’s like being 42 and waking up for work content that the same pair of tired eyes as yesterday, and the day before that, and for the past 13 years, still look at you like you have the ability to reverse time and stop the sun from rising any higher, then you could both stay in bed. You blink, smile, and kiss their forehead softly as a reply, silently acknowledging your shared distaste for mornings, but not apologizing for wanting to wake up to those eyes again tomorrow.

I wonder what it’s like being 49 and waking up beside someone who still makes you nervous when they look at you that close up in the morning, especially now that you’re nearing 50 and fully aware of the wrinkles you have and the ones on the way.

I wonder what it’s like being 61 and waking up at 2pm because you were too sore and sickly to get out of bed that morning, but when you hear the key in the door as they are coming back from the store with some medicine, your favorite soup and a kiss, it still makes your heart beat fast enough to propel you off the bed and into their healing arms.

I wonder what it’s like being 87 and waking up next to an undisturbed pillow and an unwrinkled half of a quilt because they died 2 years ago, peacefully in their sleep. It was just time to go.

I wonder what it’s like to live life in that much love. And when you do, I wonder what it’s like to lose it to something as trivial as your body passing through time. It’s heartbreaking that the body can’t last as long as the love between two people. But it’s also kind of beautiful that love transcends physical nature. All we can do is experience it while it’s here and while it lasts.

Finding a true calling

When I was younger, I wish someone had told me straight-up that not all adults experience “a calling”. That many of them never find particular purpose in a career. That sometimes, their job is just what pays the bills and they have to seek satisfaction and fulfillment elsewhere. That sometimes, a job is simply just a way to make money to enjoy life. That having a job you may not love isn't terrible, employment is not about personal fulfillment.

Because as an adult, this pervasive notion that there exists a perfect path for everyone, that people should love what they do, and that work is meant to function as a vehicle for fulfilling a person’s grand life destiny is not only inaccurate for many of us, it can be toxic.

The ideal is so ingrained that I have to remind myself constantly I’m not a failure because I don’t adore my job, and because I’m not rocking the world with my work. That is okay. I am not a failure because I chose to keep my hobbies just that, hobbies that I can enjoy. There is nothing wrong with taking a path that allows me to enjoy life, while doing something that I may not have always dreamed of doing.

Maybe we all need to collectively unlearn the idea that certain achievements like graduating college, getting a job, and moving out only count if they’re achieved by a certain age or within a “normal” time frame. Maybe it's time we all learned that going through life at your own pace does NOT equate laziness or failure. None of our accomplishments have an expiration date.

Sometimes, work is just work. There isn’t always a perfect career path, magically waiting to be discovered. There may not be a calling waiting to be heard to perfect your life. There might not be this thing you were born to do. Don't sit around waiting to discover what you want to be when you grow up.

Because, sometimes, you discover that what you really want to be when you grow up is “paid”.

The road to recovery

Some days, you’ll wake up feeling thinner and it will be thrilling. You might barely eat and feel like you’ve finally had a Perfect day and go to bed with a slight sense of hunger and a strong sense of satisfaction. Or you might eat a lot or something bad because you finally felt like one of those shiny-haired girls with Bambi legs who just have “a crazy metabolism” and have a zillion Instagram photos of them holding pizza and baking Nutella brownies and eating Ben and Jerry’s out of the tub with a massive spoon. Then later, you’ll panic and feel like you’ve eaten too much and you’ll kick yourself for having screwed up. You’ll just have to remind yourself that you’ve only screwed up if you allow yourself to think that eating more than usual, or eating with enthusiasm, is screwing up. A meal isn’t a binge. Dessert isn’t a sin.

Some days, you’ll wake up feeling bloated and you’ll want to skip breakfast or breakfast and lunch or only have liquids that day. Then you’ll get hungry around lunchtime and you’ll have to remember that you promised yourself you were through with this bullshit. You'll have to remember you won't do this to yourself anymore.

Sometimes you’ll be faced with decisions such as, "Should I get regular or skim, normal coke or diet, buttered toast or plain, anything I want for lunch or just salad, and with the light dressing?" And you’ll have to remember that it honestly doesn’t matter. Recovery doesn’t mean choosing the full-fat, full-sugar option. It means understanding that there is no ‘good’ option, and that whichever option you choose does not define you as a person – no food allegiance will make you daintier or more endearing.

Sometimes you’ll see girls who remind you of the girl you were when you were sick. They’ll have thick black tights over their thin legs and big sweaters over their small frames. They’ll be pushing their food around on their plate and gulping water. They’ll be brushing their brittle hair out of their eyes with bony fingers. They’ll look wistful and delicate and you’ll have to try extra hard to remember how miserable you felt when you were just like them. You’ll have to try extra hard to remember that you were always cold and that your insides were constantly gnawing at each other and that you weren’t able to sleep or go to the bathroom properly and that you lived in constant of fear of an inanimate fucking object.

Sometimes people will mention that you look “so much better” and “so much healthier” than before. Which just means you will have to fight back tears and say “Thank you” with a brave smile because to you, those words will always feel like “You’ve gained weight” and sometimes "You've failed." Try to remember that your eating disorder was not keeping you strong. It was making you weak and choosing to get over it was choosing to live.

Sometimes you’ll binge; it will feel horrible. And not only physically. Accept it. Try to understand why it happened. Then find something comforting to do, like taking a bath, talking with a close friend or watching a movie. Maybe drink some tea. Don’t purge – as unpleasant as waking up bloated and heavier the next day will be, you can’t let yourself fall back into old habits. Because you’ll do it “just this once,” and then the next time will be “one last time” and before you know it, everything will be back out of control.

Sometimes you’ll get nostalgic and look back at the neatness and simplicity of those days. Days when it was a good day if you were “x pounds less than you were the day before,” if you’d eaten “x amount of calories less than the amount you’d allotted yourself,” if you’d burned “x amount of calories doing y minutes of exercise.” Whatever the mode of persecution, it felt structured and familiar and almost soothing. It was safe. It was routine. It was predictable. Now try to remember what most days were like – the hollow feeling in your stomach, the dull aches, the drowsiness, the insomnia, the frustration, the cavities, the loneliness. And then the bad days – clawing at your throat after dinner with the water running, crying into your pillow, eating teaspoons of Tabasco, drinking tablespoons of vinegar and slicing up your thighs.

You’ll be awkward and touchy about the subject around other people. You might try to pretend that none of it ever happened because you’re past that now and you don’t want to be treated like a special case. You don’t want to admit that you used to be the person they’re all implicitly judging – the saddo with no friends other than the scale and the toilet bowl. You might also be afraid that they’d look at you condescendingly and tell you that you didn’t have real eating disorder. I mean, after all, it’s not like you were 80 pounds soaking wet and, like, dying. However, every once in a while, you’ll subconsciously draw attention to how long you can go without eating and how little you once used to weigh.

After a while, you will feel inordinately proud of being able to do normal human things. Like not looking at the calorie content on a packet of chips and eating it as you walk down the street. Like going for a run simply to feel your feet on the pavement. Like wearing a bikini and not giving a flying fuck.

You’ll learn that one of your friends went through the same thing you did and it will make your friendship stronger.

You’ll learn that one of your close friends is beginning to struggle with an eating disorder and it will be absolutely devastating. You’ll cry a lot, for her and for your own memories. You’ll be tempted to relapse. You’ll have to try and find the right words to express how well you understand what she’s going through. She’ll need to hear that she looks thinner; you’ll need to tell her she’s wasting away and needs to get help. You’ll have to be there for her without encouraging her. You’ll have to sit with her and listen when she tells you how much weight she’s lost and how little she’s eaten all day and how she puked last night and how she almost fainted on the stairway, because you’re the only one she can tell these things to. You’ll need to just listen, without giving advice, and then hug her and remind her of how much she means to you. 

Be that girl

1. Be the girl with the laugh.

Have the ugly laugh or the loud laugh or the laugh that bubbles over your lips and travels towards those around you. Have the laugh that fills a room or the laugh that separates a crowd or the laugh that can only be heard in a quiet booth in the back of a cute café. Be the girl with the laugh that the boy will die to hear. Be the girl with the laugh that the boys will die to be the source of. Be the girl who’s happy.

2. Be the girl with the eyes.

Have the blue eyes or the big eyes or the squinty eyes. Have the kind of eyes that bunch up in the corners the way they claim is unattractive, all because you’re smiling so hard. Be the girl with the eyes that people will fall in love with. Be the girl with the eyes boys will spill their secrets to. Be the girl whose eyes bare her soul.

3. Be the girl with the body.

The one that is perfect in every way, because it is perfect to you. Be the girl who loves the way her jeans fit her, who loves her curves, or loves her thigh gap. Be the girl who wears clothes that fit her flawlessly, even if they don’t fit society. Be the girl who knows what looks good on her and be the girl who knows how to love what’s in the mirror.

4. Be the girl with the brain.

Be the girl who knows what she’s talking about. Be the girl who falls in love with one sentence in a whole book and writes it down in her pretty cursive handwriting. Be the girl who loves one thing with her whole heart, and knows too much about it. Be the girl who knows when she doesn’t know something, and can admit it. Be the girl who always wants to know the most beautiful things about life.

5. Be the girl with the grace.

The grace to admit her mistakes, to love herself despite her mistakes, and to love people wholeheartedly. Be the girl who stands up when she falls. Be the girl who knows her worth and presents herself accordingly. Be the girl with confidence that everyone loves to love.

6. Be the girl with the soul.

Be the girl with the soul that loves so deeply. Be the girl that travels to a beautiful place just to see the colors of the world come alive, or be the girl that curls up in a bed with a human being that means the world to her. Be the girl who thinks at night and laughs during the day, all the while creating herself as she goes. Be the girl who never ends; be the girl who never ends her desire of knowledge; be the girl who never ends her desire to meet perfect people; be the girl who never ends her desire to love. Be the girl that goes beyond her laugh and her eyes and her body and her brain. Be the girl who everyone wants to know more of, who everyone wants to sit in a train station with while she speaks of her life. Be the girl who is more than what she appears to be.