Originally posted March 1, 2020
“Eeny meeny decisions, with precision I pick or
Make my selection on who I choose to be with’, girl” -Big Boi
I hate making decisions. I like having the authority to make decisions in and for my life. I don’t want other people limiting my options or autonomy. But I could do without the stress of decision-making. There’s such tremendous pressure to get it right. The weight is often unbearable and I can’t move. In either direction. I’m stuck. Not outwardly choosing an option but choosing to remain stuck. I don’t fear decision-making per se. I fear making the wrong decision. There’s a difference. A slight one. And maybe only in my own mind. But there’s a difference. I think.
Right now, and by now I mean the past 4 years, I’m wrestling with decisions regarding where I should live. Do I want to live in the Pacific Northwest? Do I want to move back home? Do I want to try somewhere else? Is it better to rent or own in this economy? Which school district would be best for my son? I have been asking and not answering these questions for four years. Thinking about them evokes such anxiety that I don’t even feel good typing them. The anxiety is not about staying or the prospect of moving. The anxiety is about making the right decision.
I wish I could say it’s just major decisions that weigh heavily on me. I’ve been praised as a logical thinker before. But sometimes I use logic in the most illogical ways. I will research, analyze, ponder pros and cons, imagine best and worst-case scenarios, rinse, and repeat ad nauseam. Then I feel trapped which is a feeling that I hate. “Paralysis by analysis,” some call it.
Last year, I spent countless hours over several months reading the reviews for tea travel mugs before deciding on which one to get. Hours and months, y’all. How ridiculous was that? And I only had it two months before I dropped and cracked it. Thankfully, I could still use it. But a few months later I accidentally left it at an airport security checkpoint. I no longer have a travel mug for my loose tea. And I can’t get that research time back. I haven’t replaced it yet. There may be a better mug out there. I’m not ready to commit to the time it will take me to choose one.
Ugh!! Why am I like this? I did some journaling about it this morning. Here’s what came up.
Customer reviews are a blessing and a curse. At some point, I have to lean on my own knowledge and take a chance.
What if moving negatively affects my son? Or my relationship? What if staying disappoints my East Coast family? Will people think I’m selfish if I make a decision they don’t agree with? To be fair, other people aren’t putting pressure on me to make decisions they agree with. This pressure is all self-imposed. My son already said he’s down with whatever I decide. My honey told me he wants whatever will make me happy. And my relatives don’t expect me to come home. They don’t even know I’m contemplating it.
This is similar to the lack of self-trust. I really want others to trust my decision-making skills. If my decisions are questioned, I want to be able to show the receipts of all the logic I applied when making them.
I am a sensitive and emotional person. I’d like to start thinking of those traits as assets. A friend recently challenged me to listen to my gut. Often, journaling is the only time I allow my gut to speak. Don’t get me wrong. My heart and gut be wrong as hell sometimes. But at least they’re quick and decisive.
I also did some internet research about decision-making because I’m me and I struggle with all of those “don’ts” mentioned above.
It seems like every time I turn around I’m blaming anxiety for my flaws. What am I going to do about it? Honestly, I can’t even think about that now. My heart rate has been elevated since I began writing this post. I’ll plan on addressing it in therapy. But, for now, I’m going to meditate and do some deep breathing. And maybe, before the end of the night, I’ll buy myself another travel mug.
Categories: : Wellness