OYM Day 84: How To Be Stressed & Also Give No Fucks

Is this you? Because it’s certainly me. I find that throughout the day I am inundated with things I should do, things I should have done, and things I shouldn’t have done but it’s too late now. And as my pulse starts to rise and my brain begins to schedule my days events in order of importance, proximity, and personal satisfaction, a wave washes over me, similar to the feeling of a third Long Island iced tea at a bad wedding…and I realize, it doesn’t fucking matter.

It’s a subtlety in living. A yin and yang of caring and absolutely not. Of course I have goals and things I want to achieve in my lifetime, but even as I start to expire on my death bed, I’ll know that I spent most of my life chasing made up ideals and societal trophies. This includes the ones I should be proud of…like traveling the world, reading hundreds or thousands of books, having a beautiful home, perhaps a few published pieces of work eventually. None of it really matters. Especially when all it does is stress me the fuck out. I am constantly doing and achieving. And I have to remind myself that if I keep it up, the stress will just compound itself and my lists will get even longer. Just. Stop. Fucking. Caring.

I care about my child, my husband, my family, my friends, equal rights for all human beings, animals, and the planet. Most of the things I do in a day aren’t helping any of those things. Even my child. I balance entertaining and teaching her with cooking, cleaning, preparing, and overall “making things nice.” How am I supposed to do all of that and give my full attention to her?

This is usually the point in the day when the weight of my caring topples over and giving no fucks reigns supreme. Fuck that mess on the floor, fuck all those texts I haven’t responded to, fuck that doctors appointment I’ve been putting off, and just put them all in a fuck-off sling shot. Blast those fucks right out to fucking Pluto.

If I’m alive and healthy.

If there is food in my fridge and clean water on tap.

If there is a roof over my head.

If there are people I can call if I need help.

If my daughter is contenr.

If my husband is content.

If my family is healthy and sound.

Then what the FUCK am I stressed about? Hmm? It’s so simple, but isn’t. I’m a carer by nature and always want to help, fix, and assist. I’m also a perfectionist, a people pleaser, and a clown. My happiness often depends on those of others, which is the worst. I do this because I know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and don’t want anyone else to suffer if they don’t have to.

But guess what. None of it (you guessed it) fucking matters. People will be happy when they’re ready to make themselves happy. My house could fall to shit and I’d be the only one to notice. I could stop trying to make people laugh and they’d turn to other funny people, without even thinking about it, because chances are I need the validation of laughter more than they need to hear a good joke.

So, stop caring, Cassie! Who cares?!

I urge you to care where it counts, but I can promise you those categories are far fewer than those where you put most of your energy.

I’m going to spend the day playing dolls with my daughter, making a good meal for my family, and signing petitions out of respect for my black friends.

I hope you’ll find your yin and yang balance today as well. Give a fuck, and then give 2 fucks less. You’ll thank me later.