🌸 Aren't you ashamed?

📚 life story

Shame eats me. Devours me. Lives in me.

You’re not who you pretend to be
Shame mocks me in my sleep.

You’re not a writer.
You’re not a storyteller.
You’re not an entrepreneur.

You’re a fraud.

So… Maybe you should know? I’m not who I pretend to be.

Since last August, I’ve been a part-time employee in a (very cute) paper shop. I’m the girl you give your purchases to. I’m the one who says, “That’s 14,41$. Do you need a bag?” and smiles because it’s my job. From Monday to Wednesday. And Saturdays too.

So, from Monday to Wednesday, shame is mocking me. Making me her captive.

I hate having to talk about this part of my life— in fact, it took me quite some time to tell people about this… To me, it sounded like I was giving up.

Truth is: I’m ashamed of being ashamed.

People say, “There’s no lesser job,” but they are the same ones looking at you, wondering if you’re not too old to be doing this. You hear their judgmental “oh” when you say “no” after they ask if you own the shop. Because in theory, there are no lesser jobs, but people keep saying, “You should be a good student, or you’ll end up as a cashier.”

So, at 31, I’ve walked home ashamed and exhausted from a nine-hour shift on my feet, for just a little above minimum wage, a hundred times. I thought by now, I would have my shit together— I don’t, so I keep smiling at the register.

But maybe shame could change sides?

I’m working hard: to figure out what I want, to fight the urge of taking a 9-5 job I would hate for the money, to get some time to build my dreams. To run in the forest while most people walk on the path.

It’s not glamorous. Being exhausted all the time, missing workouts, not having weekends off, and living paycheck to paycheck. It’s not pretty. Being envious of your friends, because they bought the stuff you’ve been dreaming about. It’s not fun. Not knowing what you want to do, feeling lost when everyone seems to be moving forward.

I have a lot of dreams, too many to count. Too many, for them all to be true.

But I’d love to try.

📝 lesson

“You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.” — Billy Joel, Vienna

Some nights I cry, curled up, and I wonder: Is this what it’s going to be like? Forever?

Then I open my laptop and write a chapter.
Pick my next project, my next read.
Lace up my shoes and go for a run. 
And I remember why I'm doing this.

Not because it's glamorous. Not because I have it figured out. But because nothing can happen if I'm stuck in an endless wave of misery at a job I hate five days a week.

This is my choice: the hard path.
This is my hard: feeling judged and ashamed for not being more successful.
But it's mine. And I'd rather own my hard than submit to someone else's easy.

💭 questions

• Do you let other people’s judgment affect you? When? How?

• When was the last time you said “FUCK OFF DENNIS THIS IS NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS” out loud? (or anything a tad more polite)

Pick your hard.

Love always,
Flora 🌸