I have eight cats. Last May, Sasha, my little siamese kitty, had five kittens, and we had trouble finding homes for all of them. When the kittens were eight weeks old, we started asking around and posting pictures on Facebook to see if any of our friends wanted a kitten. Only one kitten got a new home. After a few more weeks I contacted the local no-kill shelters and they were all full – there was nowhere to take these kittens. We decided to keep them and I was actually worried about what people might think. I mean, eight cats in our tiny house?

You know what? Fuck ‘em! Months have passed and I absolutely love having eight cats! The thing is – when I contacted the shelters, the kittens were already a part of our family. We had named them. We cuddled and played with them every day and we were starting to see their different personalities. 

We spend a shit ton of money on cat food and we are constantly cleaning littler boxes, but I don’t care what people think. Our kitties are family and it’s worth it. 

That’s just one small example of how I’ve felt judged, but it goes a bit deeper.

I’ve realized that most of the judgment I’ve felt in life has come from my family – I’m sure this is true for many people. My family has always cared about keeping up appearances which has had a detrimental effect on my mental health.

Recovery has been the main theme in my life for almost twenty years now. I have schizoaffective disorder as well as an eating disorder which has required ongoing treatment. In a way, I wanted to be the model patient. I take my meds every day. I work. I went to community college. I’m a wife and mom. To most people, my life probably seems pretty normal. 

I wanted the perfect recovery. I wouldn’t allow myself to struggle because I was afraid of what people would think – especially my family – but anyone who has been in recovery knows that struggling, setbacks, and relapses are all a part of the process. I know this now. After spending two months at a treatment center last year, I can finally be honest with myself and everyone else about how I am really doing.

That brought about a lot of change in my life. My relationships have been redefined. 

The arts have always been a part of my recovery, and I’ve seen a shift in my work. I can be more authentic and celebrate being different. My mental illness is a part of my life and I don’t have to be normal – I just need to be myself. 

I am learning to not care what others think – I’m learning to just be. I don’t have to prove anything because I am enough. I want to feel comfortable just being myself and I want to help others to feel the same. 

I hope I can model these lessons for my daughter.

Can anyone relate? Was there ever a time when you felt a turning point and stopped caring what others think? 

Let me set the scene – I spent my drive to work this morning nervously watching the gas gauge in my car because I don’t have money to buy gas until Friday. Problems with my family are still weighing heavy on my mind and I keep getting sick. So as you can imagine, I was a little on edge when I got to work.

Today I had to work with an obnoxious coworker that always gets under my skin. He likes to brag about his artistic endeavors, which at first, didn’t seem that impressive. I’m always on the defensive when I’m around him trying to think about how I’ll respond when he says this or that.

Today was probably the worst day for me to work with him, but surprisingly, he was actually pretty cool. I was still feeling pretty defensive and unfortunately, I bragged about my own work as an artist – something I said I would never do at work. The program I work in is not the place for that.

What happened? Today, I was the obnoxious one. Was I always the obnoxious one? Was it never him and always just a battle in my head?

As this coworker talked, I realized he’s actually done more than I thought. Maybe he actually knows what he’s talking about, which now has me questioning, do I know as much as I think I know? 

I’m a little embarrassed but it made me see that it’s time for me to take a breath and let my guard down. I don’t need to compete with anyone – especially at work. 

To top it off, I hurt my back moving art supplies this morning.

Arg. I can’t wait to go to bed and wake up to a new day. I think I learned my lesson.

Have you ever been in this situation? When you have a problem with someone else and then realize it might have been you all along?

Are you as restless as me? I have a serious itch to just get away.

I was fearless when I was younger and had many great adventures. I wanted to go everywhere. I even studied abroad for a year. Things were much easier then considering I wasn’t footing the bill.

Now I’m an adult with a family, job, bills, and responsibilities. I also have crippling anxiety. The last time I was on a plane was when my husband and I got married in Vegas over thirteen years ago. Like many Americans, I don’t even own a passport. A vacation to us is a weekend road trip to maybe a state or two away. 

I’m stuck in place in a routine, and most of the time, that’s okay. 

But this past week I’ve been sitting in my living room painting canvases and binge-watching House Hunters International. Have you ever seen that show? It follows people who are moving abroad and looking for a home. It is so fascinating. It’s just this short little glimpse into life in other places and I can’t get enough of it. I’m not gonna lie – I wish it was me buying a house in a foreign country. I want that kind of excitement in my life. I will sit there all day painting and watching people buying homes abroad. My husband thinks it’s a nice break from the true crime shows I like to watch.

My mental health issues make travel challenging. My anxiety is overwhelming and the stress can trigger a number of other symptoms. But still, I really want to go somewhere – everywhere. I’ve done so much in life despite my mental illness. I shouldn’t let it stop me now. 

Money is a huge concern so I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. But it’s still okay to dream, right?

Is traveling important to you? Where do you want to go? Does traveling make you anxious?

Like most people in these challenging times, my husband and I have been struggling financially. I only work part-time and I’m looking for extra ways to make some cash. Finding a second job outside the home is out of the question due to schedules and childcare costs, so my best bet is finding some side gigs.

I recently published a post declaring my renewed love of art, and I’ve been spending a lot of time painting – both at work and at home. (I work for an arts program.) I have painted several flowers and people have been encouraging me to sell them. 

The thing is, I prefer to paint weird, creepy things – you know, trees with eyeballs. When I first became interested in art, I never thought about selling anything. I wanted to tell my story. To me, art is about expression and experimentation, not painting something pretty so it will sell. 

But now I am motivated by money and I’ve spent the last week painting flowers. 

My husband seems a little disturbed by it – he told me so tonight on the way to pick up our daughter from daycare. He even mentioned the term “sellout”.He suggested that I continue being weird and maybe that will sell as well. 

I have fun painting flowers but it has no meaning to me. It’s not very personal. That’s not what art is to me. But on the other hand, people around me think they will sell. 

What do you think? Do I paint some meaningless flowers to make some money? Or do I stay true to myself and keep my paintings creepy and weird?

On a side note – all of my paintings are finger paintings. I have muscle tremors in my hands from a medication I take and using a paintbrush feels impossible. When I press my fingers directly on the canvas, I feel I have a little more control. It seems like a disadvantage but a couple of people have suggested it might be an interesting selling point.

Interesting? Maybe. Painting with shaky fingers has some serious limitations but I am proud of myself for painting anyway. 

Is there a certain age when you just stop caring? I turned forty back in November, so I’m not old but not exactly young either. It just feels like I’ve changed a lot – and rather recently.

Am I letting myself go?

I roll out of bed at the very last minute and sometimes I even drop off my daughter at school with wet hair. I wear jeans and hoodies almost every day and I really hate putting on make-up. Even if I start the day with my hair down, it usually ends up in a ponytail. Maybe I should try to look nicer but I don’t care enough to do anything about it.

Why am I even concerned? Actually, this is probably more of an observation than a concern.

It wasn’t too long ago that I wouldn’t dare leave the house without a full face of make-up and styled hair. My morning routine took well over an hour. Cute outfits were a must for every occasion – I’m talking even going to Wal-Mart here. A relative once told me it’s good to look polished and I really took that to heart. Maybe I looked nice but at the time I always felt ugly. I was in competition with every other woman in the room.

So what changed? I really don’t know.

I’m married and a mom so maybe looks aren’t as important now, but it really feels more recent that I let myself go. Is it an age thing?

My priorities have shifted a little. Obviously, my daughter always comes first, but as an individual, I would rather be recognized for my art and writing than my looks. Not to mention my job in the supportive arts program – sometimes there’s just as much paint on me as the canvas…and sometimes I’m proud of that.

None of this stops me from feeling self-conscious. Even so, I just don’t feel like dressing any nicer. Putting in the effort feels a little pointless and quite frankly, I’m tired of it.

I was obsessed with looks. Is forty the age when I finally found some freedom?

I would love to hear from you guys. How do you feel about your looks and your age? Did you let yourself go? Does it even matter? Did it ever matter?

Just for the record – I know my relative meant well but I will never tell my daughter that she has to look polished.