There’s a thread in the weekend forum post on Ask A Manager about guilty confessions. I liked the idea so I’m going to do a post about it because why the hell not? Guilty or not, here are some confessions.
1. I hate traveling. I hate it a lot. Everyone talks about how great it is to travel and visit other places. I agree with the latter to a certain extent, but not the former. At all.
First of of all, I get motion sickness when I fly. I used to take Dramamine, but I didn’t like the way it made me groggy and lethargic. When I flew to Taiwan once, I slept the entire way with the aid of Dramamine. That was…not a good thing. I switched to ginger capsules, and that was so much better. It eradicated the motion sickness, and it did not make me sleepy. Yay!
I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like strangers. I don’t like loud noises, either. This is another reason I hate flying. Not to mention being squished in and talked at by the alpha male who doesn’t recognize that I am icing him out.
But. Here’s the reason I don’t like going to a new place, regardless of how great it is. I have so many issues, physical and mental, but mostly physical, that it’s really difficult for me to cope in a different environment. When I moved to the East Bay (Bay Area) for a year, my allergies ran amok. I had to give up my contacts because my eyes were in agony.
So, yes. I have to deal with a completely different environment, including weather. I hate heat. Anything over 65 makes me cranky, irritable, and lethargic. Put me in 80+ weather, and I will lose my goddamn mind.
Then, add to that the fact that I am allergic to everything including the air. I’m even allergic to mosquitos, which means if they bite me, the bites swell to the size of a grapefruit. Minnesota’s nickname is jokingly Land of 10,000 Mosquitos, which is not far off.
This is why I don’t like the outdoors in general. When I got the allergy test on my thigh (dozens of pricks to see what I’m allergic to), my entire thigh swelled up. I very much see the outdoors as trying to kill me, so I act accordingly.
In addition, I can’t eat dairy or gluten, which means the food of many countries is off-limits to me. This is why I don’t like to travel, and I think it’s a fair reason not to like to go anywhere.
2. I don’t like children. Or rather, I am not particularly fond of them. I don’t dislike them, either, but I’m not one who gushes about how great children are. Kids under five drive me crazy with their repetition and their myopic vision. I know that’s their thing and I’m not down on them because of it, but I just don’t care to hang out with them.
I have liked individual children, but not the concept of children in general. I think it’s because I don’t like people in general, and they are just a subset of that major group. I am so glad I realized I did not want to have children when I was 22 and stuck to my guns, no matter how much shit I got for it (mostly from my mother).
3. I’m a lazy slob. I hate cleaning to the point where it’s embarrassing. I am not a hoarder, but I have traits of it. I think I think I may have undiagnosed executive function issues that makes it hard for me to get my shit together and clean, but I’m not doing anything about it at the moment.
4. I’m cocky since my near-death experience. Not really sure this belongs in a confession post because I don’t feel a whit of guilt about it. I spent most of my life thinking I was shit and not worthy of being alive. I believed my body was grotesque and disgusting, that no one would want to touch it. I managed to mitigate that to being studiedly neutral about it through Taiji, but it was still a ‘try to ignore it so it’ll go away’ kind of thing.
I could tell you every single thing wrong with me in vivid detail, and I could do it at length. I am excruciatingly aware of my flaws, and the list was as long as I am tall. I ignored my strengths, downplayed them, or pretended they didn’t exist. This was partly because of my Taiwanese background, no, it was mostly because of that.
Now, however, I am all that and a bag of chips. My body survived dying twice without a fucking scratch. You cannot say shit about it to me because I fucking love it. I adore it and how sturdy it is. If you want to come at me about it, well, I’ll tell you to STFU and GTFO.
The same is true about my face. I used to think I was so ugly and refused to look at myself in the mirror. Now, I think I’m cute AF, and you can’t say shit to me about it. Is that cocky? Yeah. Have I earned it? Also yeah. In addition, I don’t think it makes me better than anyone else; I’m just finally acknowledging my own worth.
5. I’m judgmental as fuck in my own head. I try to be compassionate, and people pour out their hearts to me because I seem so empathetic. Which I am, but I’m also not. I care about people in general, and I want people to live their best lives. However, I most emphatically do not care about a rando stranger’s bad day, no matter how determined they are to tell me about it.
I keep most of that to myself because it’s not good to tell people about themselves, but I can’t help but want people to not dump their problems on me. I do not mind with my friends, of course, and I am delighted to help my brother with his dating adventures by sussing out which woman’s reply is authentic and which is a scam.
My brother and mother think I would be a good psychologist, and because of my ability to read people and project compassion, that’s true. But I have a hard time setting boundaries, so that would get in the way.
This is just a short list and I have plenty more. I think this will do for now, however, so I’ll end this here. I may pick it up again tomorrow.