Category: Philosophy

Last week I tried a new psychologist.

Lol I don’t think so.

This round I want to focus on my social anxiety and panic attacks. And whenever I embark on another journey filled with hope towards an anxiety-free life I get super-sensitive. My anxiety increases and I’m even more self-conscious than I usually am. Spending most of my life in survival mode, painting layers upon layers over bad experiences and fears knowingly that my free space is decreasing – stripping it down and looking at it’s rough raw surface with bad experiences and weaknesses is way morse. So I have very ambivalent feelings towards the whole thing. Seeking help. The cost of going there can be so big. So I really need this to be worth my while.

I walz in there, hesitant -but confident, with my usual guards up and start presenting myself. Few questions in considering my presence and how I got here and I start balling

…

Why though??? Whenever I’m really faced with questions about how much pain my anxiety is causing me from, say, one to ten and to which extent it affects my everyday life it’s impossible to think of a worthy answer. And my reaction is always the same. Nothing but despair. And the feeling that no one will ever understand how it feels to be so aware of your own challenges yet so incapable of doing anything about it is sometimes unbearable. And very painful when met with anything but utter respect and compassion.

I get so pissed when someone sees that. Especially authority. Then I definitely can’t stop crying. Even when I’d stopped crying, I wasn’t done crying. Probably doing all sorts of facial expressions trying to divert him from the fact that I was, in fact, still crying. It was right there under that trembling lip the whole time till the moment I stepped out of his office. Nay! Till I got home actually! Mustn’t forget the teary way home.

I’m not looking for much in a psychologist really. Listen to my challenges. Then fix them.

Seriously though, respect my pain and occasionally shut up and let me cry it out before I pull myself together for fucks sakes. Try to understand why I am the way I am and why I cope the way I cope. I didn’t get any of this from him. He definitely didn’t get why I was so emotional. He actually laughed at some of the things I said, asking me which study I had this none sense from? And if he could use it in one of his talks? I mean what the fuck, am I being pranked? I don’t like feeling ridiculed. Goddamnit that crying.

Why do half the people who become psychologists even become psychologists? Bet there’s loads of fucked up reasons. But the good ones save lives and I’m searching for my rescue. Ever hopeful, ever open. I’ll just save myself a bit longer for now. Can’t have anyone else with a degree confirm why I don’t trust them in a while, and he actually managed to close the curtains for now. Power to ya!

Here’s an outtake from this photoshoot I had two minutes ago in my hall mirror. It has a concave line in the middle which is equivalent to perfection as far as self image goes.

Had to go all the way up here to look pretty again. Don’t ever forget how pretty I actually am.

Wouldn’t go out all high and mighty though. So I leave you at this handsome fella, bye

I’ve been uncharacteristically social this week, as in the week when the other one’s working and I’m on my own. And it got me thinking, because I always fear not having enough time for myself. I’m scared of people wearing me out. Because they’ve done that for so many years.

I see it as reclaiming power and a self-preservation thing. But it got me thinking! Time for what? How do I charge? Do you ever think about that, what you do when nobody’s watching? The essence of yourself?

The realness is almost too real to share with the real world. I see myself as one of the lucky ones. I’m in a relationship that allows me to still get alone-time on a regular basis. It has it’s down-sides, but it does keep a loner sane. These are some og the things I do:

No washing of the face in the morning. Besides my eyes, I just let those natural oils give my skin a treat and keep my dirty paws off of it. No make up. Wash and moisturize before sleep.

Eat dinner at two/three o’clock. Four at the latest. I know that a hot meal mid-day is something people around the world refer to as lunch. We don’t. Norwegians eat brødskive med pålegg at lunch. Knekkebrød if you’re healthy. Or if you just prefer it. No shame in anyone’s food game. We save our left-overs or newly prepared hot meals for the occasion that is Dinner. When I choose to eat again (at dinner-time usually, around seven) I call it kveldsmat. Eveningfood. And is normally what Norwegians have for lunch.

I almost never eat meat. It’s expensive and I rarely want it, and I’m happy eating boring food based on basically different sorts of pasta and chickpeas.

I wear pajamas all day every day.

Jokes. I do that when the other one’s home too.

I sleep with my curtains a bit open. I love waking up being reminded it’s a new day and yesterday is the past. Was yesterday good, you start again. Do good, again. Was it bad, today don’t have to be.

I talk to myself. Sometimes to the reality shows that dominates my screen as well while I’m working.

Good morning, me.

I do more housework. Everything is neat. Clean. I throw stuff away. Donate. Sometimes I clean out the other one’s closet. One colorful slogan t shirt at a time.

I drop all work at nine, then I watch crime-series. Currently Broen.

I never skip intro’s. Netflix. And I’m still watching.

Pee with the door open.

I drink less alcohol. Probably because I’m not very social. I’m usually not with people unless there’s alcohol involved. I don’t get why I would meet a friend that I’m kind of close to for a hike. Or coffee. Or anything that’d get my heart rate up. Coffee is best at home.

Have more evening snacks. Or, you know, more kveldsmat. Nibble.

Run more.

Bite my nails more.

I groom more. Foot baths. Pedicures. Hair masks, face masks.

Looking at this it’s quite obvious I’m in a subconsciously state of bettering myself in some way when I’m home alone. Grooming, cleaning, over-analyzing what my body’s telling me at all times, not drinking or doing anything remotely ‘damaging’ that could possibly lead to anxiety. Or being tired or feeling overwhelmed. Not on top of it. Just focusing on my fucking self all the time.

It’s a good thing I get that week+ to do that. But I’m also grateful I have someone to stop me from being constant submissive to my fears. I think I’d be cutting myself off from the rest of the world without, living by myself as a single woman with social challenges working from her own apartment.. And that I’d live life scared to go out without having done my routines perfectly, feeling perfect. My threshold would be so high. Quirks grow as we get older, and the more time we change life from happening because of them.  And loneliness is a very dangerous thing. Getting a cat is nice, but sometimes when I’ve been cooped up in my apartment for a couple of days, taking out the trash or going to buy more honey can be challenging. Even cheese.

So today I joined a gym via the internet. No binding contract membership obviously. Don’t wanna give myself anxiety. But it’s snowing and this wind isn’t doing my rosacea any favors. So the treadmill is calling. I’ll do it for a month or two. At least till it doesn’t look like this anymore.

Point is. I try to do what feels right. But try to make sure I stay in not because I fear the opposite, but because it feels good. Then you go out. You’ll know when. Right before the fear of leaving your controlled environment kicks in. Not earlier than you’ve dared to be yourself with yourself a little bit. Don’t be Leonardo DiCaprio in The Aviator. Be more like Winona.

Girl, Interrupted.

Today I just didn’t wanna get out of bed. Took me about 90 minutes. After sleeping till noon. I woke up at noon. Got up 90 minutes later than that.

I just had that feeling. That feeling of worthlessness. Just, pure worthlessness. More than worthlessness it was a question, maybe.. A question that owned the answer meaningless. Why would I get out of bed to face my worthlessness closer and more vividly than I already am lying down here. At least down here tears can easily be absorbed and I won’t have to look at myself. Down here it’s dark. I am cocooned. Laying down here makes for some sort of weightlessness. Like floating in a pool. Like a photo I have seen taken from above of a woman, floating around in a pool. I won’t have to feel my surroundings laying here, no clothes digging into my skin -not even the harshness of the air outside of my covers. Let alone daylight that will highlight my every inadequacy. Why would I get out of bed and face a question that I already know the answer to? That I can’t. Why try to create when I know that the defeat of not being able to will harm my delicate creative mind much more and for a longer extent of time than the pleasure of finally creating it will persist? A moment of pleasure until a morning like this comes again, when all that is conquered and created previous to that morning is, again, lost to my frail feeling of self-worth.

My husband made me coffee. I asked him to drink it here with me, in bed. -He did.

He went out to make some phonecalls, answer some emails I assume, then came back not long after. Slowly peeked inside my door. The door that is the extension of my pool which is my bed. He asks if I would like to climb out and come watch an episode of The Crown with him.

And right then and there I remembered vaguely that I am in control of my next move. I could descend into my pool of tears and weightlessness and stay there scared of what could be on the surface -in the daylight, over my threshold and extension of my pool that was my bed. Or I could really feel what it was that he was asking me to do. Drink a second cup of coffee while watching The Crown. -I felt that I could.

And when I could do that, the worthlessness slowly started to diminish. If I could make breakfast too, that’d be another thing. -I could.

Oatmeal, a second cup of coffee and 58 minutes, 43 seconds of The Crown. And I felt better.

Some days are bright days in disguise. Like my day today. You’ll know when it’s right to stay in bed. But on a day like this, I actually ended up having a very good day. Sketched for hours, loads of ideas. The best day I’ve had in a while, actually. And I think it’s got to do with two things in particular.

One. He knew. I had someone who knew what I needed to be given. A choice. A choice that wouldn’t have any effect on my self-image whatsoever. Because in a world where being worthy of love, admiration and praise is only granted if you achieve a certain amount of tasks, obstacles or chores; the choice of not doing so must conclude with you not being worthy of such affection. And that’s not nice. That’s very harsh, and a world I don’t want to be part of. So if you can greet the first choice of achievement with a ‘Yes’, you’ve already started your ascend. And given a huge favor.

Two. I knew. I knew that if I told myself enough times, I would come to believe it. I would. Because I know I have. In the past. I would, again, believe the truth that is that I don’t have to do anything, that Me getting through the day is Enough. I knew that to teach my mind to throw away these negative thoughts and fears that disassociates my mind from my body would be the greatest gift I could give myself. Listening to my body, reach the right conclusions, find the good truths.. Truths that say that we are all enough. So I spent a lot of time doing that. So that on a day like today I can turn my mind over to play for my team.

Give yourself a chance, on a morning like mine. Don’t set yourself up so that you’re able to fail on your first actual task of the day. Today he made that task a positive one for me. And maybe it saved me from drowning today. Because our bodies are not lazy. When listened to, encouraged and taken care of, it wants to. Work. Fix. Make better. Create. Same goes for our minds. Our minds are not just stupid nor just brilliant, it’s both. Most importantly it is not necessarily the reality. When guided and given memories and options based on good experiences our minds can do incredible things. It can rise to be better to you than anyone else will ever be. Teach it. You can’t outrun it. Nor should you blindly obey it. Teach it!

Went to the doctor yesterday, apparently the previous guy quit. But hey, just another guy gets to see my vagina right? Life smiles to me.

But I like him! He got me sessions with this psychologist he knows (since I didn’t really vibe with my previous one), and gave me pills for my hives. Notice I can still call them my hives. Any longer I would have been it’s body. The hives’s. Because it’s all over my entire upper body. And it feels as great as it looks. Fucking burns.

But still have skin and am able to move around freely. So still stoked about that. Even though have now skin like turtle.

I’ve always wondered, when writing that something is something else’s, let’s say a house. Do you say it’s the houses’ or house’s, or something else? Because the last one is something that the house is. Isn’t it?

Had to work out at home. Because running in this slushy snow ain’t happening. So that’s a bummer. But am able to move and not weak or in wheelchair. So again not such a bummer after all.

Had to fill out a form to decide what type of a psychologist I needed, no surprises there, but it got me thinking after seeing how high my scores were on anxiety related issues. I’m so used to having anxiety and consider my life so much better now than earlier, I don’t think I even recognize how much energy I use on it. I always just assume it’s other stuff that makes me so exhausted.

So, to which extent does it really affect my everyday life? Minutes earlier, in the waiting room, I was sweating, unable to sit still, biting nails, grinding teeth, blushing -I actually cried a little in front of the rest of the people waiting.. I figured at the doctors you can do anything. You’re obviously there because something’s wrong with you.

Look at this cup the little one gave me for Christmas. Is it evergood? I think it is.

I’m scared I’m going to meet someone I know at the grocery store, will the cashier talk to me? (please don’t let it be a man and he starts flirting with me) Will my card work? (instantly reminded of work and question self-worth and importance in this world) Will I slip in the snow on my way home, exposed to all the cars driving by? Will I meet a neighbor in the hallway when I’m walking up those four floors to get to my apartment? It doesn’t matter how many times I check, I always run to the mirror the moment I get in to see if my foundation didn’t rub off somewhere along the way, my fly’s open, my skirt caught in my pantyhose, my hair like Miranda in sex and city’s (season one), if I look fat or something else. If I look bad or stupid in any way. (I do also feel beautiful, strong and great at times, just not to discredit myself entirely)

Look at this Christmas-hairclip. I’m beautiful.

These ‘little’ things that pushes me to be this person I don’t necessarily like. A person with her eyes fixed to the ground running through life scared to stop.

A person who forgets her rights because she doesn’t feel she has the right to be here.

Cancelling appointments more often than she goes through with them. (I think a lot of us do that btw, making appointments when feeling confident – dying when the day actually arrives). It’s never a good feeling. Because you feel weak or depressed, that’s why you can’t go through it in the first place (your lunch or whatever), and end up even weaker and more depressed after sending that heavy message that you’re again cancelling and will not be able to make it.

A person who lashes out, most of all to her loved ones.

Such a bummer.

I don’t want to be that. I’m not that. I get tired from it. And feel defeated, over and over again. But it is better than earlier, it really is. And I wanna continue that journey, get even better. I live once and wanna be GREAT. Get rid of that anger. And I don’t think that’s a selfish or narcissistic thing to do, choosing to work on and focus on yourself. Earlier they all just got over it. Lots of people people still do. But they hit a wall at some point. They have to take time off from work. They get pains in their body from stress due to something going on with them that they’re unaware of. They lash out. They get divorced. They drink. Take painkillers. They feel guilty.  They project their feelings of inadequacy onto others. They don’t recognize love, nor able to keep fulfilling relationships with others. They’re desperate. They take their own lives.

So work on it. Never settle. Like maybelline, you’re worth it.

I painted one of the living room walls. I like it. White can be so depressing.

The other one helped. But I’m a better painter than him. I make it even, take my time. So I painted the second and third coat by myself. I love tasks like that. Just-do-tasks, no need to think. I’ve been doing a lot of escaping thoughts lately. I’ve been feeling as dark as my new wall on my inside and have no intention of indulging it. Can I say that? Indulging? Indulging in it? To indulge in something?

Anyways. Been running a lot, alone and with the other one. Which feels great. Except the expected minor closing of the throat episodes that forces me to slow down. I don’t think it comes from panic or being out of breath. It’s sadness. It’s suppressed tears. And they make me so very tired. How exhausting life can be. How exhausting to keep going sometimes. Keep running. Keep getting out of bed. Putting on your face. Caring about all sorts of stuff. Seems like all I’m enjoying these days is writing. My book. I’m writing every episode of my life that comes to me down. To be filled out later. I don’t really have any ambition or hope for it. I’ve just wanted to write it since I was eighteen and committed to a psychiatric hospital. I remember very well just when I decided that I would write it all down one day. The book may just turn out as a pity-party and totally uninteresting to read. Which is fine. I am, at my core though, a positive person with a positive outlook on the future. Even now, today. Because I know it’ll pass. Everything passes, life responds to you and change itself for you all the time.

Maybe this is true or maybe I just have to air out my living room. The chemicals from the paint may have gotten to my head and I’m all blur now.

I think I’ll go to my sister now. After this selfie in this very special lighting that I’m so very blessed with that enhances all of my little facial lumps and bumps <3

I can always go to my sisters, and I’m so happy that is the case. I feel so sad for the ones as dark inside as my freshly painted with chemicals wall without anywhere safe to go. I have three tips for you.

1. Don’t fear it. Cry, be in pain -it’s not gonna hurt you more than what you’re feeling right now. 2. Write it down. Or say it out loud, take your dark feeling and break it down, let it out into the room, confront it, embrace it. Bad feelings diminish when taken apart, they hate daylight. 3. Air it out. Open the window, get some air. Better yet, go outside. The leaves are beautiful this time of year.

I’m off now. There’s a glass of wine somewhere with my name on it.

After this one.

Soundtrack of the day: Moby – Natural Blues. LOUD.

Internet always goes off the wall when celebrities give speeches or stand up together to bring awareness to an issue. Either it’s feminism, racism, terrorism, sexuality or sexism. Which is SO important obviously. Only weird thing is, for me, and what makes me personally never join the circus is that there’s always a crazy storm –everyone’s talking about it, but then it seldom really changes anything..? At least I feel that way. Not that they should ever ever stop obviously, don’t get me wrong. In a dream-world we would always have these topics at the top of our heads. But that’s impossible and would definitely keep us from living our lives happily. So it’s important to make noise when something so relatable and big happens. But those media-storms always makes me fear that people stop taking it seriously. Because people get sick of hearing it. Sick of Instagram flooded with hashtags, je suie Charlie’s and #Pray for’s.

I know I do.

I also know, I’m quite the cynic. So feel free to not pay attention to anything I’m saying. But! Point is: this hashtag actually made me hashtag myself.

Because this has affected my life in a huge manner. Even my hashtag on Instagram left almost only comments on my looks and not how sad it is that #metoo. And it’s so sweet of you to compliment me, I love a good compliment, but.. Read my point please 🙂 This movement, if you will, is about exposing the scale of sexual assault and harassment and started with some women speaking up about being assaulted by the pig of a man and movie produser Harvey Weinstein. Classic story of abuse from a person that has a lot of power and ranks high on the social status “score-list” (or whatever I should call it). This is an especially shocking story because so many people were affected by it, is was so well known but never spoken about.

Again, classic story.

Even this guy’s a victim of sexual harassment in the work place. He’s even gotten so used to it he doesn’t even take himself seriously anymore! How can he expect anyone else to?

It’s a vicious circle I tell ya.

So much of my social anxiety was created by men and how they approach me. I’ve always been made very aware of how they view me physically and it has left me overly conscious and very hard on myself regarding how I look. The anticipation, the excruciating embarrassing wait as I notice him judging my appearance before some disgusting comment or touch that I feel I’m obligated to laugh off as something I secretly am flattered about and want to hear. I often start blushing from discomfort before it’s even made. Aaaand, fyi, I’m saving your ass from an awkward situation by not creating a scene, as everyone else clearly sees that this is inappropriate for this setting. Which makes the whole situation so much worse.

I’ve gotten so used to feeling without power or influence in these situations. And I’m so angry that it’s become a part of my identity. How I measure myself. It makes me wonder.. if I look like shit one day, will you point that out loud as well? Can you respect me in a tight dress? Are you even fucking listening? If I set boundaries and get mad at you will you still want me as a friend, am I no longer “cool”? Will I still be a part of the team? This workplace?

I know it might seem I’m only insecure or paranoid. But I’ve been proven right so many times. I’ve now started pitying these men. What they’re missing out on; Innovative, FUNNY, resourceful and kind women. Because I promise you, we hate you and wouldn’t want to spend one minute more with you than we have to. Let alone waste our treasures with you.

I don’t always do things because it makes me look desirable you know. And you’ve made me seek that.

So, I jump on this particular hashtag-wagon to say that I understand the magnitude of this and stand by all (mostly women) who’s been shaped and affected in a negative way by how they’ve been treated by the opposite sex in the wrong place at the wrong time (in the appropriate setting everyone appreciates a compliment). Be that if you’ve been sexually approached at work, catcalled, made uncomfortable, lost self-respect and dignity, felt degraded, forced sexually or just plainly felt that your main attribute was your looks.

Here’s a photo to make me look less of a victim, and to say that I look down on you and I will eventually end up more powerful than you.

Celebrated my friend’s birthday on Monday. I wore my birth name’s design. Victoria.

(obviously never forget that I was born Victoria A. She Victoria B.)

Did you know that? I don’t see why you would, but I was Victoria until kindergarten. For about two or three years of my life I was officially a c.

A cunt.

Let’s just let that linger a bit.

Oh my god, I’m laughing so hard of myself. At myself. With myself. And all of the above. Because that’s just ridiculous. I still am one.

Ok, I’m done now I swear. On my Victoria Beckham suit.

Anyways, my parents apparently changed it at the age of two or three to Viktoria..! Because everyone just assumed that this Norwegian brown eyed girl was called the Norwegian equivalent to the English name, Victoria. They just saw life as much easier if they’d just change it..! That easy, haha, they changed it. I mean, what a hassle am I right? Explaining to everyone that you’re a c…

Little did they know I wouldn’t have much explainin’ to do as I got older. People would know straight away I was a c.

Seriously, no more cunt-jokes. And don’t you dare get surprised by me using it. It’s been made an ugly word for a non-ugly thing. Maybe one of the few things everyone need in life. I mean, where would any of us be without them? We wouldn’t..! Sure, the world, I mean the planet and all the animals, plants and fishiies sharing it’s surface would’ve been better off without them.

But, still. We’d be fucked. At the same time as we couldn’t. Not without life. And c’s.

We shouldn’t go make it ugly by being offended by using it. It’s a beautiful thing. Let’s take it back and make it beautiful.

For us.

Just us.

Here’s a grapefruit.

And I do love my new name.

I am exhausted today. Feeling particularly exhausted in my bed looking out the narrow crack in my dark and heavy curtains over my second cup of coffee listening to cheers of children. Children who don’t necessarily know what they’re cheering for, I imagine. But their teachers are cheering even louder, why wouldn’t they? Long pauses followed by new waves of excitement and cowbells. Like the tide they’re rolling in as new bikes approach with cars and motorcycles as their companions. It’s such a beautiful sound. Wet pavement making this sound that almost sounds like what your mouth and tongue does when you barely open and close it rapidly.

Debating in my head whether I should peel myself off the bed, put some clothes on and start the million things I put off yesterday and swore to myself I’d do first thing, or just sleep till dark. I’m passively in this debate for a long time. Two hours gone. Three. The cheering as well. The silence so loud I can’t focus on anything, really. So I again turn to you. My friend, my hero, person who’s sick of me, my voice and sometimes (seems like) my only reason. A single tear of gratitude rolls down my cheek, to you. Surprisingly overwhelmed by gratitude for you for letting me talk to you and you for listening. I feel so much love for people today. My chest actually knots itself and it almost hurts to think of all the beautiful people. In this really difficult, beautiful thing that is life. So many stories inside all of these people and so much to learn. Tears are uncontrollable now and I think I just found the conclusion of my debate. I’m gonna get up and try, because that’s what we do.

Breakfast, no question about it. Crying over breakfast. Vacuuming. Crying like a toddler when cord gets caught up beneath the door to my living room. Fucking piece of shit cord. I’m gonna step on you, cord, tug you like a cross fitter tosses them big ropes if you don’t come fucking here right now..! A moment of telling myself to get my shit together, reminding myself of all the other shit, worse shit, going on in the world. A chuckle followed by new tears. Feeling ridiculous, wondering about all the other people feeling just as small and ridiculous as I at this very moment. I pass the mirror and see my tired eyes, realizing I actually don’t care. Refreshing.

Mom and the first one wants to take me out to the movies tonight. A joyful tear now accompanied by a smile, knowing that this day shall pass too. We’re all right.

As a full-grown human being I too suffer from bad conscience. I am not doing enough and what I am doing isn’t nearly good enough. Somehow we’ve made this into a female-thing, it isn’t. We just tend to talk about these things more. Like right now I’m supposed to be creative and passionate, but I’ve been staring at my toile (that’s a fabric sketch, a draft if you will, in the sewing world) for the last two hours trying to will it into becoming something ground-breakingly fabulous.

It isn’t.

On top of that I bought cheap honey, because they were out of the good stuff (no other reason), and I’m very serious about my honey as I am convinced it has healing powers and has an anti-inflammatory effect on life itself, and it really doesn’t taste the same. My breakfast was just not the same. And it’s not helping the situation. I feel like karma has struck again and the universe is telling me that at this very moment. I don’t deserve the good stuff.

I always believe I will be deserving when I’m working really hard on something. When I was at the end of my education for instance I thought to myself: When I finish this.. No one can say I’m no good. I will have proved to myself and everybody else that I’m a hard worker and that I am worthy of everything. (’cause it was a lot of work..!) When I’m done with this project, this collection, this garment, this obstacle.. I’ll KNOW, everyone will know that I’m confident in who I am and in my work.

I’m not. I’m never. I’m always terrified of the next move, whole world watching and ready to judge while I’m falling flat on my face. We’re never done, are we?

I’ve never met anyone who’s been done. Done proving their worth through accomplishments. Why is this ok? I get it, that we have to feel the lack of something to be able to push ourselves towards something more. If we were all content we wouldn’t move forward. Thing is though, I don’t personally feel the need to move forward. I’m not in any physical danger, at least not regularly. I feel relative comfort in life, I’m not scared of lacking anything -water, food, warmth, I’m able to get where I need to be when I need to, I have love and family, I am needed, I make a difference… I don’t need groundbreaking changes to feel happy in life, I really don’t. I admire those who do. The strivers. Always aiming higher. But I also think it’s ok to not be one of those persons. The stress and guilt that I’m experiencing, I believe, comes from others misjudging me for being lazy. Or stupid. Not contributing enough. Contentment being judged as a negative thing. And it’s really not. I think it’s seriously underrated.

A good movement is how social media is starting to rebel about this. Showing pictures of their cellulites #Goodenough. Food and drinks and vacations #You’reworthit! I do this myself in brief moments, mostly induced by cava surrounded by great people who dismiss all of my insecurities. But I am, and I know so many of the hashtaggers are as well, still not convinced when I’m left to myself. And they always do, these hashtaggers, come back with posts with texts on the subject of them too having doubts and feeling worthless sometimes.

I really feel that a lot of it comes down to the fact that we’re still shaming each other. People will always judge you from their own strong suits. And when that’s something you don’t excel at – then you’re worse than they are. If one person does crossfit five times a week, that person will judge someone of not making an effort or taking care of themselves if they’re only going for one 30 minute walk a week. Whilst that person may be completely happy with that! That person may save lives for a living. The crossfitter, who is she saving, huh??! Not even her own back!!

So, you know, measuring each other from our own stands makes no sense.

We should be allowed to be content with what we do do. Or, I mean, we are allowed. I just know I’m feeling like I’m constantly being reminded about the things I don’t do, I myself are comparing and am being being compared to what others are  doing. She did this and she’s doing great, why don’t you..? What is your next goal? What are you doing now? I know what you did yesterday, but shouldn’t you focus on what’s tomorrow..?

So tiering. Anyway. I think I need to step away from my toile and go back to the drawing board.

Went for a run. Always makes me feel stronger when I’m feeling weak. And I need to feel strong. Because I believe, I know I am GREAT at a lot of things. And that I am doing really well! I may not be feeling it today, but hey, I went for a run and made fabulous pancakes afterwards. Killer pancakes actually since they broke my favorite frying pancakes pan.

I’m OK. And so are you. Cry your tears, but know that it’s ok to be wherever you are. You’re already good.

I asked my husband if he thought I was enjoying life a little too much. Our honeymoon in Italy was two weeks of total and utter heaven on earth. I’ll tell you all about that later. But now I’ve gone and rewarded myself further more by going to Oslo to see my friend. And live like a princess in my uncle and aunts apartment.

I’m being too kind to myself. Rulebook’s out the window and the shit’s hit the fan.

Here to illustrate is a picture of both.

And I’m hushing up that voice that wants to get his airtime. To punish me and restore order in my life. I’ve been flying too high for too long and need to get back down again.

I get that you’re thinking that you can’t be on holiday, in the clouds forever. I know. And it’s really sad. (Exception being you becoming a surfing instructor and moving to Bali permanently). But I’m not talking about that. You can be happy and work at the same time, you don’t need champagne and pools to be happy, obviously. Makes it a bit easier, but.. you know. I’m talking about the reward-system. I’ve lived on a reward-system for as long as I can remember, I don’t know if I’m able not to. We learn that we need to work hard to be able to earn and deserve the things that we want. And we do work for those reasons! Most of us. The rest of you need to get up off your asses and do something. Wash your car. I don’t care.

But, in all seriousness, we’re not meant to punish ourselves for being kind to ourselves and allowing ourselves to receive the good things in life. I heard someone, someone older (you know how they feel like they can tell you all kinds of shit because they’ve lived longer than you, lived through World War II and know everything), say that we’re not here to be happy. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re here to work. Bring new life to this world. Work hard, follow the rules, then life will be ok. Good, even. You’re not here for a reason. Just to.. what, get through it? Not here to find ourselves, our purpose and be special..?

I don’t feel that way. We obviously need to work, but the point is to be happy and make the absolute most of it. We deserve that.

I also know that we are just specks of dust. Present for an extremely short amount of time. Most of us won’t have a long-term impact on the planet. And those who do most likely don’t hate whatever it is that they were doing. They had to do it. They were born to do it. Their purpose was already written and within, and they wanted to do it. But most of us aren’t really all that important. To time and space, universe and humanity. Time and space don’t depend on you, therefore don’t care how you lead your life. If you followed whatever series of “rules” we made up. If you allowed yourselves to be happy or not. Only gave or only took. You’re not that big a deal.

So I, again and again, have to remind myself that no one cares if I’ve earned to be happy. More importantly, I shouldn’t. Be selfish! I’m so tired of obsessing over measuring myself and my life to allow myself to receive good things. W’e’re worth good things. And I’m really trying to fight, maybe I’ll wrestle like the gorgeous ladies of wrestling.., that voice in my head right now that’s telling me to make up for the damages I’ve done to my mind and body by being too happy lately. -The peace in my mind that means I’ve been enjoying far too long. Telling me I don’t deserve stuff before I’ve been really “good”, in pain. The not planning of, not making the puzzle and the mathematic pieces on how good and how bad I’ve been. The extra work not being done. The pile of laundry left. The pizzas consumed. The red wine with it. I actually freak out about the lack of alone-time because among all these people that I love , maybe I just can’t hear myself think. How am I really feeling about myself? How big is the damage? How much am I gonna hate myself when left on my own after this?

I don’t want to deal with this right now. Because I truly believe that we are here to be happy. Life is actually a gift. We are just here to live until you die. How and when and where is up to you. You can actually do anything with your life, you have that power. Just try to be happy. People can judge, let them. Everything else comes second. I tell my friends this! I always have. I need to tell myself this and really mean it. I know hanging out with my friends feels good. They don’t judge me like I judge myself. They can be my inner voice for a little longer. I’ll deal with The Voice a little later.

You.

 Luckily my husband is only two days away when I get back home. Those two days I’ll work hard. I swear. But I will eat more pizza too. I swear.

Had an amazing trip to Oslo with the two second biggest loves of my lives. Did the Norwegian morning show (which I absolutely love and adore. God, I’m famous..) God Morgen Norge. HUGE milestone for me and very humbling. Especially me and the first one, because we don’t do much really. Other than what we can do and are educated to do, to soften the extreme world the little one has entered. She doesn’t really need us, but I think we make her life a little less scary. And a little bit more of a viking warrior queen on a quest to save the souls of those looking to be saved !

Wow, I really hope you read that in the sarcastic way I’m doing in my head. Feel free to add a cliché hand gesture to go with it.

Also did another interview after the morning show. Which I wasn’t mentally prepared for, so I took it out on the guy doing the interview. He was really sweet and not to be blamed. I’m lucky just to be interviewed, you know?? Viktoria??!

He forgave me though. This thunder of a woman.

Obviously talked about my favorite subjects. IN the world. Anxiety and mental health issues. And my sisters.

Even as I’m speaking about anxiety I rarely allow myself to accept my anxiety.. You know what I mean? As I’m talking about not fearing it I’m battling a storm on my inside to hide the fact that it’s happening right now..? How strange.

But this was actually a bit different. Maybe the morning show warmed me up. But no fucks were given after that. I was just myself and actually felt calm during this interview.. Maybe because I actually said what I meant. I don’t know, but I was relaxed.

Dis made me happy.

Oh, and I broke my phone and we missed our flight back home.

But that’s a different story.

Now I’m about to start packing for ITALY!!!! Leaving on Saturday, got my shit waxed today and feel ready for everything that comes my way! I’m so very much in love and love my life. I feel lucky. And I don’t believe in luck. So that’s lucky.