The Full-Time Job You Never Applied For ⭐

A few months ago I realized something that was both painfully obvious and completely invisible to me.

I had been dragging my feet on setting a boundary with someone for an embarrassing amount of time.

I kept telling myself I didn't want to disappoint them.

Maybe my expectations were too high.

Maybe I was being unfair.

Maybe I should wait until I had the perfect words.

Then, while I was vacuuming and over-singing to whatever was on Spotify, it hit me.

I wasn't actually afraid of disappointing them.

I was afraid they would think I was an asshole.

And if they thought I was an asshole, they might tell other people I was an asshole.

Holy shit.

Because it wasn't really about this one conversation.

It made me wonder how much of my life has been organized around trying to manage other people's experience of me.

Not in some dramatic, manipulative way.

In all the ordinary ways.

The extra explanation I didn't owe.

The apology that wasn't necessary.

The text I rewrote six times.

The decision I delayed because someone might not approve.

The parts of myself I edited so I'd be easier to digest.

The amount of mental energy I've spent trying to influence thoughts that don't even happen inside my own head.

That's a full-time job.

I don’t remember ever applying for that job.

And it's one we can never actually succeed at.

Someone else's perception of me has never been mine to control.

That doesn't stop my nervous system from trying.

For most of human history, belonging wasn't a luxury. It was survival.

Being rejected by the group could mean death.

Our lives have changed much faster than our wiring.

Being misunderstood.

Being disliked.

Being judged.

Our nervous system can still experience those things as real threats, even when our actual safety isn't on the line.

Realizing this hasn't made me stop caring about people.

It has helped me recognize that someone else's internal experience of me isn't mine to manage.

So when I notice myself spiraling, I ask:

Am I making this decision because it aligns with who I am?

Or because I'm trying to influence someone else's experience of me?

Years ago, I read The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck.

The author talks about having a "fuck budget."

You only have so many fucks to spend.

I've realized I've been blowing a shocking amount of mine trying to manage other people's perceptions.

Trying to convince people I'm kind.

Reasonable.

Easygoing.

Understanding.

Worth liking.

That's an expensive place to invest my energy.

Especially when I have absolutely no control over the return.

Maybe one of the gifts of midlife isn't that we stop caring so much.

Maybe it's that we stop confusing caring with taking responsibility for someone else's internal experience.

We can be thoughtful.

We can be kind.

We can take accountability when we've caused harm.

And we can still let go of the impossible job of trying to curate what someone else thinks or feels about us.

That's a line item I'm slowly cutting from my fuck budget.

❤ Leah