This week I achieved a goal of my own.
Walking three miles on my own.
That might not sound much, but to someone who hasn’t done that length in solitary can be a big thing.
Especially when hindered by anxiety.
It happened accidentally.
I’d decided to go for a short walk.
During the course of that I thought. ‘No. If I’m going to do this. Let’s go all the way.’
The anxiety was still nibbling away at me at a small frequency, but it was manageable.
My husband could hardly believe it when I’d told him.
‘How’d you feel now that you’ve done it?’
He’d asked that night.
I thought about it.
I didn’t feel a thing.
‘You should do. That was a big thing. You should be proud of yourself.’
But there was nothing.
No elation. No sense of accomplishment.
I didn’t understand it. I’d been happy and bubbling when outside. Yet it was almost as if it hadn’t happened at all.
I’m wondering whether it’s because I have always set myself up for failure. Perhaps all those years of playing down success as luck have numbed me to any sort of achievement.
I’ve always struggled with being positive. Whenever I get a good feeling about something it always turns out to be because of something negative. Coming from a family full of negativity it’s unsurprising. And it’s something that I’m sick to the back teeth of.
How do I expect something good to happen if all these bad thoughts cloud my brain?
No chance is there?
Having depression doesn’t really help, either.
This past week I have been looking into the Law of Attraction for encouragement. Although, at the minute I’m more discouraged.
I’m willing to give anything a go once.
I’m still working on editing/ revising my WIP. Still not happy with it.
Until next week,
With thanks to Jeremy Thomas for the image via Unsplash.com.