Dysfunctional

It’s something I’m familiar with, I might even say it’s comfortable for me. I thrive on the chaos that often times I create myself. Age has tamed this part of me, but it’ll always linger and tempt me. I understand it more, rationalize it better and absolutely show it less. Priorities and stuff.

A lot of people blame their parents for how they turned out as adults. It’s easy, just different degrees of the same issue. My parents were too strict. My parents beat me. My parents dictated my whole life. My parents fought all the time. My parents didn’t pay attention to things that mattered to me. My parents cared too much and smothered me. Everyone’s family was dysfunctional if you ask them.

One of my favorite books taught me this:

It’s not your fault that you’re fucked up. It’s your fault if you stay fucked up, but the foundation of your fuckedupedness is something that’s been passed down through generations of your family… ― Jen Sincero

The book is called You Are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life. It’s true, I read a self-help book, but it used the word fuck a lot, which made me feel less judgy about it.

Prior to reading this book, I went to talk therapy for about a year. Something I’ve over-preached ever since is that everyone could benefit from some good talk therapy. There’s no shame in sitting down and talking about things you need to get off your chest, with someone who is not only 100% unbiased, but literally went to school for that shit.

I don’t need to throw away the parts of me who severely damaged perfectly good things, the girl who couldn’t let things get too good. Self-sabotage, fucked up thoughts, and poor decision making has ended up making me into this unapologetic person who I love being.

Dysfunction isn’t always negative, it can consume you in good and bad ways, sometimes simultaneously. I still find myself thriving on it from time to time, sometimes I put myself in check, and other times I run with it, but I’m over the self-sabotage, that was always the worst part. I’d rather just be dysfunctional and happy.


D is for Dysfunction: A to Z Challenge

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