Lesson #22: Speak softly, and carry a big doormat.

8/10/14.

Ding dong,

It’s me.

The doormat.

For a very long time, I’ve tried to shed the self-proclaimed title I have given myself.

I marvel at people who have the ability to tell it like it is. I yearn to be like the people who know how to say exactly what they’re feeling, with the perfect words, in their perfect sentences, with their perfect little smile.

When I have a problem with something, I am not one to speak up about it.

I am vocal about many things.

I am the first one to speak up if someone says something rude, or disrespectful, or mean, or completely absurd towards another person.

But when it comes to myself?

Please, step all over me.

Go ahead.

I’ll be fine.

Really.

I’m just lying straight to your face.

Because I’m not.

Actually, I am dying on the inside, beating myself up, because I’m not too sure how to tell you what I’m actually feeling without coming off as a terrible person.

I am speaking words.

But if you listen closely,

I’m actually screaming,

“Please don’t change your perception of me.”

“Please.”

But there’s good news.

I have actually realized how stupid this is.

In the past few months, I’d like to think I have gotten myself together.

If I have problem, I will tell you I have a problem.

And now,

that’s the problem.

It’s an addiction.

Once you finally bring yourself to do it, you can’t stop doing it.

Every time someone pisses you off, or plucks your nerve, or says something, or does something, or looks at you the wrong way-

you have to tell them.

Sorry, Aristotle. But I’m having a bit of trouble finding the golden mean.

I think it’s a bit of a societal thing.

(What isn’t)

Tell them.

Show them who’s boss.

Prove to everyone- you are the biggest, and you are the baddest.

But honestly guys, this is just not healthy.

Any and every addiction makes you sick.

And this is what it’s doing to me.

Before, I would beat myself up for not saying anything at all.

But now,

I beat myself up for not saying enough.

I find myself thinking about the the situation over and over, re-playing it in my head, acting out what I should have done, or what I should have said.

And for what?

It’s over.

So I’ve come to a conclusion.

A solution.

The oldest one in the book.

Pick and choose your battles.

As right as you want to be, as much as you would like to win, as much as you would like to prove your point,

Sometimes, it’s just not worth it.

Not for their sake, or for their sanity,

but for yours.

Pick. And choose.

By attempting to win every battle,

You’ll end up very wounded.

Don’t waste all of your time, and all your energy.

Save it for the big ones.

Save it for the ones where you will not be used as a doormat.

It’s okay to have someone pass over you a time or two.

Hey, doormats are awesome.

They’re cute.

And comfy.

And sometimes, they’re even funny and witty.

But if they are trying to walk all over you, let them know they can clean off their shoes somewhere else.

You’ll win some, and you’ll lose some.

And that’s okay.

Rather than being upset over all of the battles you didn’t win, you’ll be celebrating your victories instead.

Speak softly, and carry a big stick.

Roosevelt had the right idea.

And you can thank my hot freshman year history professor for that.

Looks like that 9am wasn’t a complete waste.

Day Twenty-Two.

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