Feeding the monster
On busyness and never feeling enough
In my last story, I told you I was the common denominator. That wherever I went, London, Cape Town, a mountain finca in Spain, the busyness followed. Because I created it. Or I allowed it.
The question I’ve been sitting with since then is why.
Why, even when I know I want a slower life, do I still end up so busy?
It’s been harder to answer than I expected.
I keep getting an image of this monster grabbing for me, no matter where in the world I try to hide. He’s not as friendly as Sully from Monsters Inc. Let’s say he’s Sully’s evil twin. I’ve named him Buster.
Unlike Sully, Buster doesn’t hide in your wardrobe. He hides in your calendar.
I’ve been feeding Buster for years without realising it. And now that I can see him, I want to understand what’s actually fuelling him. It’s not just one thing, which is why I’ve been having such a hard time pinning it down.
Let me try to take stock.
He feeds on chaos.
The world is a busy place. There’s information coming at us from every direction, a gazillion things to do, and people to see. The sheer volume and pace of it can put us into reactive mode.
Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of a sandstorm, and every particle swirling around me and slapping into me is vying for my attention. There’s no chance to pause and question which direction I want to go or where I want to focus. I blindly stumble on, just trying to get through it.
It was like this when I first met Chris. I was so busy that I used to give him a printed weekly calendar with his time slots marked in. That was when he got me. Those hours. That was it.
He married me anyway, which says everything you need to know about him.
And if I’m dead honest? He usually has to schedule time with me even now. I’m still working on it. Poor guy.
He feeds on fear.
Fear of missing out, falling behind, not belonging, failing.
This is a big one for me.
If I don’t work the way others need me to, the money might stop. If I don’t have all the information or knowledge, I’ll look stupid. If I’m not available when people ask, there won’t be more invitations. If I don’t participate in that training, I’ll miss out on opportunities.
The list goes on. And Buster loves it.
He feeds on guilt.
The guilt of not being a good friend, co-worker, spouse, or mother to my puppy Bella.
I genuinely care about the people in my life and I don’t want to let them down. So I squeeze things in when there isn’t really room. I say yes more quickly than I should. And a sense of guilt creeps in when I feel like I’m not being the best I could be for them.
But all that giving goes outward. I feed Buster. I feed everyone around me. And somewhere along the way, I forget to feed myself.
It’s a buffet of not enoughness.
I’ve realised that all of Buster’s food has the same core ingredient. The feeling of not being enough. I wrote recently about self-worth coming from achievement. Same ingredient, different dish.
It’s like a low, almost inaudible hum in the background. Always there. Influencing everything.
Just one more thing and I’ll feel ready. Just one more thing and I’ll feel like enough.
I need to finally call bullshit on myself.
I have an MSc. A PhD. I’ve worked across multiple continents and co-founded a company. I have so many qualifications and certifications.
At what point does the evidence become enough?
At what point does the time I can give people become enough?
At what point do I just become enough, period?
The gap between knowing and doing is what I’m working on. Buster doesn’t give up his prisoners easily. There are still weeks when I can barely breathe, and there’s no time to even wee.
But I can see him now. And that’s where it starts.
Do you have a Buster? And if so, what are you feeding him?